The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot Off The Press Book 1)

by Gina Wilkins

  “That’s good, isn’t it? That he doesn’t have a record, I mean.”

  “Not as far as I can find out,” Dan said cautiously. “But since he’s given me nothing more than a name to work with, that’s not saying much.”

  “What would you like, Chief? Fingerprints? Blood, maybe?”

  The lazy drawl from behind them made Serena and Dan turn. Sam and Marjorie stood in the opposite doorway, Marjorie looking distressed, Sam nonchalant.

  “We could start with blood,” Dan agreed in a mutter, not looking at all disconcerted to have been overheard.

  Marjorie planted her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Dan Meadows. Since when is it a crime to be the victim of a robbery? You should be out trying to catch the robbers who beat up Sam, not browbeating Sam for no good reason.”

  Marjorie’s remonstration accomplished what Sam’s sarcasm had not. Dan looked suddenly abashed. “I’m only saying there are parts of this guy’s story that just don’t add up. And he’s told us nothing about who he is or where he comes from. How do we know he can be trusted?”

  Marjorie wasn’t appeased. “You’re saying he faked his injuries? That would certainly be news to Dr. Frank.”

  “Of course he didn’t fake his injuries. It’s obvious he’s been beaten. But…”

  “Exactly.” Marjorie dropped her hands with an air of finality. “Now, are you staying for lunch?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Serena, set another place. Dan will be joining us. But only if he’s polite to our other guest,” Marjorie added, giving Dan a stern look.

  Serena couldn’t help but smile at Dan’s expression. He hadn’t come for lunch, but she wasn’t surprised that Marjorie had railroaded him into it. There was something about her mother that could turn even the most macho of males into toe-scuffing schoolboys. She had no doubt that both Sam and Dan would be on their best behavior during dinner. Marjorie was likely to send them to separate corners if they weren’t. And Serena suspected they would go.

  Smiling at that image, she went to obey her mother’s instructions and set another place at the table.

  Chapter Five

  As Serena had predicted, Dan behaved well enough during the meal, but he didn’t let etiquette stop him from grilling Sam at every opportunity—cordially, of course. Marjorie wouldn’t have tolerated otherwise. “You said you were passing through looking for work when you accepted a ride from the men who robbed you. Where were you working before?”

  Keeping his eyes on his plate, Sam cut into his tender pot roast. “Here and there. Oklahoma, most recently.”

  “Yeah? Where in Oklahoma?”

  “Tulsa. Would you pass the salt, please, Serena?”

  Serena’s fingers brushed Sam’s when she handed him the salt shaker. His felt cold. She wondered if he was still in pain. If so, he covered it well.

  Dan kept his gaze on the other man. “And before Tulsa? Where did you grow up?”

  “I moved around a lot. There isn’t any particular place I call home. Mrs. Schaffer, this meal is delicious. The best I’ve had in longer than I can remember.”

  Marjorie beamed in response to Sam’s compliment. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  Dan wasn’t so easily distracted. “So, Sam—what types of jobs have you held? You’re—what—thirty-two? Thirty-three?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “You must have had some interesting experiences in all those years on the road. Maybe you’d like to share some of them with us?”

  “Dan—” Marjorie’s voice held a note of warning.

  He gave her a blandly innocent smile. “Just making lunch conversation, ma’am.”

  “I wouldn’t want to bore everyone by droning on about my life,” Sam remarked, his expression every bit as insouciant as Dan’s. “Yours sounds more interesting. I’ve heard you’ve had a rash of break-ins around town lately. Have you made any headway in solving them?”

  Serena couldn’t help but be amused by the expression that crossed Dan’s face. Sam’s verbal arrow had hit the police chief directly in his professional ego. He replied stiffly. “No. We haven’t made much progress yet. All I can do for now is follow the few leads I have and keep a close eye on anyone around here who seems suspicious.”

  “Don’t you start again, Dan,” Marjorie warned.

  He flashed her a crooked grin, but made no promises.

  As if to make sure the conversation stayed pleasant, Marjorie took charge of it. They spent the remainder of the meal talking about local current events. Sam didn’t have much to contribute on that subject, of course, but Marjorie made sure he wasn’t left out. By the time they’d finished the main course, Serena imagined that Sam could probably pass a pop quiz on Edstown trivia.

  She was aware that she hadn’t said much during lunch, offering only enough comments to keep her mother appeased. She had been unable to stop herself from watching Sam during the meal, studying his expressions and wondering about him. She tried to be subtle about it, examining him through her eyelashes while ostensibly concentrating on her food, but she couldn’t seem to look away from him completely.

  This absorption with him was beginning to worry her. She’d tried to rationalize it by telling herself that anyone would be intrigued by a man like Sam—so anonymous and mysterious. She’d never met anyone quite like him before; it was only natural that she was curious. But that didn’t seem to fully explain her fascination with him.

  Maybe it was because she had always found puzzles challenging—and Sam was definitely a puzzle. Everything she observed about him seemed to be at odds with what he’d told them. Young, handsome, obviously well educated, Sam Wallace, with his neatly manicured hands and lost, intelligent eyes, hardly fit her preconceptions of a rootless drifter.

  She couldn’t really blame Dan for his suspicions. It was obvious that there was a great deal Sam hadn’t told them. She would like to know more about him. And while she told herself she merely wanted reassurance that he was trustworthy, she knew there was much more to her curiosity than that.

  He looked up from his plate, and their gazes met across the table. She had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he could read her thoughts on her face. His thoughts were still a complete mystery to her.

  “Is everyone ready for dessert?” Marjorie’s question broke the moment, drawing Sam’s attention away. Serena sank back in her seat, oddly disconcerted.

  There was definitely something unsettling about this man Sam Wallace.

  Sam was fully aware that Serena watched him all through lunch. She was trying to be subtle about it, but it was obvious to him, anyway. Dan Meadows kept him under close scrutiny, as well. Marjorie was the only one not watching him as if in concern that he might pocket the silverware if no one was looking.

  He couldn’t say it was a comfortable experience. But it was definitely interesting. And the food was either the best he’d ever eaten or just tasted that way in comparison to the hospital fare. After all, he couldn’t remember any meals prior to waking up in the hospital.

  He’d found himself wondering as the meal began whether there was something going on between Serena and the police chief. They certainly seemed to know each other well, interacting with the ease of familiarity. It didn’t take him long to decide that they were friends, not lovers. He sensed affection between them, but little chemistry.

  Some people might have found it rather amusing that a guy with a serious mental problem was analyzing other people’s psyches, he thought with a wry, private smile. He doubted that either Serena or Dan would share the humor if they knew the truth.

  His grim amusement faded quickly when Marjorie entered the dining room with a big chocolate cake festooned with small burning candles. “Serena told me that today is your birthday,” she said as she set the cake in front of Sam. “I hope you like chocolate cake.”

  Embarrassed, Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, I love chocolate cake. But you really didn’t have to go to this
much trouble.”

  She laughed, apparently amused that she’d rattled him. “Nonsense. Everyone deserves a birthday cake. Now make a wish and blow out the candles.”

  Acutely aware of Dan’s too-observant eyes on him, Sam drew as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow and blew out the candles quickly.

  “Oh, we were supposed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ before you blew out the candles,” Marjorie fussed.

  Sam shook his head with a bit more force than necessary, making it start to ache again. “That isn’t necessary. Really.”

  Serena took pity on him. “C’mon, Mother, are you trying to embarrass him right back into the hospital? Let’s just serve the cake.”

  Dan very conspicuously remained silent, accepting his cake without commenting on the occasion it was intended to celebrate.

  Though he didn’t want to be impolite, Sam excused himself after dessert, explaining quite honestly that he had a headache. Marjorie wanted to hover a bit, but he was able to convince her that a couple more pain pills and a few hours rest would work wonders.

  “Chief,” he said to Meadows on his way out, “it’s been a pleasure.”

  Dan looked ready to growl, but a quick glance at Marjorie had him responding somewhat more civilly. “Yeah, well…take care of that head. And if there’s anything I can do for you, Serena and Marjorie know how to get in touch with me. At all times,” he added pointedly. “One call from them, and I’m here. Immediately.”

  Sam almost chuckled at the unveiled warning, but his head hurt so badly. Instead, he merely nodded, thanked Marjorie again for the meal and made his departure. He was certain Dan would start spouting dire warnings about him again, but he didn’t feel like hanging around to defend himself. The only way he could prove his trustworthiness was by living quietly in the guest house, pulling his weight at the diner and making no waves in town.

  As he entered the guest house, he found himself wondering how long he could go on living that way. Days? Weeks? Months? How long could he keep pretending that nothing was wrong, that this was normal routine for him?

  Three weeks, he decided as he wandered into the bedroom. That seemed plenty long enough to recover from whatever head injury was causing his memory loss. If it hadn’t come back at the end of those three weeks, he was definitely going to do something about it. He refused to take advantage of these unbelievably kind people for any longer than that.

  But for now, he thought as he eased his aching body onto the bed, all he needed was a little rest. And maybe another pain pill.

  As usual, the small parking lot of the Rainbow Café was full at noon on Monday. Serena circled twice before a vehicle pulled out, freeing a space. She was five minutes late for her luncheon appointment with Marvin Frieze, the managing editor of the newspaper. She would have chosen another venue for this conversation, but Marvin hadn’t given her much choice, simply leaving a message with her secretary that he would be at the Rainbow Café if she wanted to join him.

  As she’d predicted from the crowded parking lot, the café was bustling with the loyal lunch crowd, nearly every table filled. Serena recognized most of the patrons, but she didn’t spot Marvin’s snowy white head. Hoping he hadn’t stood her up yet again, she spoke to the lanky, gum-chewing, sixty-something hostess. “I’m supposed to meet Marvin here. Have you seen him, Justine?”

  “No. Did you check over at Gaylord’s?”

  Serena grimaced in response to the ironic reference to Marvin’s worsening drinking habits. It seemed everyone in town was talking about it. “Just show him to my table when he arrives, will you?”

  Justine snapped her gum, then grinned. “Sure thing.”

  Exchanging greetings with acquaintances along the way, Serena claimed one of the few empty tables, setting her purse beside her chair. She spotted her mother busily working the cash register at the exit door. They waved, but Marjorie was too busy to stop and visit just then. Ever since two of her employees had left on short notice, things had been hectic in the diner. It was no wonder Marjorie was getting desperate enough to offer jobs to just about anyone.

  Almost as if that thought had conjured him up, Sam Wallace appeared at her table, looking more like a battered prizefighter than a waiter. His unarguably handsome face was still bruised and slightly swollen. The small white bandage at his right temple hid the stitches there, and his injured left wrist was supported by a Velcro-fastened brace. He gave her a smile. “What would you like to drink, Ms. Schaffer?”

  It took her a moment to respond. His sudden appearance had caught her off guard. She really hadn’t expected to see him here barely twenty-four hours after his release from the hospital. She hadn’t seen any sign of activity from the guest house when she’d left for her office earlier that morning. He must have ridden to the café with Marjorie an hour or so after Serena’s departure. She would bet that he was in considerable discomfort with this physical activity, if not outright pain.

  Maybe he really was sincere about working to pay back the debts he incurred. Certainly no one would have blamed him for taking a few days off to recuperate. The guy still looked like he’d fall over in a strong wind, for Pete’s sake. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted his eyebrows, shifting the bandage at his temple. “I work here.”

  “I meant, why are you here today? Surely Dr. Frank hasn’t cleared you to go to work so soon.”

  Sam shrugged. “I didn’t ask him. I know what I’m capable of doing—and your mother obviously accepts that, since she put me straight to work when I asked to get started.”

  Marjorie was desperate enough to put a trained monkey to work, Serena thought, glancing wryly around the almost frantically busy diner. It was all Justine and Shameka, the other server, could do to keep up. “Just be careful not to overdo it. You had a head injury. Not to mention all the—”

  “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. Now, can I get you something to drink? Or are you ready to order your food? Some of the other customers are looking restless.”

  She noticed that his hands were empty. “Don’t you need an order pad?”

  “No.” His expression was suddenly ironic—as if he were enjoying a private joke. “It turns out I have a very good memory for keeping track of orders.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s…good, I guess.”

  “Hey, Sam. Could I have some more coffee here?” someone called from a table nearby.

  “Serena?” he prodded, after waving an acknowledgement toward the other table.

  “I’ll just have a glass of ice water now. I’m expecting someone to join me. I’ll order when he arrives.”

  He nodded and moved away. After refilling coffees at several tables, he returned to set a glass of water in front of Serena. “The boyfriend seems to be running late,” he remarked, nodding toward the empty chair across from her.

  “The employee who is joining me is sixty-five years old and chronically late,” she replied, and then wondered why she’d bothered to correct him.

  Sam’s rather smug smile let her know that he had been fishing for information, probably out of nothing more than idle curiosity. She had to admit he was pretty good at it. “Give me a sign when you’re ready to order,” he said, and then moved on to another table.

  While she waited for Marvin, she watched Sam at work. Of course she watched him, she thought wryly—that seemed to be all she did when he was around. But it was interesting. He didn’t seem to have a lot of experience at waiting tables, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in hustle. Despite his injuries, he never seemed to slow down. Despite being a newcomer to the area, he chatted comfortably with the customers. They eyed his bruises, of course, but seemed to accept his presence easily enough; nearly everyone had heard about the hapless drifter who’d been robbed and dumped in Serena’s ditch. And since everyone knew of Marjorie’s penchant for helping those in need, no one seemed particularly surprised to see Sam working at her diner.

  Edstown had a history of opening its arms to ecc
entrics and oddballs, Serena mused. Sam Wallace seemed to fit in to both those categories.

  She’d been waiting at the table for twenty minutes and had emptied two glasses of ice water before she conceded that Marvin was a no-show. Again. “Looks like your employee had something come up,” Sam commented, filling her glass again.

  “My soon-to-be-ex-employee,” Serena muttered, finally accepting the inevitable. She had to let Marvin go—if she could ever catch up with him long enough to tell him.

  “What’s your soon-to-be-ex-employee’s job?”

  “Managing editor of the Evening Star, the town newspaper. My family has owned the paper for several generations, but I’ve only been lucky enough to run it for the past six months. Now it looks like I’m going to have to hire a new editor.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Want some lunch now?”

  She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I’m starving. I’ll have a turkey sandwich and a fruit salad.”

  “Excellent choice, madam. I’ll bring that right out to you.”

  Taking advantage of a respite as the lunch crowd thinned, Marjorie left Justine at the register and crossed the room to Serena’s table, sinking into the empty chair. “Justine said you were expecting Marvin to join you for lunch.”

  “He stood me up.”

  Frowning in concern, Marjorie suggested, “Perhaps things got hectic at the newspaper and he couldn’t get away.”

  “Or perhaps he decided to have a liquid appetizer and forgot all about our appointment.”

  Sighing regretfully, Marjorie nodded. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I’m going to have to let him go, Mom.”

  “Oh, Serena. Can’t you give him another chance?”

  “How many chances should I give him? A dozen? A hundred? Should I wait until he puts Great-granddad’s paper completely out of business? Because I have to tell you, it’s hanging on by a very thin thread now.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  Serena saw no reason to sugarcoat her answer. “It’s that bad. Advertising revenues are down, and since Marvin has apparently lost all interest in his job, the paper seems to have no focus at all these days. Riley’s tried to fill in, but he has his own duties to perform, and he’s falling behind in all of them. You know he isn’t crazy about schedules and responsibilities, anyway. He only works at the paper to make enough to support his writing habit.”