by Dixie Davis
She shouldn’t just leave them sitting out, not with guests coming through here any minute. It wasn’t cold enough that the computer would be in any danger if she stuck it in her car’s trunk for now. Besides, she’d want to get these things back to Peggy as soon as she could.
Lori headed back in to apply her brain to the problem a little more, but her brain came up with a different problem first: she hadn’t emptied the dresser.
She marched back up the stairs, back to the Oak Island Room. She flipped the bed skirt up, revealing the smaller, black suitcase. Lori filled it with the clothes from the drawers, then closed it and unzipped the outside pocket to pack the same small items she’d seen on top of the dresser this morning: a manicure kit, a business card, two bottles of medication, a pack of cigarettes.
Wait — a single business card? She’d packed the whole room and there was still no sign of Howard’s beautiful silver case. Lori looked at the card closer. It was blank, except for 7-134 2ND written in blue ink.
7-134 2ND didn’t mean anything to her.
She hadn’t expected to find anything the police might find remotely interesting here. And really, she didn’t know if this was something they’d find interesting. It was just a cryptic code on the dresser of a couple who’d been murdered yesterday.
No, it was just a few numbers and letters.
Even though Lori knew she shouldn’t touch it and should call the police first, she could just see Chief Branson’s barely concealed impatience and instant dismissal if she were to drag him down here. Especially if this turned out to be absolutely nothing, like Nummy Donuts’ phone number or something.
She had to be sure this was really a clue before she called the police.
Careful to handle the card only by its edges, Lori turned the card over.
The name on the front read Clint Cooper.
Lori dropped it right away. Clint?
Her mind fell into a stunned stupor for a moment. As convinced as she was that he’d done it — or at least killed Howard — actually confirming it was still a shock.
But Clint had given her an alibi at dinner yesterday. He’d claimed he was asleep when Howard died, and the innkeeper could vouch for him coming to breakfast. He’d been with Lori about when Vera had died.
But what if . . . what if Clint had snuck out before breakfast and just made it look like he was coming down from his room? And what if he’d been late to dinner because he’d followed Vera onto the Salt Marsh Boardwalk — and pitched her in?
Could competition drive anyone that far?
Certainly. And it looked like that had happened twice.
Time to call the police.
Once she’d reported the find to Doris, the dispatcher on duty tonight, Lori set to pacing. Surely the chief would take her seriously now. Wouldn’t he? Or would he just take the evidence to appease her and then tell her to butt out again?
Before she could think better of it, Lori pulled out her phone again, this time to use the camera function. She snapped a photo of both sides of the card and set it back where she’d found it.
Chief Branson only took a few minutes to arrive at the Mayweather House. The chief followed Lori upstairs to the Oak Island Room, where he took a quick look around. “What did you touch?”
“For this investigation, or for fingerprint purposes?” Lori asked. She hadn’t watched all that CSI for nothing.
“Let’s start with fingerprint purposes.”
“Pretty much everything. It’s my B&B.”
Chief Branson closed his eyes, like that would cover the eye-roll, and nodded. “And for the investigation?”
“I just picked up this card.” Lori directed him over to the dresser and pointed to Clint’s business card with the 7-134 2ND still face up.
Chief Branson pulled a ziplock evidence bag from his pocket and picked up the card by the edges. He read off the front. “‘Clint Cooper, historic hospitality at Chalmers Charleston Inn.’ Charleston, huh?”
“He’s in town for InnCon, too, and he’s staying here in Dusky Cove. Or he was. Competitor of the Bughs’, and he’s mean about it, too.”
Chief Branson nodded slowly, sliding the card into the bag. “Okay, thanks. We’ll enter this into evidence.”
“Did you see the back?” Lori tried.
He turned the card’s bag around. “Seven one three four second.” Right away, the chief frowned like he’d realized something unpleasant.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He tucked the bag into his jacket pocket.
“No, what?”
The chief sighed. “One thirty-four Second Street is the address of the Riverboat.”
The motel where Howard had died? Surely this would convince the chief that Clint was worth looking into.
“You said he was staying here in town?” Chief Branson asked.
“Yes, at the Cape Inn. But Sara said he checked out.”
The chief nodded again. “All right, I’ll have a crime scene team down here sometime tomorrow — actually, probably not tomorrow. Monday.”
Somehow, his tone made Lori think that meant he’d have one beat cop come and take a glance, if that.
“What about the witness that Curtis found?”
“Curtis Hopkins?” The chief sighed. “You think he’s sharing his sources with me?”
Oh, that was probably taboo for a journalist, even if he was friends with Chief Branson. “He found an ear-witness and told him to go to you.”
The chief shrugged, holding out his hands as if he was helpless in this situation. “First I’ve heard of this.”
“Please,” Lori said. “I know you think you’ve got the case figured out, but what if a killer will go free because you’re wrong?”
Chief Branson’s eyebrows shot up. “Thanks for your input on how I should do my job, since I obviously didn’t get here on my own.”
“I didn’t say that —”
“We’re done here.”
The chief strode from the room. Lori buttoned her lips to show him out of the inn, holding back several very good rants about letting his pride get in the way of justice. Antagonizing him now definitely wouldn’t help her find justice for Howard and Vera’s murderer.
Lori closed the door behind him and rubbed her eyes. She’d done everything right — found concrete evidence, turned it over to the police — and yet she was still no closer to catching a killer.
Out of alternatives, the next morning, Lori found herself making the drive to Wilmington yet again. She felt silly spending all this time returning to InnCon when she couldn’t be sure to find anything new — and likely wouldn’t — but there was nothing left to investigate in Dusky Cove. Surely the police would go through Clint’s room, and surely Sara wouldn’t let Lori do the same, whose only official capacity was being a snoopy fellow innkeeper.
Still, someone at InnCon had to know something about Clint.
Lori pulled into the parking lot and glanced around. The session of the conference’s final day had already started, and the lot was nearly full. The exhibit hall would be busy today. Maybe that would give her a chance to find new people to talk to.
For the second time that morning, she dialed Clint’s number from her photo of his business card. And once again, it went to voice mail. She wasn’t sure what she should say if he did answer the phone, but she would keep trying.
Lori headed in and made her rounds again, checking with vendors who could predict her questions by now. No one had seen Clint that morning. No one remembered him saying anything about leaving early. No one knew any other way to get in touch with him.
After covering the west half of the room, Lori spotted Karl at the Carolina Clayworks table. Her heart practically leapt to see a familiar face, even if he hadn’t exactly liked Howard. At least he hadn’t disappeared on her too.
Lori wove through the tables to talk to Karl again. She approached just as two potential customers were walking away — perfect. Lori stepped up. “Hi, again
.”
“Back for that mug?”
“Um.” Lori glanced down at the table, but the blue gradient mug with rippled waves was missing. “Did you sell it?”
“My wife sold it yesterday. Sorry. But we do commissions.”
Lori nodded. Could the totally together African-American businesswoman she’d seen here yesterday be married to this biker/artisan man?
Stranger things had happened, and Lori was here on other business anyway. “You said you dated Peggy?”
“Much to Howard’s displeasure.” He grinned, the whole of his long beard shifting. “Better not let him catch you near me again.”
Lori frowned. “That isn’t funny.”
Karl’s bushy eyebrows slid up, wrinkling his brow almost to his shaved head. “It’s not?”
“Is that how you’d speak of the dead?”
Karl glanced around as if trying to check her facts. “What do you mean?”
“We talked about this the day before yesterday.”
He shook his head slowly.
“Howard has —” Lori’s voice caught suddenly.
“Has what?” Karl waited for her to finish like he didn’t dare complete the sentence himself.
“Passed away,” she managed.
“What? When? How?”
“Friday morning. We talked about this, how you didn’t care for how they’d announced his death?”
Karl frowned and shook his head again. “Wait, how’s Vera?”
“Um.” Lori wrung her hands. She hadn’t expected to have to tell someone the bad news. She’d thought all the vendors knew about Howard. She was lucky the police had contacted their Charleston counterparts to deliver the terrible news to Peggy. “Vera passed too, unfortunately.”
Karl sank back in his chair, blowing out a breath. “That’s — I can’t even imagine.” He shook his head. “Peggy and I dated for two years. They were like a second set of parents. Giving me grief about this —” He waved a hand at himself to indicate his appearance. “ — and all.”
Lori cursed herself for thinking she was lucky a minute ago. Definitely not lucky. “I’m so sorry. They were my friends, too.”
Karl nodded. “Rough for you, too, then. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to cry on my shoulder.”
“No, I was wondering if you knew much about how Howard and Clint Cooper got along.”
“Clint Cooper?” Karl cringed. “I hate that guy.”
Lori didn’t bother echoing the sentiment. “I’m worried he might have been involved in Howard’s death.” Without any direct evidence, she’d have to leave Vera’s death out of it for now.
“Really?” Karl lifted an eyebrow. “Because I heard they were looking to work together on something.”
It was Lori’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Working together? What kind of ‘something’?”
“I don’t know, I just — we were in the break room late Thursday, and Clint was saying they were working on something that would rock the InnCon world. I assumed it was, like, a new format of presenting the prospective innkeeper classes, online or something, but Clint wouldn’t say anything else. ‘For legal reasons,’ he kept saying.”
Legal reasons? What on earth did that mean? Another convention attendee walked up, browsing the pottery, and Lori lowered her voice. “Did anyone see you here Friday morning?”
“Yeah, I checked in with the convention registration — wait, are you thinking I did this?”
“No, no.” She rushed to change the subject. “Do you have any idea how I can get ahold of Clint?”
Karl scoffed and turned to his potential customer, effectively ending the conversation.
Clint thought they were going to work together after the way they’d treated each other Thursday. Was that why they were going to the Riverboat?
This was making less sense instead of more. Then again, in his email, Clint seemed to think they were going to work together, too. If only she could check for Howard’s reply — wait. She’d put his computer in her car last night.
Lori hurried back out to the parking lot and fetched the computer from the trunk of her car. She took it back inside and slipped into the back of a half-empty class on healthier breakfasts.
Hoping it had enough battery, she opened the computer and pulled up the email program. It stalled trying to check for emails. Of course she didn’t have wireless internet here. Attendees were supposed to have the password, but she hadn’t lugged her registration packet around since the first day.
Lori canceled the email check. She pulled up Clint’s email again and double-checked the time stamp. Sent Thursday, right about the time they’d left the conference.
Before or after their incident on the way out? It was close, but the time stamp seemed like it was after they’d left. She replayed her memory of those moments. Right when they’d reached the car, Howard had seen something on his phone and left her and Vera for a few minutes.
Could Clint have been so angry and embarrassed by their argument that he lured Howard back to the convention center to give him the business card that would lure him to his death?
This was getting ever more complex. That wasn’t a crime of passion anymore; the business card made it premeditated. But, then, wasn’t killing Vera premeditated as well? Had Clint planned this elaborate murder on this trip when the three of them lived in the same city?
If Clint didn’t do it, who did? The odds were impossible that a married couple was murdered by two different people on the same day, in a town that had had one murder in the last eight years, according to every active gossip out there. But why couldn’t Lori find a single suspect that had motive and opportunity to kill both Vera and Howard?
There had to be someone: someone she was overlooking.
There was no reply to Clint’s email, so Howard must have gone to talk to him or just called him. Lori opened the sent messages folder just in case the program didn’t realize his message was a reply.
There was no email to Clint there, either. Howard must have gone back in to talk to him. Maybe that was when he’d gotten the business card with the 7-134 2ND on it.
Lori scrolled through the names on the list, looking to see if any jumped out at her. Nothing seemed promising, nobody familiar or especially sinister.
She glanced at the subject lines. Three in a row had the same lines: “We need to talk — SCAM ALERT.”
Howard was alerting someone to scams? Lori opened one of the emails and scanned it:
Arnie, I want to talk to you about some problems we noticed with our online booking service. Are you coming to InnCon? Can you bring your booking records with you?
Another problematic booking service? Lori frowned. No wonder it’d been so difficult for her to find a legitimate one. It must have taken Howard and Vera years to find a good service at that rate. She searched Howard’s emails for a reply from Arnie and found one from this past Monday:
Yep, we’ll be at InnCon. What kind of problems? We can bring our records, no prob. Printout or soft copy?
Howard hadn’t sent another email to answer his question or to hint at the problems. Was it just bad luck that he’d left Bed and Bookingz for another bad service? Or were all of these sites problems?
Lori looked at Arnie’s reply again. His email signature, thankfully, listed his B&B’s name, the Cozy Cottage, and phone number.
What did people do before cell phones were invented? Lori dialed the number and hoped it was his cell phone as well. She slid the computer back into the bag and slipped into the hall before she hit the button to call.
“Arnie Porter,” he answered. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, Arnie, I’m Lori Keyes, a friend of Howard and Vera Bugh.”
“Oh, hello. What can I do for you?”
“Are you at InnCon today? I’m here, and I thought it might be easier to talk in person.”
Arnie hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said, drawing the single syllable out long enough to fill two or three beats.
L
ori pretended his answer didn’t smack of hesitation. “Great. And can you bring the information you were going to share with Howard?”
“Do you know any more about this? He hasn’t told me hardly anything.”
“Me neither, unfortunately.” With a little pang to her heart, Lori noted that Arnie hadn’t made the transition to past tense yet for Howard. “Can you meet me outside classroom 106?”
“Sure thing, give me five.”
Lori paced for five long minutes, but a tall, well-built man with thinning hair arrived right on time. “Are you Lori?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“Arnie.” He pulled a manila folder out of his bag and offered it to her. “Here’s the information for the last ten bookings we have through them.”
Lori opened the folder to find the first printout. No booking company logo or letterhead appeared, just the information: the room number, dates, prices, names — probably some private information Lori shouldn’t have access to, but there wasn’t any specific privacy law for hotel guests, and their payment information wasn’t on there.
Lori flipped through the pages. Nothing seemed particularly remarkable about each booking. The stays ranged from three to five days, different rooms, all in the last month.
“Any idea what this is about?” Arnie finally asked.
“None,” Lori said. “Have you looked at the rooms on the booking site?”
“Um, yes, back when we set it up. After that, you get a portal to log on to check that your listings are right, turn it off if you go on vacation, et cetera.”
Lori nodded. That sounded slick. Exactly what she wanted. “Do you think you could show me? I’m looking for an online booking system.”
“Sure thing. Got a computer handy?” He nodded at the laptop bag.
They found a set of armchairs in a corner with views of the river and sat down, balancing Howard’s laptop on the arms between them.
“You need to connect to the wi-fi. I’ve got the password memorized.” Arnie worked whatever magic it took to connect the computer to the internet. She seriously needed to learn that. And get her own laptop.