Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, LL

  Doug sauntered up, interrupting my musings. He set an empty beer bottle on the bar. "Got any more?"

  "Sure." I handed him another bottle, realizing his appearance gave me a conversation opener. "The other night you scored some weed," I said, lowering my voice. "Local connection?"

  His grip tightened on the bottle. "Why'd you ask?"

  I proffered my glass of soda. "I can't drink and my lady's in the hospital. I'm just looking to ease the pain. Where I can get some?"

  His smile was sly. "The guy in the kitchen. Good stuff; grows it himself."

  My stomach tensed: Adam. I faked a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."

  "No problem." He headed back toward the game room.

  In an effort to disguise my agitation, I wandered to the eats table. Not that I was the least bit hungry after our Chinese feast, but studying the leftovers gave me something to do, and an opportunity to eavesdrop.

  Richard was talking with Fred Andolina when Alyssa moved to stand beside him. I popped a shrimp into my mouth, hoping I didn't look as jittery as I felt. Alyssa stared intently at my brother and, unnerved, Fred finally turned away.

  "Dr. Alpert, I have a problem and I was wondering if you could help me."

  Richard turned his full attention to her. "Of course."

  She bit her lip, looking concerned. "I have this recurring pain—in my chest."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, it's—" she took his hand, placing it on her left breast, "right here."

  Richard's gaze wandered over to me with a look that said I told you so.

  Doug erupted from the corner. "Hey!"

  Richard pulled his hand away.

  Doug shoved his way through the crowd, looking ready to kill. "What the hell are you doing to my girl?"

  Alyssa looked embarrassed, although not for herself or Richard. "Oh, Doug, grow up. He's a doctor.”

  "Oh, yeah? Well, I'll bet he isn't even licensed to practice medicine in Vermont.”

  Maybe Doug had more upstairs than I'd given him credit for.

  Richard forced a smile. "I suggest you see your own doctor to talk about this problem. I'm sure he or she will be able to advise you better than me. If you'll excuse me." He crossed the room, heading for the bar, where he filled his glass with ice and poured himself a generous scotch.

  I ambled over to join him and nodded toward the bimbo, who continued to argue with her boyfriend.

  Richard eyed me, still shaken by the encounter, and took a swallow of his drink. "I told you, this kind of thing happens to me all the time at cocktail parties."

  "What does Brenda think about that?"

  He took another long pull before answering. "How do you think I met her?"

  Incredulous, I could only blink.

  Finally a smile cracked his serious expression. "I'm kidding."

  "Don't let Brenda or Maggie hear you kid like that."

  "I suspect Alyssa's boyfriend hasn't been paying enough attention to her and she chose me as a way to get it." The two were still quarreling, and I'd bet that after leaving the party they'd make up—in bed.

  Someone tapped my shoulder: Ted Palmer. "Hey, man. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your girlfriend getting hurt." His expression was earnest. Of all the guests, he'd been the only one to mention Maggie's near-fatal accident. Somehow, he didn't seem the type.

  "Thanks."

  "Is she going to be all right?"

  "I think so."

  "No matter what Sgt. Beach thinks, I wanted you to know I wasn't responsible."

  A heaviness began to creep across my chest. "I beg your pardon."

  "I mean, I made a mistake—but that was a long time ago. I don't make a habit of hot-wiring cars and causing accidents."

  I struggled to keep my voice level. "You got caught joyriding?"

  "Maybe I was a wild kid, but that was over ten years ago. I've never been in trouble with the law since. I swear, not even a parking ticket."

  I made a mental note to ask Beach about that little incident, but put on my best poker face. "Thanks for leveling with me." I took a sip of Coke, knowing it wouldn't help steady my jagged nerves. I cleared my throat: time to go into my act. "How did you and Laura meet?"

  He seemed glad to change the subject. "We were guests at a wedding reception at the local country club. I'm the tennis pro. I was a friend of the groom, Laura was a friend of the bride's mother. We were seated at the same table and things just clicked between us." He glanced at Laura across the room. "Something weird is going on with her since we came here, though. She's not the same person. One of the things that drew me to her was her confidence. This Eileen person's death really shook her."

  "Were they friends?"

  "They worked together a long time ago—at some magazine in New York." He shook his head. "She's usually great in bed—but now she cries herself to sleep."

  "It's been a stressful weekend," I said.

  "Yeah, but this started before Ms. Marshall was murdered.”

  I looked at Laura and suddenly realized her snobbish behavior was only a mask to hide her fear. It rolled off her in waves. I needed an excuse to touch her to see what else I could get.

  Ted's beer glass was empty. "Can I get you another?"

  "I'll get it." He stepped behind the bar.

  Across the room, Laura was thumbing through a book. I grabbed the half empty-tray of canapés and made a beeline for her.

  "Would you care for one?" I asked, shoving the tray under her nose.

  She looked up, startled. "No, thank you."

  "They're very good."

  "I don't care for any.”

  I set the tray on the cocktail table and sat beside her on the loveseat. "Great party, huh?"

  She drew back, annoyed. "I suppose it would be if I didn't feel like a prisoner here."

  "Well, a murder was committed. And there's a good chance one of us did it."

  Laura shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to think about it."

  "It'll be okay," I told her.

  "You mean about Eileen?"

  "Yes."

  "It never was before," she said, bitterness tingeing her voice. "She always took. She tried to ruin my life—twice—and God help me, I'm not sorry she's dead." A sudden look of panic entered here eyes. She'd said far too much.

  She was about to bolt. There had to be some way I could touch her without it looking too obvious. I glanced around. A stack of old postcards sat on the table next to her. "Would you hand me those.”

  Stupid move. I'd witnessed her pain, ignored it, and looked like an insensitive clod. Yet she picked up the cards. I made my move—clasping her fingers as I took them from her. She snatched back her hand, glared at me.

  I'd gotten nothing, but to cover my move, I flipped through the cards. "Susan has some interesting things lying around. I understand most of it's for sale, too."

  "Yes. If you'll excuse me—" She stood, and went to stand next to Ted, whispering in his ear. He frowned, irritated, but followed her as she headed for the stairs. Good night, lovers. Damn. I stared after her, wondering what my next move should be.

  Richard conversed with Susan at the bar. She didn't easily mingle with her guests, staying on the fringes of the crowd. Zack was better with public relations while she tended to the business end of the operation. With their conversation finished, she gave Richard a half-smile, turned and headed back into her kitchen.

  My glass was nearly empty. I wandered over to the bar and topped up my Coke. Footfalls on the stairs caught my attention, and I twisted to see a slender pair of legs come into view.

  "Who's that?" Richard whispered.

  "A reporter. She came by on Saturday, just before you arrived." The woman approached us. "Her name's Ashley—"

  "Samuels," she said by way of introduction, holding out her hand for Richard. He shook it.

  "This is Dr. Richard Alpert," I said.

  She raised an eyebrow, as though she'd recognized the name. "Nice to meet you." Then
she turned to me, holding out her hand. I hesitated. I really didn't want to touch her, and shaking her hand might just unleash a flood of information I didn't want to know.

  She grabbed my hand and a jolt went through me, the nausea briefly returning. Her expression mirrored her surprise. "Whoa! Static electricity."

  I retrieved my hand. As expected, I'd gotten a number of impressions. Although ambitious, I got the feeling she was basically an honest person. Score one for the good guys.

  As if on cue, Susan reappeared. "I'm sorry, Miss Samuels, but this is a private party. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to—"

  "It's okay," Richard interrupted smoothly, directing all his charm toward the reporter. "We're just getting to know one another."

  Susan's cheeks flushed at his mild rebuke, but she nodded curtly, and made a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.

  "Is this your party?" Ashley asked, sizing up what remained of the food on the side table.

  Richard shook his head. "Just a little icebreaker."

  "Why now?" She moved around him, reached for one of the puff pastry canapés, and popped it into her mouth.

  "It's been a little uncomfortable for all the guests these last few days," Richard said politely.

  "If nothing else, it gives us one pleasant memory to take away from this god-awful weekend," I suggested.

  Ashley chose another appetizer. "I did a little research on you.”

  "Me?" Richard asked.

  "Both of you. Interesting little escapade you were involved in last winter—and again in June."

  My stomach knotted.

  Richard's smile evaporated. "I don't consider being shot an escapade."

  "Do you get involved in murder on a regular basis, Mr. Resnick?"

  "I haven't made it a hobby. How'd you find out about that?" I was referring, of course, to the murder last March back in Buffalo and the death of the guy who held my job before me. After my skull was fractured during the mugging, I'd been plagued with visions of a violent death, and felt compelled to find the killer. It wasn't something I'd enjoyed at the time, especially when the killer came after me with a gun, shot and missed—hitting Richard instead. I wasn't yet over that guilt trip. The same went for looking into Walt Kaplan’s death.

  Ashley smiled sweetly. "Thanks to Google, there are very few secrets left in this world."

  "It's not a secret, just not something I like to go around broadcasting." I looked around the room, lowered my voice. "Let's not spread these little tales around the inn, either. Nobody here knows Richard and I are related, and we'd like to keep it that way."

  Her smile was coy. She took another canapé, popped it into her mouth then licked her fingers with delight. "The Buffalo News never really said how you became involved in either of those cases. Just that you were involved." She waited expectantly, as though she actually believed I'd spill my guts.

  I stared at her, hoping my calculated, vacant expression would be answer enough.

  It wasn't.

  "So?" she prompted.

  "It's not something I care to discuss," Richard said and turned away, probably wishing he'd let Susan throw the reporter out.

  Ashley still expected an answer.

  "Look, that's history. I'd much rather talk about the present. Why don't you tell me what you've learned about Eileen Marshall?"

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Then perhaps we could trade information."

  "So you are playing amateur sleuth."

  "No. I just happen to be very nosy."

  "A holdover from when you were an insurance investigator?"

  She had dug deeply into my past.

  "Maybe."

  She looked smug. "What do you want to know?"

  "Where was Eileen the morning before she was murdered?"

  "What have you got to offer?"

  Her game of cat and mouse was irritating. "Nothing, I guess." I turned away.

  "Wait." She studied my face. "She was visiting a lawyer in Waterbury."

  "A lawyer?"

  "Yes. Unfortunately, the man refuses to divulge why Ms. Marshall was there."

  I thought about it. "How did Eileen get to Stowe? Did she drive up from Long Island?"

  "She flew in to Morrisville and rented a car locally. Look, I can't believe any of this is of use to you."

  "It helps fill in the gaps."

  She looked at me quizzically. "What gaps?"

  "Like I said—I'm just nosy. Like you?"

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "Why else would you be a reporter?" I added.

  She forced a smile.

  "And you've got bigger ambitions than Burlington. What's next? Albany?"

  "Boston. Then New York or Miami."

  "Big-stakes towns. Take my advice—stay in Vermont. It's not as glamorous, but—"

  "Safer? It wasn’t for Eileen Marshall."

  I shrugged. "Touché."

  She took one last canapé and wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin. "It’s time for me to get back to work."

  I watched as she scanned the guests, then homed in on the DuBois couple. I glanced around and saw Kay Andolina sitting alone in the farthest corner of the barroom, leafing though a magazine. It was time for me to go back to work, too.

  I picked up the tray of shrimp wrapped in bacon and walked over to her. "Would you care for one?"

  She looked up at me. "No, thank you, Greg."

  "Jeff," I said automatically. She seemed puzzled. "I'm Jeffrey, not Greg."

  Kay's eyes filled with tears and she looked away. I put the tray down on the cocktail table and sat in the chair opposite her.

  "Please don't cry."

  She cleared her throat, wiped her nose, and braved a smile. "I ... I understand you were in a car accident last night? I hope you're all right."

  "Yes. But Maggie's still in the hospital—"

  "You really should be more careful," she said, cutting me off. She didn't like Maggie. I suppose it didn't matter why, but it irked me. And yet, I got a strong impression that she felt some kind of attraction to me.

  "Those mountain roads can be treacherous in the rain," she cautioned.

  "Yes, they can.”

  She put the magazine down on the stack on the coffee table, a distracted, far-away look in her eyes.

  "They said you found me when I fell down the stairs the other night. Are you a nurse?"

  Her expression brightened. "Heavens, no. But I was the first-aid person at my old job."

  "Where was that?"

  "Burns Tool and Die in Troy, New York. I was the bookkeeper, but I volunteered for the first-aid position. I like to help people. The men weren't often careless, but occasionally someone would get his hand caught in one of the machines."

  "That would be me. I'm not good with tools."

  "It's lucky the angels protect you."

  I blinked at her. "Angels?"

  "Oh, yes. That's why you were spared in the accident."

  "Spared?"

  "Of course. You have work to do."

  "What kind of work?"

  She smiled kindly, leaned close and pressed a finger against my lips. "Listen."

  Every muscle in my body tensed. "To what?"

  "Listen," she repeated enigmatically.

  Obviously I'd completely misjudged her: she wasn't a bitch—she was stark raving crazy. Still, she had information I wanted.

  "What did Eileen Marshall say that upset you the other night?"

  Her gaze dipped. "I don't like to speak ill of the dead."

  "It can't hurt her now."

  She thought it over, then stared into my eyes, as though she could look directly into my soul.

  "She asked me.... This is very embarrassing." She looked away to compose herself. "She asked me what I thought of a woman who'd have sex with a child."

  That made no sense. "Did you tell the police about it?"

  "Yes," she admitted. "I felt it was my duty." Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled a tissue from a
pocket and dabbed at her nose. "A woman who'd hurt a child doesn't deserve to live."

  Silence seemed the best reply to that.

  "I ... I didn't know Ms. Marshall well enough to judge her," she continued. "But too much drink loosens the tongue. She—she was rude to me. I suppose I overreacted. I certainly didn't mean for her to die."

  I stared at her for a moment, then realized what it was she was saying. "It wasn't your fault she died."

  "If I hadn't complained to Mrs. Dawson, maybe—"

  "Mrs. Andolina, Eileen Marshall was murdered."

  She shook her head violently. "No. It's my fault." This time the tears overflowed.

  I reached over and gently touched her shoulder. The depth of her sadness made me catch my breath. I pulled my hand back. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. Then she smiled at me and patted my hand affectionately. "You never upset me, son. Never." She looked over to her husband across the way. "Fred?"

  He was at her side in seconds. "Yes, dear?"

  "I'm really very tired." She turned back to me, and her smile was beatific. "Thank you, Greg.”

  Fred's eyes darted to her, his gaze filled with surprise and pain.

  Kay squeezed my hand. "Good night." She rose from her chair, took her husband's arm. They paused at the bar to express their thanks to Susan for the party, then started upstairs.

  Frustrated, I sat back in my chair

  Who the hell was Greg?

  After the Andolinas went upstairs, Sgt. Beach made his way down. I intercepted him at the bottom of the steps. "What brings you here?"

  "I just wanted to speak with several of the guests. If you'll excuse me." He turned for the game room and headed for the DuBois.

  Susan picked up an empty tray and returned to the kitchen.

  Richard turned to me. "Looks like things are breaking up. Did you get what you need upstairs?"

  "We'll talk later." I nodded toward Beach. "What do you think he wants?"

  We glanced across the room. Michele smiled at her husband and hugged him, looking relieved.

  "I'd say they just got the okay to go home. Scratch two suspects," Richard said.

  "Narrowing the field doesn't bother me a bit." I turned back to the bar, topping off my cola. My head felt like it was about to split. "I have to give up shaking hands."