Origami, Odium and Old Sins (Paper Crafts Club Mystery Book 7)

by Emily Selby

  'I'll check it with McBride,' Chris replied, jotting down in his notebook again. 'You're right. She'd only worked in the hotel since December last year, which makes about three months. A bit of a leap of faith on McBride's part.'

  'Agreed. But I thought the hotel needed another night auditor, Amanda was willing to learn, so Mr McBride let her do it.'

  'Maybe Ellen didn't like the fact that her father trusted Amanda with so many things despite her being a fairly new employee?' Chris suggested.

  'That would make sense,' Katie replied, 'but why would he trust Amanda if she wasn't trustworthy?'

  'Because he liked her...' Chris said, watching her carefully.

  Katie jerked her chin. 'Are you implying something?' she asked a little more sharply than she intended to.

  'Maybe...' Chris drawled. 'She was a pretty girl, wasn't she? And McBride likes pretty girls, or so I've been told.'

  Katie stifled an urge to protest. Not that she wanted to defend Mr McBride. She had seen him being extra nice to some of his female employees, but not to others, but somehow Chris’ comment didn't ring true. 'No, not with Amanda. I don't think so.' She paused. This was actually strange, because, if Mr McBride "liked pretty girls" as Chris said, which Katie agreed with, then why wasn't he acting that way towards Amanda or Katie?

  Was there anything in their past? Who could she ask? Linda hadn't mentioned anything...

  'Katie?' Chris' voice cut through her musings.

  'Yes?' she replied. 'Did you say something?'

  'I did - something else I think I might have misunderstood,' Chris said, watching her from over his notebook. 'I'd better go back to McBride and report to Heaton. He won't like it...' he added muttering.

  'What comment?'

  'At the time I thought he just got it wrong and then corrected himself. But now, I'm questioning it. Before he told me Amanda's passport was nearly out of date, he said he’d found something wrong with her ID. Then he changed the subject and told me about her passport. I assumed the passport was the ID. But now I'm wondering if they were two different documents.'

  'Did you find any other ID among Amanda's affairs?'

  Chris reached and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. He studied it for a while. 'No. Not even a driving licence, which is strange. She did drive, didn't she?'

  Katie looked away, reviewing her memories of Amanda. 'Actually, I don't recall ever seeing her drive. She walked, biked, and used public transport, but I never saw her drive.'

  'Interesting,' Chris muttered again. 'I'd better give Heaton a call.'

  Chris grabbed the phone. Katie took the cue and retreated to her office. She had her own little investigation to complete as well.

  10

  Katie stared at her mobile, scrolling through the list of contacts. Calling Linda McKay again was the obvious choice, but was unlikely to result in any more information now. Definitely, not without raising suspicions. No, Linda was not the right choice of extra information on Alistair McBride.

  But what about Dorothy? Her friend, Dorothy Ravencroft, might have not been in the same social circles as the hotel owner, but she did know a lot and rarely spread gossip.

  Katie tapped Dorothy's number.

  'Hi Katie, what can I do for you, dear?'

  'I need to pick your brain.'

  'What about?' Dorothy sounded intrigued, which was a good sign.

  'Who about,' Katie corrected. 'Mr McBride.'

  Dorothy hesitated. 'What's this in regards to?' she asked seriously.

  Katie couldn't really say it was related to Amanda's death, because it might have had absolutely no connection and it didn't feel right to make any sort of insinuation.

  'Something at the hotel, his behaviour towards women.'

  'Has he made any nasty comments to you? Or harassed you?' Dorothy's voice lowered to a whisper.

  Katie pricked her ears. Harassed? That was a strong word. Dorothy never jumped to conclusions without evidence.

  'No. Nothing of that calibre. Why would you think this might be the case?'

  Dorothy inhaled sharply. 'I might have gone a little too far, sorry,' she said, still in a quiet voice. 'I'll call you in a couple of minutes, okay?'

  Katie disconnected, her mind buzzing. Mr McBride harassing women? An image of a house keeper, a petite but quite flamboyant Eastern European fluttering her eyelashes at him popped up in her mind. But she might have initiated the interaction. Katie had seen the girl chatting up the chef.

  But there was another one - the other receptionist, interestingly, also quite colourful and loud. And pretty - in a dark and moody way. Kayla was her name. Mr McBride always had a smile for her, and she'd never missed an opportunity to say something to him, usually about how the guests were happy about her service. Katie always assumed Kayla was just trying to present herself in the best light. But now, with Dorothy's comment, a memory of Ellen's face growing dark and furious when she saw her dad giggling with Kayla the other day joined the others in Katie's mind.

  Ah! How come she hadn't noticed this before? Maybe she’d been too preoccupied with two jobs, Julia and her own romantic life.

  The ringtone brought her back into the present.

  'Sorry about that, Katie,' Dorothy opened. 'I just needed some time to organise my thoughts and go somewhere private.'

  'Why do you even think he's capable of that?'

  'Don't get me wrong. I'm not implying he's nasty towards women, but you see... he's always liked women. A little too much at times. I was quite surprised when the McBrides decided to go back into hospitality with their own business. Back in the eighties, Moira and Alistair used to run a small guesthouse in the Lake District. Then something happened, and they moved to Sunnyvale. That must have been in 1991 or 1992, before Joe, you know - my now ex-husband, and I emigrated to Italy. Alistair took a job in the retirement village as a property manager.'

  'Was there something wrong with the Lake District guesthouse?'

  'I don't think so. They left someone in charge and carried on with it until a couple of years ago, when they sold the guesthouse to buy the Sunny Corner Hotel. But when they first moved here, letters kept coming, addressed to him. And shortly after they started arriving, Alistair came in and asked me to put them aside for him, so that he could collect them. I guessed, without his wife knowing.'

  'Moira didn't know about the letters?'

  'I think she did, which was why he wanted me to put them aside for him. He worked, and Moira was at home. I'm sure she quickly realised what those letters were.'

  'And what were they?'

  'Love letters, I think. Written on those perfumed papers. Plain envelopes, but you could smell the perfume through them. I think he had an affair back in the Lake District, which was why they moved here.'

  'So Moira could keep him on the straight and narrow,' Katie said. Suddenly, Linda's comment about Moira keeping her husband "on the straight and narrow" took on a new meaning, definitely different from politics. 'Did Linda know about the affair as well?

  'I think so.'

  'When did the letters stop coming?' Katie asked.

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone. 'I can't remember, but I vaguely recall a Christmas when he came to buy a big box, like people need for Christmas presents, but he never sent a parcel to match it. I thought that was unusual, and wondered whether he planned on posting the big parcel, but something happened...'

  'Or he posted it from somewhere else, to stop the Sunnyvale gossip-mongers.' Katie cut in.

  'Yes, that might well have been the case,' Dorothy said, thoughtfully. 'The only letters he posted back to Lake District looked like business letters and were addressed to the manager of the guesthouse who was a man with the same surname, so I assumed McBride’s father or brother.'

  'Did you ever notice where the love letters came from?'

  'From different locations, but always around Windermere. Their guesthouse was somewhere around there as well.'

  Katie chewed on her c
heek. Even if Mr McBride had had an affair thirty years ago, what relevance did it bear today, to Amanda's death in particular? Unless, he had an affair with Amanda, who threatened him to tell Moira and then...

  Katie shuddered.

  It sounded ludicrous... Mr McBride wasn't a killer type. Yes, he was an unpleasant, abrupt person, but not a killer.

  'Katie?' A note of urgency crept into Dorothy's voice.

  'Yes?' Bother, she'd drifted into her own thoughts again, missing her interlocutor's comment.

  'I was just asking why you're asking all these questions. Is it to do with the death of that poor girl? Do you think Alistair might have driven her into an early grave?'

  'No, nothing like that. It’s just that he hasn't paid me yet,' Katie said automatically. 'I'm just trying to collect some information on him.'

  'That's not what I've asked,' Dorothy said severely. 'You know you can't pull wool over my eyes, Katie...'

  Katie stifled a sigh. Dorothy knew things, and Katie knew she could keep a secret. 'It seems that someone might have driven Amanda to an early death, and I have to figure out who it was. She was a good person. Such a young life, so much potential. It's just not fair,' Katie replied, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking again.

  'I'm sorry for your loss, Katie. I'm aware you two got on quite well. I've read in the local paper that the police are asking for anyone who might know anything to do with her death to come forward. Your lovely inspector was on the local radio as well. Hopefully, this will help.'

  Ah, so that was where Jack was this morning!

  She needed to talk to him as soon as he was back.

  About what?

  Her shoulders dropped. Apart from some ancient gossip, she had nothing useful to report, and that was definitely not enough.

  11

  The moment Katie put down her mobile and turned to her computer with a firm decision to get on with her day job, the reception bell rang. She ignored it at first, but when the sound cut through the silence again, she stood and walked into the staffroom, which was empty, and the screen feeding the CCTV from the reception area showed a man pacing.

  Katie opened the door to reception.

  'Good morning, how can I help?' she asked the visitor.

  In two quick steps the man approached the counter. He unzipped his jacket and pulled a newspaper from the inside pocket and opened it to an inside page.

  'Here,' he said, his voice tense, his pale face glistening. 'You say you're looking for people who can help you,' he added, jabbing the paper with his index finger.

  Katie watched the stranger carefully. His dark hair looked a little greasy, his eyes were puffed up with circles underneath. She glanced at the place he was pointing at.

  'Is it in relation to Amanda Jones' death?' she asked.

  'Amanda, yes,' he croaked. 'Jones was her unmarried name.'

  Katie's heart flipped. 'Maiden name?'

  'The name before marriage is maiden name, right?' he asked, his accent foreign.

  'That's right, sir. I didn't know she was married.' Katie ran a tongue around her dry mouth.

  Nobody knew.

  'Yes. I'm her husband. My name is...' he said something that Katie's shocked brain refused to recognise. She pulled the visitors' book from under the counter.

  'Can you sign the book, please?' she pushed it towards him. 'Would you like to talk to the inspector or the sergeant in charge of the case?' she asked.

  Yeah, but, where were they?

  'I want to talk to a policeman in charge of the case, yes,' the man said, writing his name.

  Waldemar Rychter - the entry read. German?

  'Mr... erh, Ry-'

  'Rychter,' he corrected her pronunciation. Katie repeated twice to make sure she got it right.

  'Both police officers in charge are currently out of the office. Can you wait?'

  'Yes,' he replied and heaved a sigh. He leant on the counter, covering his face with his hands. 'I don't know what to do. She's dead. I don't know why she's dead. I was there.'

  Katie edged closer. She didn't want to miss anything.

  'Were you at the hotel when she died?' she asked.

  'Yes. I was in the backyard. I came to talk to her,' he said, his face still covered with his hands.

  'Was it on Monday, the day she died?' she checked.

  'Yes. In the morning. First, I came in about 11.45 am and she was talking to someone with an angry voice. It was a man's voice. She was calm.'

  Amanda had an argument with a man? Mr McBride?

  'Did you hear what they said?'

  'Not much. My English is not that good. He said that Amanda does something illegal.'

  Katie's heart flipped. Illegal?

  'Where were they at the time?'

  'What?'

  'When you heard them talking, you were at the reception desk?'

  'No. Wait,' he added, grabbed the pen and pulled a plane ticket from his pocket. He quickly drew a sketch. 'Here, I was here, and they were there,' he pointed at his drawing.

  'You came through the back door and heard them talking in the back room, the one behind the reception area?' Katie checked her understanding, pointing to the squares he jotted.

  'That is correct. Then I waited outside for a short while. I don't have her UK mobile number, so I rang reception a few times, but no one answered. So, I went inside again. But she wasn't in the back room. There was another room open, with a lot of towels and things like that,' he added, looking at her.

  'Clean linen storage,' she offered.

  'That one, yes. So, I checked it and she was not there either.'

  'What time was that?'

  '12 o'clock, I think. I thought maybe she went out for lunch. So, I left and came back one hour later. She wasn't in the back room, but the door to the storage was closed. I thought I could hear something inside, but I did not enter. I swear I did not enter,' he added eagerly, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Katie noticed a wedding band.

  'I went outside. A big car came,' he said.

  'A white van?' Katie prompted.

  'Yes. Two men took things from the... white van. And then I went to see Amanda again. She wasn't in the back room, so I went to check that storage room and... and...' Rychter's voice broke. His face twitched. A tear rolled down his cheek. He pulled a tissue from a pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  'I am sorry,' he said through the tears.

  'No problem, it must have been a shock discovering your wife's body,' Katie said soothingly. Her mind was revving. The man was there when Amanda was shot!

  'It was,' he croaked. 'I did not kill her. This, I swear.'

  'I worked with your wife, at the hotel reception. Amanda was well liked, easy to get on with,' Katie said. 'I learnt interesting things from her. She was quite generous, but a little... private, too. Was she like that at home?'

  'Private?' Mr Rychter's eyes widened.

  'She rarely spoke about herself,' Katie added promptly.

  'Yes. I always felt she had some secrets and did not want to talk about them,' he said, his face tensing.

  'Do you have any contact with her family?' Katie pushed on. 'Her mother maybe? Or her siblings?'

  'No, I do not have any contact details for any of her friends or family, I'm sorry. She was an only child. She did not know her father, and she rarely spoke with her mother. I have never met her mother, only talked to her on Skype once, just before the wedding.'

  Mr Rychter hunched over, his shoulders trembled. Katie could foresee another wave of sobs coming. She clasped her hands. 'Would you like a drink? A glass of water or a cup of tea maybe?'

  'Water please,' he said breathing heavily.

  'Please, sit over there,' Katie pointed to the chairs opposite the counter. 'I'll be back in a minute.' She made a step towards the doorway to the staffroom when a sudden thought stopped her.

  'Did Amanda's mother come to your wedding?'

  'No. I tried to convince Amanda to even send her mother an invitation,
but Amanda said it would be a waste of time and money. Her mother was too ill to come.'

  'Was she?' Katie asked.

  Amanda's husband lifted his head and looked at Katie. Even from the distance she could see the circles under his eyes and red blotches on his neck.

  'When we talked on Skype, her mother wasn't interested in her daughter or the wedding,' he said in a strange, wooden voice. 'She just complained about her own poor health in quite a dramatic way. Amanda ended the conversation quickly. I felt Amanda did not want her mother to come. She made a comment about her mother being too dramatic. But we told my family she couldn't come because she was too ill and lived too far away.'

  'Do you happen to know Amanda's mother address in New Zealand?'

  'No,' the man replied. 'I don't even know her name, to be frank. I think she remarried recently.'

  Rychter covered his face with his hands again. Katie hurried back to the staff office where she rang Jack's mobile and left him a message, telling him about Amanda's husband waiting in reception. She sent the same message to Chris, which ought to intrigue them enough to get them come running. Well, she hoped...

  She filled a paper cup with water and took it back to the reception. Rychter was sitting with his head in his hands.

  'Here's your drink,' she handed him the cup. He took his hands away from his face and looked at her. He'd been crying. He must have loved Amanda. Why didn't she ever mention she was married?

  'Your water.'

  'Thank you,' he replied taking the cup from her. He drained it in one go.

  'How long were you married?' she asked.

  'About three years. We lived in a small town, in Poland. She felt lonely. She couldn't speak Polish very well. I'm trying to get a job in a bigger town, so we can move there. She left me just after Christmas. She said she needed time to think about her life. She needed space.'

  'Are you separated?'

  'No,' he shook his head vigorously. 'Still married. I can't- I-I ... I came to convince her to come back. I need her...' his voice broke again, and he gulped.

  'I'm so sorry for your loss,' Katie said. 'Amanda was a friend of mine, you know? I'm Katie.'