Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (14 page)

My smile faded. "I don't have one. But there's got to be a way to get everyone out of their rooms—and keep them out for a while."

Richard shrugged. "A cocktail party. Free food—free liquor. That usually does it."

"Oh, sure. We could just throw a cocktail party with a couple hours notice," I said.

"Why not?"

"I can't afford a pizza, let alone a party."

He sighed. "When are you going to stop worrying about money? I'll take care of it."

"This whole trip is turning out to be on you," I reminded him.

"I'm on vacation," he said. "Although I’ll admit my life's a lot more interesting—and expensive—since you came back into it."

"I'll take that as a compliment. So, how do we arrange a party on the spur of the moment?"

"I bet Susan can throw one hell of a cocktail party with only an hour's notice. Besides, we're not expecting a buffet."

"What if she says no?"

"Then we call a restaurant down the road. But Susan doesn't seem like the type to shy away from making a little extra cash."

"Amen. How do we explain it to the guests?"

"I'll let Susan take the credit. I'll go talk to her now.”

I watched him go inside, and then looked down at the box of license plates and back to the one in my hand. It wasn't much to go on.

Leaving the garage, I climbed the porch steps and paused to look through the bay window. Richard spoke with Susan outside her office. After a few moments she came out of her cubbyhole carrying a clipboard and they sat on the loveseat in front of the cold fireplace. Negotiations for the party were well underway. Something told me Susan would really soak Richard for it, too.

Beach's car was still parked in the drive, so I sat on the porch swing to wait for him. I stared at the license plate in my hand, frustrated. I got no empathic vibrations from it—nothing. Maybe the person who tried to kill Maggie and me had worn gloves and never actually touched it. On its own, it was just another damned annoying piece of the puzzle.

I leaned back in the swing, letting it sway back and forth, content to stay there until Beach came out. I'd give him the plate and that would be that.

Richard showed up first.

"It's all set. I told her eight-thirty would be fine. That gives us half an hour to get back from the hospital."

"Damn. I almost forgot we promised to have dinner with Maggie." I scrutinized his face. "What's this going to cost you?"

"A lot."

"I appreciate it."

"I know." He glanced at his watch. "I'm beat. I didn't sleep well last night. I'm going to take a nap for a couple of hours. If you're smart, you'll do the same."

"Maybe. I still have things to do." I indicated the license plate.

"Suit yourself." He went back inside.

Restless, I got up from the swing and gazed at the lawn in front of the inn. The overgrown bushes near the sign by the road needed pruning. The forest on the other side of the two-lane road looked dark and foreboding on that sunny afternoon. I leaned against the porch's support post and gazed up the road. A grove of evergreens marked the property line.

Curiosity got the better of me. I headed down the steps, walked over to the road and looked up the rise, then started north. I'd gone about a hundred yards when I saw ruts cutting into the brush. A few yards in, a cleared space overlooked the Sugar Maple property, with ample room for a Blazer to turn around. Under the cover of darkness, the location would give its driver a bird's eye view of the inn's parking lot. All the driver had to do was wait for Maggie and me to leave, follow us and the rest was history.

My anger boiled as I started back for the inn to look for Sgt. Beach. I took the steps two at a time just as he opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. "Are you looking for me?"

I shoved the plate at him. "I found this in the garage. It probably belongs to Susan Dawson, but she may not know it was used on that Blazer."

He frowned. "Of course you realize you've probably obliterated any fingerprints that were on it."

"If there was anything to soak up by touching it, I'd already know."

He nodded, conceding the point. "Let's go talk to Mrs. Dawson."

We found Susan in the kitchen, consulting an array of cookbooks—presumably to get ready for the party.

"Mrs. Dawson, Mr. Resnick said he found this license plate in your garage."

She looked at the plate, then at me. "So?"

"It was on the truck that forced me off the road last night."

"Are you accusing me?" she asked, her voice rising.

"I want to establish ownership of this license plate, ma'am," Beach said.

She sighed, angry. "It could be mine. I've got a stack of them in the garage. But I never bothered with an individual inventory. I don't keep the garage locked, so I suppose anybody could've taken it and put it back without my knowing."

Beach nodded. "We'll be in touch." He turned.

"Can I have my property back?" she demanded.

"We'll hang onto it—as evidence," he said, and continued for the stairs. Susan glared at me before turning back to her work.

I had to jog to catch up with the sergeant on the porch. "Hey, Beach, I was looking at the adjoining property. The Blazer's driver could have parked on the hill, seen us leave, then followed us last night."

He glanced up the hill. "Makes sense."

I tried to squelch a burst of renewed anger. What had I expected from him besides agreement, anyway? I changed tacks. "If they've ruled Eileen's death a homicide, then the cause of death is public record, right?" He nodded. "So what killed her?"

"Blood loss or drowning—take your pick—brought on by blunt trauma to the skull. Her alcohol level was point two nine, well over the max."

No wonder Eileen hadn't put up a fight—she was literally too drunk to know what hit her. "Did they establish a time of death?"

"Between eleven and midnight. Why?"

"Just being nosy. How about Adam? What's going to happen to him?"

"He'll have to give another statement. We'll keep our eyes on him."

"Do you still think you'll have this wrapped up by tomorrow?"

"It's possible." He brushed past me. "I'll keep you posted.”

He headed for the patrol car. I watched as he started the engine, pulled onto the highway, and headed south.

Exhaustion weighed me down. Richard's suggestion of a nap sounded like a sensible idea. If I was going to break the law later on, I needed to be sharp.

A knock on my door awakened me barely an hour later. "Come on," Richard called. "Maggie's waiting for her dinner." Still blinking, I hauled myself off the bed, slipped on my shoes and grabbed my jacket.

Thirty minutes—and a stop for take-out—later, we paused in the open doorway of Maggie's room.

With pen in hand, she was bent over her writing tablet, staring at nothing, as though the muse had just left her.

"Greetings from China," I announced.

An afternoon of rest had done wonders. A smile lit her face, and the last of the afternoon sun streaming through the window made her eyes shine. "Wow! Did you bring hot and sour soup?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

I gave her a quick kiss and Richard and I moved the flowers from the tray table to the window ledge. Richard won the coin toss for possession of the room's only chair. I perched on the edge of Maggie's bed and played Maitre d', passing out cardboard cartons.

"Looks like you've got a good start on the article."

She pushed it aside. "I'm more interested in food right now." She took the plastic spoon I offered her. "This is kind of fun," she said, digging in. "Only I wish Brenda was here with us."

"I wish we were at home with Brenda having this fun," Richard added.

"I'll say. Being in the hospital is no picnic, but you guys have made it a lot better," she said. "What did you do all day?"

"Worked on the case," I answered.

"Don't call it a case," Richard pleaded.

"It may as well be. What with all the intrigue," I countered, for Maggie's benefit.

"What intrigue?" she asked, her eyes widening.

I told her it was Adam who pushed me down the stairs and planted the scotch bottle.

"What else?" she asked.

"We're giving—or rather, Richard's giving—" I amended, "a cocktail party tonight."

She pouted. "And I wasn't invited?"

"Jeff needs an excuse to snoop. I'm supposed to divert everyone's attention—all ten of them."

"I have confidence in your social skills." We moved on to the egg rolls. "I've got a feeling that we'll soon know who the killer is."

"Good. Then we'll all be safe and can go home. Do you think I'll get out of here tomorrow?" Maggie asked Richard.

"It's up to the doctor who's treating you."

I glanced at him, admiring his smooth delivery, his bedside manner working full force.

"Susan called," Maggie said. "She said she didn't think she'd get up here today, but said if I needed anything to call her."

I knew Maggie wouldn't.

"We chatted for a few minutes and you'll be very proud of me, I pumped her for information and learned some interesting tidbits. One may be the secret you mentioned the other day."

I stopped squirting duck sauce on my egg roll. "Which is?"

"She's worried about how the RSO will react when it finds out Eileen was murdered."

"The what?" Richard asked.

"Reservation service organization. Advertising is expensive. The RSO screens guests and books them for a fee. Susan's already had one cancellation because of the murder. That's why she hasn't kicked you out of your room, Richard."

"Thank you, Susan," Richard muttered.

"Let's get back to Eileen," I said.

"She wanted to come up for the long weekend, but they were fully booked, so she offered Susan money if she'd find a cancellation."

"She bribed Susan?"

Maggie nodded. "Two hundred bucks—paid in cash—plus the cost of the room. The most expensive one, too. Only she died before Susan put the credit card through."

Eileen paid for a cancellation? Something about that didn't add up. "Wait a minute, I thought we got invited here this weekend because the inn wasn't fully booked?"

She shrugged. "They weren't booked a week ago when I first talked to Susan. Since they've had trouble filling the place, she wasn't about to turn away business. Which explains why our room isn't finished. She couldn't offer it to a paying guest."

"I suppose not." I pondered the situation for a few moments. "Why was it so important for Eileen to be here on this particular weekend?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know, but Susan told me Eileen arranged the contest the bimbo won."

"How?" I asked.

"She said Eileen had a lot of friends in advertising. The last time she visited the inn, back in July, she suggested the weekend prize as a form of free advertising. A lot of the inn's guests come from Long Island."

"That's where Laura Ross lives. She said she'd been coming to the inn for years. And she previously knew Eileen."

"I also got the feeling Susan didn't like Eileen and isn't sorry she's dead," Maggie continued. "She called her a conniver—said she was just a little
too
helpful. But she felt a kind of grudging gratitude because since that radio contest, their business has picked up."

"This is getting convoluted," Richard commented. He held up a hand, ticking off each point on his fingers. "You said Eileen came up here to see her lover. She didn't have a reservation, so she bribed one of the owners to let her have a room. She apparently came to the inn to confront her married lover. But, an old friend—possibly an enemy—Laura Ross was also a guest at the inn and Eileen knew some deep dark secret about her. She also arranged free advertising for the inn and the people who won the radio contest are here the same weekend as she was. Then, to top it off, somebody murders the woman."

"It does sound convoluted," I agreed, "and I don't have a shred of tangible proof, but I have a feeling every word of it's true."

"So this party is just a cover-up so you can search the rooms? What if some of the guests don't show up?" Maggie asked. "That Mrs. Andolina strikes me as a party pooper and a tattletale."

"I'll make a point of personally inviting her," Richard offered.

"Great." I unpacked the rest of the cartons, while Richard passed out plates and plastic cutlery.

We dug in. Considering we picked the restaurant at random, the food was surprisingly good.

"Something else puzzles me," Maggie said. "That first night, Eileen took us into the game room and we all introduced ourselves. Why didn't she want us to know she knew Laura?"

Richard shrugged. "Didn't you say Ted was there, too? Maybe she didn't want the kid to know she knew Laura."

I hadn't considered that. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Eileen was
only
here to confront Laura."

"How could you confuse meeting Laura with Eileen meeting her married lover? So far as we know, Eileen wasn’t gay. And Laura’s still a very attractive woman, as evidenced by her much younger ... friend."

"He's a gigolo," Maggie accused.

Richard raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

"Besides," Maggie continued, "Mrs. Andolina said she'd seen them arguing. So Eileen must have already confronted Laura."

"What if she came to the inn to confront her lover
and
see Laura."

"That would give her an awful lot of hidden agendas, wouldn't it? Pass me some of that chicken stuff, will you?" Richard said.

"If you were dying, maybe you'd want to tie up all the loose ends in a hurry."

"But she didn't really look sick, just tired," Maggie said.

"You'd have had a better handle on that, Rich."

"Just because a I’m an internist doesn't mean I can diagnose on the fly—especially for someone I’d never even met."

"Sure you could. You're great," I said and smiled.

"That testimonial not withstanding, it's a lot more complicated than that."

Maggie pushed a pea pod around on her plate. "What I don't understand is why Adam would want to hurt you, Jeff. You could've broken your neck when he pushed you down the stairs."

"He was probably just scared."

"And he probably wondered why you told everyone you fell," Richard added.

"That may have been a mistake," I conceded, and shoveled up a forkful of rice. I thought about my conversation with Adam earlier in the day. "Something he said today didn't ring true, but at the time I couldn't put my finger on why. He told Beach he was afraid Susan would be blamed for Eileen's death because Susan told Eileen she had to leave the inn. But Adam wasn't at the inn at the time of the argument on Friday night. Only Maggie and I heard Susan read Eileen the riot act. So why would Adam hide the scotch bottle the next morning and later try to pin it on me?"

"If Adam already knew Eileen was dead, you probably pissed him off when you dragged him outside to help you find the body. Or maybe Adam was as worried as Susan was about the RSO finding out about the canceled reservation," Maggie suggested. "He seems to worship the ground she walks on."

"Maybe you ought to mention all this to Sgt. Beach," Richard said.

"Good idea. I don't feel any loyalty to Susan. How about you, Maggie?"

"If the situation weren't so serious, I'd say forget it. But a woman was murdered. When will you talk with Sgt. Beach again?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was tonight."

"Do you think he'll show up at the party?" Richard asked.

I nodded.

"One of your funny feelings?"

Again I nodded.

"Well, let's just hope he doesn't spoil the frivolity."

I couldn't tell if Richard was serious.

Maggie pushed back her Chinet plate. "That's it for me. I'm stuffed."

I studied the remains on my plate then set my fork aside. "Me, too."

"It's unanimous," Richard said, and collected the debris, placing the large paper sack by the door to toss later.

He returned to his chair as Maggie leaned back against the pillows on the bed. "Thanks, guys. I can't tell you what this all means to me." She reached for Richard's hand. "Thank you for everything."

He leaned across and kissed her forehead. "No thanks necessary."

The mood was definitely too maudlin. "Hey, quit kissing my woman, will you?"

"I haven't seen you do it lately.”

Maggie laughed, the soapy moment past.

We stayed until the second announcement came over the public address system, reminding us that visiting hours had ended.

"I’ll see you in the morning, Maggs," I said and leaned down to kiss her good night.

"I want to hear everything that happens at the party."

“You bet.”

As we left her room, she picked up her writer's tablet, already going over what she'd written earlier that afternoon.

Richard and I headed for the lobby. The wall clock read 8:10. I hoped Susan would be smart enough to delay the party until we arrived.

The stale smell of Chinese food still filled the warm car, and we opened the windows to air it out. Richard slid in, dipped a hand in his jacket pocket and handed me a pair of latex gloves. "Here. For later."

I took them and shoved them into my own pocket, embarrassed.

He started the engine and headed for the exit.

"By the way, I just want to second the round of thanks."

"For dinner?" he asked.

"Yeah. And everything you're doing for Maggie. But especially the party. I’ve put you in an awkward position."

"Why? I'm the one who suggested it."

"Yeah, but you're such a law-and-order fanatic. That party is a cover for me to break the law.”

He thought about it for a moment. "Under ordinary circumstances, I'd agree. But Maggie's in the hospital because someone wanted to kill her and you. Maybe the ends don't justify the means, but long before civil law was the Biblical saw, 'an eye for an eye.'"

I'm glad he felt that way, because I, too, wanted to nail the bastard who hurt us.

We arrived at the inn at precisely 8:30 and found the lobby deserted. All the cars were in the drive, but there was no one around. "It's understandable," Richard said. "Who wants to be the first to arrive at a party?"

"Well, I don't care if it's me."

"Then go hang out while I change clothes."

He went off to his room, and I headed downstairs.

The barroom was deserted, but I heard noises in the kitchen. I poked my head around the corner and saw Zack and Susan preparing hors d’oeuvres. Apparently Susan had decided to save money by recruiting Zack to help serve—not Nadine or Adam—the hallmark of a shrewd businesswoman.

Restless, I finally settled on the piano bench, the perfect spot to take in all the downstairs entrances. Susan came through the doorway with a tray full of hors d’oeuvres, and gave a start at seeing me.

"Looks like I'm a little early," I said.

"Don't worry, we're ready," she said with forced cheerfulness. She set the tray on the bar and headed back for the kitchen. How had she explained this little gathering to the other guests?

I clenched my fists, more nervous than I'd anticipated. Breaking and entering isn't something I do every day, and I wasn't looking forward to it.