by Tim Myers
“Now what do we do?” Reston asked as Sheriff Armstrong rushed in. The man had been on a diet for the last three weeks, grumbling at the world but determined to fit back into his old uniform before the next election.
The sheriff asked, “What have we got here?”
Skip identified himself, and Alex saw Armstrong grimace. The sheriff said, “You’re not looking for a job are you? We’ve already got a sheriff in Canawba County.”
Skip shook his head. “I just took this job as a favor for a friend. I’m retired, sheriff, and I don’t have the slightest desire to get back into law enforcement.”
Armstrong looked relieved by the admission. “Naturally, I’d be glad to have your input on this case.”
As the two men conferred, Alex noticed that Elise had left the room. He was torn between hanging around to see what he could find out and going in search of his maid to offer his comfort.
Elise won, with barely a flickering glance back at the body.
Alex found her sorting sheets in the laundry room. “Sorry you had to see that,” he said as he took a sheet and started folding it himself.
“I am too, but death is a part of an innkeeper’s life,” she said. “It’s the sad, honest truth that people die just about everywhere.”
Alex thought about it a moment, then said, “Maybe you were right, though. I should have turned Reston down when he asked to display the emerald here.”
“Nonsense,” Elise said. “That man’s death had nothing to do with Hatteras West.”
“I wish I could believe that. Did you happen to see the murder weapon?”
Elise paled slightly. “It was the letter opener Rosemary sent you.”
“I just hope she never finds out what happened to it,” Alex said, remembering the sweet and lovely young lady who came to Hatteras West every year to get away from her normally glamorous world of high fashion in New York City.
Alex and Elise finished their folding and emerged into the lobby in time to hear Doc Drake tell the sheriff, “There’s nothing I can do here. I’ll fill out the death certificate this afternoon, but it’s pretty cut and dried. I need to get back to the office or Madge is going to roast me. I left her with a waiting room full of patients.”
The sheriff nodded and Drake took his leave. Elise touched Alex’s arm and said, “I have some things to do over in Dual,” referring to the second of two buildings that made up the inn. The Dual Keeper’s Quarters had recently been opened to the public again, and they’d found it had become necessary to split many of the tasks they used to share.
Alex said, “I’ll find you after this is all cleared up.”
After she was gone, Alex took a chance and asked Armstrong, “Sheriff, what’s going on?”
Armstrong said, “Shay keeps claiming the stone’s a fake, but it looked real enough to me. I put in a call to Hiddenite for Jasper Hanks. I figure he can tell me whether it’s the real thing or not.”
“Do you know anything more about Cliff?” Alex asked.
“I didn’t realize you knew the man,” the sheriff said.
“He’s been at the inn all week. We had a chance to chat every now and then.” That was at least partially true, though Alex had been the only one doing the talking during their conversations.
Armstrong nodded. “All I can say for sure at this point is that the letter opener probably killed him.”
Irene Wilkins, the beautician/criminologist, approached with a shiny bag in her hand. Irene was becoming one of the leading county criminologists in their part of North Carolina. She’d become so popular with the other forensic experts around the state that she was being called away to work on cases farther and farther from Elkton Falls. Her police duties were taking so much of her time that Irene had actually been talking about taking on a partner in her beauty shop.
Armstrong said, “What have you got there?”
“I found this in the guard’s pocket.” She held it up to the light, and Alex saw a small, tarnished yellow rock.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Armstrong asked.
“Unless I miss my guess, it’s a raw gold nugget,” Irene said.
“Gold? The closest anybody’s ever found gold to Elkton Falls is near Charlotte at the Reid Gold Mine, and that’s at least an hour and a half away.” He turned to Alex and asked, “What was it doing on the floor in there?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Alex said. “I’ve never seen raw gold before in my life.”
Armstrong asked, “Any chance that’s fool’s gold, Irene?”
“No way, Ducky. Once you’ve seen the real stuff, iron pyrite will never fool you.”
Alex said, “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
Irene admitted, “I’ve been known to pan for gold a time or two myself. It’s a hobby that gets me outdoors, and besides, sometimes you find something worth the cost of your trip. I’ve panned in Georgia and here in North Carolina, too. Probably taken half a pound out of the water in my day.”
Armstrong said, “We’ll get Jasper to look at it, too.”
“Ducky, are you saying I don’t know gold when I see it?” There was an edge in Irene’s voice that challenged him to defy her.
“No, Ma’am,” he backpedaled. “I’m just saying, for the record and all, I need something in writing from an expert. You say it’s gold, so gold it is.”
“Get your written report then,” Irene said. “I’ve done all I can in here, and I’m sure Alex would like us to hurry things along.”
“I’d appreciate it, but don’t rush on my account,” Alex said.
She grinned at him. “I never do, you know me better than that, Alex.”
Irene disappeared back into the room with the body to collect her equipment while the sheriff went off to find the EMS folks. Alex tagged along with Armstrong, and as soon as the techs were given the green light, they went in to collect the body. Alex knew that their service had a business arrangement with Elkton Falls to transport dead bodies when the occasion arose, charging a flat fee for each trip to the hospital morgue.
Standing on the porch as the crew loaded the body into the back of the ambulance, Alex noticed a figure walking up the drive toward them, and he and the sheriff watched intently as the man approached. It was Patrick Thornton, another guest at the inn, and Alex wondered how in the world he was going to explain what had happened without running the man off. As he got closer, Alex could see that Thornton was dressed as usual in heavy work boots, a thick canvas pair of pants, sturdy shirt, and worn leather hat. There was a stained and battered backpack hanging from the man’s shoulders, and a notebook tucked under one arm. In the other hand he held a scarred walking-stick that nearly reached his chin. He had a rugged, worn look about him, as if he’d spent the vast majority of his life out in the sun and under the stars.
“Afternoon,” Thornton said. “Something going on here I should know about?” he added as he gestured to the ambulance.
“There was an accident,” Alex said as the sheriff nodded his greeting as well. It wasn’t quite a lie, but Armstrong wouldn’t let it stand. “More like a murder, Alex.”
“That’s too bad; the world’s a hard place sometimes.” The outdoorsman offered his hand to the sheriff and said, “I’m Patrick Thornton.”
“Armstrong,” he replied curtly as he offered his hand.
Thornton turned to Alex and said, “Has that check arrived?”
“Not yet,” Alex said.
“Blast it all, they should have fired that infernal secretary a month ago. She fouled me up in Lenoir last week, I don’t know why I thought this week would be any different.”
Alex said reluctantly, “If it’s not in today’s mail, I’m going to have to start charging your room to your credit card.” He’d agreed to settle for an imprint of the man’s card upon check-in, but it had been two days and there was still no sign of the promised check to cover his week’s room rate.
“I understand completely. Now if you two will exc
use me, I need to drop this pack off in my room.”
After Thornton was gone, Alex explained to Armstrong, “He’s with the Geologic Survey Foundation, whatever that is. They’re checking map coordinates for the Department of the Interior. His secretary was supposed to make reservations for him before he got here, but I never heard from her.”
“Sounds like your tax dollars at work, doesn’t it?” Armstrong said.
The surveyor was in his room less than ten minutes before he came out again. Alex and Armstrong were still on the porch, discussing the day’s events.
Thornton asked, “Can you call a taxi for me, Alex? I need to see this mayor of yours to make sure my permissions came through.”
“Our taxi service is kind of sporadic,” Alex admitted. “All we can do is call Rebecca and see if she’s free.”
Irene came out and joined them, her kit in her hand. “Let’s go, Ducky.”
Armstrong hitched up his trousers. “Well Alex, I guess we’re finished here. You can have the room now.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. Do you happen to be heading back into town?”
“Sure thing, I’ve got to drop Irene off at the beauty parlor.”
Alex said, “If you don’t mind, my guest could use a ride.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” Thornton said.
“Don’t mind a bit. I’m heading to Town Hall myself anyway after I drop Irene. Can’t promise to get you back out here when you’re done, though.”
“It’s really not necessary,” Thornton said.
“Come on, you can keep me and Irene company. We ran out of things to say to each other a long time ago.”
Irene said, “Just because I’ve heard all of your stories doesn’t mean I’ve told you all of mine.”
“I’ll give you a dollar for every one you haven’t blabbed to me a hundred times before,” Armstrong said.
“Get out your checkbook, Ducky, I’m eating dinner at Monet’s Garden tonight, on you.”
Before they could go, Alex asked, “Have you eaten there yet?”
Irene said, “They just opened up last week, Alex. I heard Irma Bean had a fit during their grand opening, but if you ask me, it’s about time she had more competition than Buck’s Grill. I’ve heard this Monet fellow is really nice.”
Armstrong huffed, “I’ve heard he kisses all the women’s hands, if you can believe that. A little too rooty-tooty for Elkton Falls, if you ask me.”
“I don’t remember anyone asking you anything, Ducky,” Irene said.
As the three of them walked to the cruiser, Armstrong and Irene traded barbs while Patrick Thornton trailed along behind them like a lost puppy. Alex realized that he might not have done his guest any favors by snagging him a ride with the sheriff. Sitting in the backseat while those two sparred might have been more trouble than hooking up with Elkton Falls’s on-again off-again taxi service.
It would certainly have been a quieter ride, even with Rebecca Gray rambling on as she wheeled her truck toward town.
Alex went back to the guest room that had been serving as a display area to get things back in order. It would take an hour or two of work to make the room fit to rent again, though there wasn’t a pressing need for the space. The inn was operating just a little better than half-full. Still, if things should take a drastic turn for the better and more rooms were suddenly needed, he wanted to be sure he was ready.
Alex was surprised to find Reston Shay still in the room, standing alone in the shadows and staring at the empty pedestal. Sheriff Armstrong had taken the gemstone, fake or otherwise, from Skip and had promised to return it to Reston when the investigation was complete.
Alex coughed, then said, “I’m sorry to bother you. Just let me know when you’re finished in here.”
Reston looked up at him, and from the glaze in the man’s eyes, it was obvious he was lost in his own thoughts. “Alex,” he said as he recovered, “I still can’t believe it happened.”
“I know. You can’t blame yourself.”
“For the theft? Why on earth should I do that? I took every precaution for the Carolina Rhapsody’s safety, surely you can see that.”
Alex said softly, “I’m talking about the guard’s murder.”
Reston stared at him a second more, then nodded. “True, that’s the real tragedy here, isn’t it? The emerald never was alive, was it, not that different from any other rock in the ground.” Reston raked both hands through his hair, then locked his fingers behind his neck. “Some folks say that stone is cursed. Up until now, I never believed them.”
“Why should it be cursed?” Alex asked. He’d been around rockhounds all his life and he’d never heard anyone say one word about the Carolina Rhapsody.
“It’s been hushed up, but the Rhapsody has claimed a victim or two before today. Tristan Glenn was the first owner, and the first to die from it. He was holding the stone in the palm of his hand when he died, did you know that?”
“He had a heart attack,” Alex said. “It had nothing to do with the stone.”
“Perhaps,” Reston said, “but how do you explain his wife? Three months after she inherited the stone, she took her own life.”
“I don’t know anything about her,” Alex admitted, “but couldn’t it be she missed her husband, or maybe she had other problems? An object can’t be cursed, Reston.”
The older man sighed, then said, “If it is, the stone is someone else’s worry now. I was getting ready to sell it, did you know that?”
Alex was taken aback by the news. “I didn’t have a clue.”
“That curse has been in the back of my mind since I bought it. Truth be told, I was eager to get rid of it. Fifteen years was long enough for me to own it.”
“Is that why you never displayed it?” Alex asked.
“Are you asking me if I was nervous that something like this might happen? I just never figured it would harm anyone but me.” Reston stood, looked at the stand for another few seconds, then added, “I suppose one way of getting rid of it is as good as the next. Either way, it’s not my worry anymore.”
He hesitated at the stain on the floor where Cliff had been slain, then gingerly stepped over it and paused at the door.
The sooner the room was cleaned and brought back into circulation, the better Alex would feel.
He didn’t believe in ghosts, despite what others had said about The Hatteras West Inn, but he also didn’t want any reminders around that tragedy had visited the place again.
“I’d like to get started on the room, if it’s okay with you.”
“Sorry, but I can’t let you touch a thing, Alex. My insurance man is on his way.” Reston glanced at his watch. “In fact, he’s late. I can’t wait around here all afternoon.
When he gets here, show him anything he wants to see. If he wants me, he can track me down himself.”
“I’ll be glad to help any way I can. Do I have your blessing to straighten things up after he’s finished?”
“Knock yourself out,” Reston said, and then left.
Ten minutes later, Alex was at the front desk going over the reservations for the following week when a thin man with enormous glasses came into the inn. Alex always knew when his guests were coming, and though some walk-ins made it out to the isolated inn, most folks reserved their rooms in advance.
“May I help you?”
“Are you the proprietor?” the man asked.
“I am. I’m Alex Winston.”
The man ignored Alex’s outstretched hand and put a business card in it instead. “Parker Worth Moore” was inscribed on it in raised letters. “I’m with RPS. We underwrote the insurance for the Carolina Rhapsody. Could you show me the room please?”
Alex led him down the hall and used his passkey to unlock the door. “We had the emerald on top of the pedestal,” he said.
The man frowned at him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be ready to interview you later.”
Alex took the dismissal and backed out of the room. Twenty
minutes later, the insurance man returned to the lobby. He barely asked Alex three questions before he left. What an odd little man, Alex thought. Before Moore could leave, Alex asked, “Is it okay if I clean up the room now?”
“My investigation of the scene is concluded, but I may have more questions for you and your staff later.”
“Fine,” Alex said. After the man left, he decided to dive into the cleaning and make things right again as soon as he could. Maybe with the pedestal removed and the furniture back in the room, he’d be able to put the ugly murder and theft out of his mind. Hatteras West deserved better.
Chapter 3
Alex was cleaning the floor, scrubbing the last of the bloodstains from the wood when he spotted something against the baseboard. They had all missed it in their previous searches of the room, including Irene, but that was easy to understand. The small, flat square of gray metal was the size and thickness of a dime; it blended in with a floor grate that was almost the exact same color, nearly disappearing.
Alex picked the metal up, held it in his hands and studied it. There were crisscrossing lines etched in its surface, embedded in lightning-strike patterns. The edges were polished smooth. It was the oddest thing Alex had ever seen. Putting it in his shirt pocket, he promised himself that he would show it to Armstrong when he came back out to the inn. Most likely it belonged to one of their guests long before the guard was killed, but Alex would show it to the sheriff just in case.
Elise found him scrubbing the floor a few minutes later.
“Let me do that, Alex.”
He studied the faded spot, gave it one last swipe, then said, “That’s as good as it’s going to get. Do you have some free time? I’d really like to get this room in shape.”
“That’s why I’m here. With all the furniture crammed into number 4, we’re losing two rooms.”
“Let’s do it then.”
As they carried the bed frame back to its rightful place, Elise said, “Alex, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Go ahead. I’m a captive audience right now,” he said, pinned against the wall by the metal frame.