by CeeCee James
Sighing, I turned my laptop on, and after opening the browser, typed in Norman Olsen’s name.
Momma watched with curiosity. “So, you going to check out his Instagram? Oh! You should check hers! There will be something there, I’m sure.” She winked.
I snorted. Momma should just do this for me. She knew her way around the web better than I did.
“Alright, let’s see what we can find out about him.” I scrolled through the Google hits.
“Well, that’s weird. Apparently, there was a recent dangerous threat to Mr. Olsen’s company.” I read further. “Olsen Studios shut down over a possible bomb threat. Police are searching for the suspect.” My brow furrowed. “I wonder if they ever found him? I don't think the law takes kindly to bomb threats.”
“It's today’s video games, I’m telling you. What do they expect? You make a world for people to learn to enjoy violence and they'll start being violent in the real-world. Serves them right. Not like those good old fashioned games we had. When I was a child, we played Piggy in the Middle.”
“It doesn’t serve anyone right. That’s not nice.” I shook my head as I continued to scroll.
Momma watched me, and her brows creased with concern. “Now, don’t you go making me worried. It’s the police’s job to find the killer. I was just watching on Cold Case where some young woman got involved in what she shouldn’t have. They found her years later, and do you know where? In a suitcase, that’s where.” She waved her finger at the laptop and gave me a knowing look. “Just because you write mysteries, doesn't mean you should go around looking to get involved in them. You aren’t Nancy Drew.”
“I know, Momma. But this time it involves me. And Mr. Phillips isn’t happy.” I frowned as I thought of Sierra breathing down my neck for my job.
“Well, you didn't kill him. Why would it cause you any grief?”
“It still happened during an event that I was the manager over. I don't need the beginning of my career to wear the badge of ‘And it all started with a murder.’”
“Pish!”
“Plus, we're kind of booked up for the next few months. The last thing I need is a slew of cancellations or even having the police lingering around next week. This mess needs cleaned up. The sooner, the better.”
Momma leaned back in the chair, frown lines bristling from her lips like whiskers. I knew that expression. She was not happy.
“Come here, Bingo.” She patted her lap, and the dog wandered over.
“Momma, he’s not a lap dog. It’s not good for him to jump.”
“Well, how can I pet him then?”
“Bend over and pet him.”
She sniffed. Peeked to see if I was watching, then she pulled out a vanilla wafer from her pocket. I rolled my eyes as she gave it to him discretely. As if I didn’t see. She already had him trained in being spoiled rotten.
I typed a bit more, searching into Norman Olsen’s past.
Most articles were about his new game coming out, the one he was at the Comic-Con to showcase. It was some adventure and fantasy game, with mythological creatures and people using magic. Although his game and company had faced many setbacks, the game seemed to be widely anticipated. His fans were thrilled and talked about him as if he was some kind of king of the gaming world.
And then, just as I was about to give up finding anything new, the next link took me by surprise.
Chapter 6
The new link was a shocker.
It was a picture of one of my recent hotel guests and Mr. Olsen. And I recognized which one it was, Caleb James. The one with the yellow cat eyes and ram horns who’d given me a hard time yesterday. In the picture, he was dressed in his cosplay outfit and holding a sword to Mr. Olsen’s throat. The company’s owner had his hands up in mock fear.
Underneath the photo, it said, “Mr. Olsen welcomes his favorite fan and biggest competitor.”
That wasn’t too unusual? Was it? I knew Mr. Olsen had fans. The sword at the neck was just a coincidence.
But, biggest competitor … what exactly did that mean? Caleb was just a kid, twenty-four if I remembered his driver’s license correctly. How did a kid become a conglomerate giant’s competition?
I took another sip of tea, noting the ice was nearly gone. I wiped the condensation from my hands onto my skirt and looked for more info. Disappointment filled me. That was it. Just the short blurb along with the picture.
Outside, I heard a guest yell, “Aww, come on.” I stood up and pulled the curtains back from the window. The police had left, and Gary was shaking his head at a guest standing on the other side of the fence, obviously telling him that the pool was off limits.
This case had to get solved before wind of the pool’s closure made it out to the general population. As if a death wasn’t enough to dissuade guests … I could see it now, reservations plummet, and Mr. Phillips continues to blame me. Momma, Bingo, and I are out on the street.
I shook my head as a vision of Bingo with a red handkerchief holding all of his belongings tied around his neck flipped through my mind. No, this case had to move faster.
“I’ll be right back, Momma,” I said.
Resting back in the chair, Momma had closed her eyes.
I got up quietly to leave.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her eyes abruptly opening.
“I’ll be back for dinner. I thought you were sleeping.”
“Pish,” she said. “I was just checking my eyelids for pinholes.”
I smiled as I left the suite and walked down to the front desk. As I neared the foyer, my steps began to feel weighted. Should I really be getting involved?
But, heck, I was the manager here. It would make sense that I would check on my guests since, technically, their stay here was affected by the death of Mr. Olsen.
At the counter, Sierra played with her cell phone, her feet propped up and the same sour expression on her face.
“How’s it going?” I asked, moving over to one of the computers. Quickly, I searched to see if Mr. James had checked out yet.
“You know,” Sierra said, not making eye contact, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable around here. This should have never happened.”
“It’s not my fault someone died.” I tried to keep my tone even. “This occurs all the time in the hotel industry.”
“Not died. Murdered.” At that, she plopped her feet down from the counter and turned towards me. “It never would have happened if I was in charge. I would have hired more security.”
I ignored her. More security might have helped. But Mr. Phillips had given me a strict budget, and I’d been determined to make the convention happen under that amount, hoping I’d make a good impression.
Well, it made an impression all right.
Caleb James showed up as still checked in at room 307. I glanced at my watch. Nearly noon. Caleb could still be sleeping for all I knew. I closed the computer window to avoid the prying eyes of Ms. Snoopypants next to me, and grabbed my notebook and pen.
Just as I was about to walk away, I noticed something. Slashing down on Sierra’s bicep to her elbow was a puckered, red scar. Catching me looking, Sierra blushed and yanked on her shirt sleeve, swiveling on the seat until her back was to me. I blinked hard. The scar was so long and gnarly, it kind of took my breath away. Come to think of it, Sierra always wore long sleeves, even on the hottest day.
Shaking my head, I hurried for the elevator. I have too much on my plate to worry about that, now.
Arriving at the third floor, I headed down to the economy rooms. Despite the term, the rooms were rather nice, just the typical two queen beds and a bathroom setup. Room 307 was on my left.
Swallowing the last of my hesitations, I firmly knocked on the door and then stood in view of the peephole with my hands clasped behind my back. What was I going to say? Inquiries into the murder seemed a bit out of my job description, but would this kid know?
After a few seconds of shuffling, I heard a tired-sounding, “Yeah?”
“Mr. James, it's the hotel manager, Maisie Swenson.”
His muffled movement was punctuated with the snap of the door being opened only as far as the slider lock at the top could allow.
“What do you want?” One eye glared through the narrow gap, below a mop of messy black hair.
Ah, the rudeness of youth. Or was something else going on?
“I was wondering if I could talk with you for a moment about Mr. Olsen?” I kept my voice soft and as non-threatening as possible.
“Why?” The door shut a centimeter.
“The police are talking to everyone, but there are a lot of guests at the event, so they asked some of the staff to help them out.” I was happy I had my notebook. It helped the impromptu excuse look more legitimate.
“Right now?” The closing door hesitated.
“Is now a good time? I could just write you down on the list for the police to come interrogate later if you like. I don't want to disturb you, and I apologize for the intrusion.” I used my trump card. Let’s see how it worked.
His eyes slitted. “Yeah, alright. Hold on.”
Caleb shut the door and disengaged the lock before finally opening it wide enough to invite me in. My nerves zinged as I stepped over the threshold. If he was involved, I could be making a very big mistake by walking into his hotel room without anyone knowing precisely where I had gone. Shrugging off the apprehension, I walked in and headed over to one of the two chairs at the round table near the window on the back wall.
“Do you mind if I sit?” I asked.
“Help yourself.” He crossed his arms over a rumpled t-shirt that looked like it had been slept in. “So, what you wanna know?”
He looked so different without the yellow contacts, horns, and claws. So … normal. I studied him further. Actually, he looked sad and tired. The tension left my body as he slumped into a chair opposite of me.
“I'm just going to jump right into this.” As I wrote down his name and hotel room number at the top of the pad, I noticed a few tennis rackets and clear, plastic tubes of balls in the corner. The gear was black and fluorescent green and marked with the emblem of an expensive sporting good company. “You play tennis?”
“Look, can you just get to the point?” He crossed his legs, one knee poking out through a tear.
“Okay. Did you know Mr. Olsen?”
He cocked his head, scanning my face.
“Sure. Anyone that plays computer games does.”
“Did you know him outside of the gaming world?” I tried to keep my breathing even and my tone casual as I doodled on the pad.
He sighed. The silence grew between us. I gripped the pencil tighter, determined not to make eye contact. Just give him some time.
Finally, he uncrossed his legs with a thump and leaned forward. I hazarded a quick glance. His head was in his hands, his fingers making his hair stand on end. He let out a long groan, and the mumbled out, “The police are going to find out sooner or later, but yeah. He's my dad.”
My mouth dropped open. I’d thought maybe an employee, or that he worked for the competition … but dad?
He looked up then, his eyes rimmed in red.
My heart squeezed. The grief I’d expected to see with Mrs. Olsen, I was seeing right here.
“Mr. James … Caleb. I'm so sorry, I had no clue.” The breath felt sucked out of my lungs. Here I was thinking I could sort something out, and instead I was stomping all over someone’s most painful time.
He sighed again and sat up, his hair sticking out in all different directions. The light from the window fell across his face, sharply defining it in half. “It's fine. We weren't really close, and I don't exactly get along with my step-mother.”
I wanted to reach out, to touch him, give him a hug even, but it felt too awkward.
He shrugged and looked back. “Is there anything else?”
I licked my bottom lip and glanced at my notebook, not sure how to proceed next. Maybe I should see if he wanted to stay another night free of charge? I opened my mouth to ask the question when the room’s door beeped and swung open.
Chapter 7
A young woman walked into the suite, wearing a short white skirt and tennis shoes. Behind her was a similarly dressed man.
“So, what do you have to teach me in here?” she laughed as her fingers trailed down his arm.
Caleb cleared his throat.
Both the man and woman jumped with surprised expressions. The young man shrugged off her hand with a nervous grin. “Just let me grab some rackets.” He walked over with a curious look at Caleb and picked up the two rackets leaning against the wall. He hesitated a moment as if he was going to ask something, his eyes nervously darting towards me. Bouncing the rackets against his leg, he stared at his friend for a second, and then said, “I’m just going to give Miss Cooper a lesson. You still up for that thing later?”
Caleb gave him a quick nod.
Okay then.
“All right, buddy. See you then.” He nodded at me and turned back to the girl at the door. Gathering her waist with his arm, he ushered her out and pulled the door closed behind him.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Look, you said you had questions for me. I’ve answered them. Are we done now?”
Part of me wanted to say yes, we’re done. After all, I was intruding in every bad way all over his grief. But, at the same time, I was picking up on all sorts of warning flags. The room was rented for a single occupant, but that guy had a key. I couldn’t leave without knowing who he was.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, picking up my notebook. I tapped my pen against it a few times. “But I really need to know who that was.”
“A friend, okay?”
“He had your room key.”
“Yeah? So?” He crossed his arms with his brows lowered.
“Mr. James, I just need to know why an unregistered guest is staying at the hotel. That’s it. It’s no big deal.”
He looked at me then, and his lip curled in a slow smirk. “You’re the manager here, and you don’t know who he is? What kind of horse and pony show is this anyway? I’m done here.” He jerked his head towards the door.
His words, along with the smug expression he gave me stung a bit. It was as if I’d plummeted in his esteem. Who was he to judge me? And why?
Calm down. He’s grieving the loss of his dad.
I stood up and held out my hand. “Thank you for your time. On behalf of the Oceanside Hotel, if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”
He glanced at my hand like it was a dead rodent and I thought for a moment he was going to spurn the offer. But slowly, he took it and gave it a brief shake.
Shoulders back, I walked confidently to the door, even though my insides quaked at how the interview had turned out.
The way he’d looked at me as if I should recognize the second guy … what was it that I didn’t know?
Pondering that, I headed back down to my suite. Momma was asleep in front of the TV, her feet up on the recliner. One slipper had fallen off, and her foot looked cold. I smiled and grabbed the afghan off the couch and tucked it around her.
Such a precious woman. I’d moved here to rescue Momma from the rotting trailer she’d been living in after she lost the house that she and Dad owned their entire lives. Dad had been sick so long … the medical bills ate up what was needed to pay for taxes. I’d found out too late that they’d refinanced, hoping to recoup some of the money. The loan had a balloon payment that was due the year after Daddy had died.
Life. You spent all of it trying to make a home, only to have it taken away at the worst possible moment.
She was with me now, and I was determined to make her golden years as happy as possible. Momma loved it here at the hotel. The staff adored her and kept her in the loop of all the gossip. She had her dog, her stories, and a microwave to create disasters. I had to make this work.
I sat at my computer and saw the W
ord document I was working on at the bottom waiting for me to work on it. I clicked to open the folder, and the title of my story jumped out at me. The Clock Strikes Twice. I scrolled to the bottom where the last thing I wrote was labeled “Chapter Eight.”
The cursor blinked at me, waiting, almost mocking me as if saying, “What? No words today?”
Momma snorted in her sleep. I reached into my drawer for one of my peppermints and stuck one in my mouth. So many theories. I could totally put them in here Sucking on the candy, I started to type.
The widow stared down at the coffin. A small smile played on her lips, but she wasn’t worried about being seen because of the black veil that covered her face. She looked at the grave attendant and spoke quietly. “Shut the lid.”
An hour and twenty minutes later, I finally looked up, feeling flushed from the creative journey. There. Finished. I reread the words and smiled. Right now, they felt like good words. I knew that the next time I read them, those same words would betray me and turn themselves into pedantic gobbledygook. I’d feel like the worst writer ever, but for now, they were magic.
Bingo nudged my leg and jerked me from my introspection.
“Hey, big guy. You want to go for a walk?” I reached down to scratch his neck. The Basset swung his heavy head up at me and blinked droopy eyes. Then he waddled to the door.
I tiptoed past Momma, who giggled in her sleep. Okay, then, funny lady.
I grabbed the leash and clicked it on Bingo’s collar, and we left by the sliding door.
Bingo held his head high in new-found enthusiasm as we walked along the patio and around the hotel path. I was surprised to see the sun had sunk so low on the horizon. We followed the path down to a sidewalk that led to the “Park for Pups” area. Bingo was already speeding up in anticipation of the dog park.
My eyes were drawn to a large hedge to the left that covered the view of the pool. From that direction came the subtle splashes of someone taking an early evening swim.
Wait a minute. Someone was in the pool? Did that mean the police had cleared it?