Bookman Dead Style Read online

  “Are you sure you didn’t mention the tins to anyone else?” I said. “I know you weren’t aware of the money inside the one, but did you show the box to anyone else or tell anyone else about them?”

  “Not a soul, Clare. There was no one to tell. I did exactly as I told Judge Serus. I put the box in my car and then drove up to . . . well . . .”

  “What?”

  “I did do that. But I guess I ran back inside the house to let Daryl know that I was taking off. It was maybe half a minute, but I guess I should have remembered that my eyes were off my car for that brief time.”

  “Was the car locked?”

  “Absolutely. I didn’t know a thing about the tins. Daryl claimed not to know or care if they were worth anything, but I didn’t want to take any chances.” He stopped walking and looked toward the other side of the road, though I didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. “The house was up a small slope. There’s a set of stairs leading up to the front door. I ran up those and into the house. I called for Daryl, but he didn’t answer. I specifically remember looking back down at the car, assessing that it would be fine for a second, and then went farther into the house, still calling for Daryl. He finally answered when I was at the back, at the bottom of a staircase. He’d gone back upstairs.”

  “Any sign of your car being disturbed when you went back out?” I said.

  “None. I glanced in the backseat and confirmed that the box was still there. The doors were still locked. I think.”

  “Think?”

  “Pretty sure. I don’t remember the specific moment of unlocking them, but I’m sure I would have thought it odd if I hadn’t needed to.”

  “But you’re really not one hundred percent sure?”

  “Maybe ninety-nine percent. No, I’m sure. There couldn’t have been enough time for someone to do something with the tins. And why would someone have put one hundred thousand dollars in one of them anyway?”

  “I can’t think of any reason why, but it’s strange.”

  “It is. I’ll give Jodie the details of being away from the car for a second, but I don’t think anything weird happened.”

  “Me either.”

  We started walking again, but just as we reached The Fountain, I peeked in the front window and saw someone at the front counter. Maybe the reception desk was manned only late at night.

  “Seth, I’d like to go inside and talk to him,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not exactly sure yet.”

  “Good enough. There’s a nice fire in there. I’m game.”

  He held open the door and I led the way into the warmth. My nose stung pleasantly with the temperature change, and my glasses fogged up, unpleasantly. I took them off and tried not to squint as I approached the counter. Seth took off his glasses too and went in the other direction, toward the fire.

  “We don’t have any rooms,” the clerk said with a decidedly bored tone.

  The twenty-something man wore a striking peach-colored suit and kept his hair slickly combed over to one side. The look didn’t fit with either the historic hotel or the typical festival attire, which was somewhat grungy, particularly this time of night, so I thought he must be trying to make his own original statement. I immediately liked that about him.

  “Oh, not here for a room, but it looks like a great place. I actually live here in town. My grandfather owns The Rescued Word. I work for him. I’m Clare Henry.”

  “Good to meet you. I’m Jacob. I love that place. You guys have a printing press in the back, right?”

  “We do. It’s a replica of a Gutenberg. My grandfather built it years ago.”

  “I would love to see it.”

  “Anytime. Stop by and I’ll show you.” I smiled. It had been a calculated move on my part to bring The Rescued Word into the conversation. Though not everyone knew me and my connection to the shop, everyone knew Chester, and everyone seemed to love something about the place. Either the paper, the pens, the old typewriters, or the printing press. Though it was definitely a needy play, it was my go-to method of introducing myself when I wanted to grease the wheels. I was pleased it had worked this time. “Could I ask you a couple questions?”

  “Sure, that’s why I’m here, I think. I get more questions than Google.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Must have something to do with the location of the hotel. People see me through the window and come in to ask all sorts of things. You know, ‘Where’s the best pizza place?’ ‘Have you seen any movie stars today?’ ‘Where’s the secret places where the stars go?’”

  I hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt to know the secret places, but I had to keep on task.

  “My question has to do with the murder that occurred here.”

  “Oh.” Jacob’s expression sobered. “Yes, that was terrible.”

  I sensed he also thought it was old news, but I trudged forward.

  “Were you here or do you just work at night?”

  “I was here, just covering a coworker for a couple hours while she ran to a doctor’s appointment. I usually only work at night.”

  “Where were you when the police took Matt out of here?” I asked, remembering Omar’s frustration at not having someone close by who worked at the hotel.

  “Just back there.” He signaled behind him. “After all the uproar, I ran to the office to call the owners of the hotel to let them know what was going on.”

  “Did you hear anything earlier than that? Yelling, a struggle of any sort?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m the one who called 911. Before that I heard one door slam and a scream,” he said before he pursed his lips into an authoritative pucker.

  “That’s it? When did you hear the door slam?”

  “About thirty seconds or so before I heard a scream.”

  “What did you do when you heard the scream? Who screamed?”

  “Called 911 right away and then ran upstairs. And I’m not sure who screamed. Maybe the police know.”

  I thought back to the moment that Matt was being escorted out of the hotel. Jodie had been the only female in the group, but the scream could have come from Cassie, or a man could have screamed too, particularly upon finding a dead body.

  “Then what happened?”

  “All hell broke loose, I suppose. It was crazy upstairs.”

  “Who was up there?”

  “Well, Matt Bane was in the room with the body. He was frozen in place. His assistant—I think his name is Howie—and the other hotel occupant who comes here every year from San Diego.”

  “Did you think Matt was the killer?”

  Jacob thought a moment as he tapped his fingers on his lips. “Well, Howie was in there with him, asking Matt what he’d done. And Matt was holding the bloody weapon.”

  “Weapon?”

  “The knife.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Excuse me.” Seth moved next to me. He reached over the counter and extended a hand toward Jacob. “I’m Seth Cassidy, a friend of Clare’s. Do you mind if I ask a couple questions?”

  “Sure,” Jacob said. Clearly he didn’t mind being more popular than Google.

  “You said you don’t know who screamed?” he said.

  “Correct.”

  “What did you tell the police?” Seth asked.

  Jacob thought again as more tapping ensued. “I told 911 that I heard the scream; that’s all.”

  “Did they ask you who you thought it came from?” I said.

  “No, they never talked to me after that call. But I imagine the others already told the police the sequence of events,” Jacob said.

  Seth and I looked at each other. Whatever information the police had gleaned, they obviously hadn’t asked for Jacob’s complete version of the story. It might not matter, but it was difficult not to wo
nder about that scream.

  “Jacob, I’m sorry if this is obvious, but was the scream from a male or a female?” I asked.

  “Female, without a doubt.”

  Now it was even more difficult not to wonder.

  “You found the body shortly after the scream?” I said.

  “Yeah, I hurried up there and then saw what I saw,” he said, but I could tell he was getting tired of the questions.

  “This is weird, but do you think it was the victim who screamed?” I asked.

  “Oh.” Jacob thought. “No, actually I don’t. There was too much . . . Well, it seemed she’d been dead for more than half a minute or so when I looked in that room.”

  “Did you tell that to 911?”

  “Not specifically like that.”

  I wondered whether someone else had explained those details to the police.

  “Is there a back exit out of here, from the second floor?” I asked the same question Omar had, but at least I got a hotel employee.

  “Just the fire escape out the back window, but it’s old and rickety and the window’s hard to open.”

  And I’d received a much better answer than Omar had. The man in the robe told Omar there was no back door, but hadn’t mentioned the fire escape or the window. Maybe he just didn’t know about them.

  “Did anyone ask you about the exit?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you have any idea if the police checked the window or the escape or the space behind the building?”

  Jacob shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Is there any chance we could take a look at it?” I asked.

  “Probably not. No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem like the smartest move. I think I could get in trouble.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Sorry. But what if we were very quiet and just toured the upstairs level?”

  Jacob looked up at the landing and then shook his head. “This is the one time of the year we’re not allowed to do that. The people who stay here pay lots for their privacy.”

  “Makes sense,” Seth said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Yes, definitely. And come by the shop whenever you’d like to see the press,” I said.

  “I will. I can’t wait,” Jacob said with a smile. He leveled his gaze at me. “And go around the north side of the building. The south is blocked. The north side isn’t easy, but the south side is impossible.”

  “What?” I said.

  “You’re going to look at the back of the building, aren’t you?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Right. I’m just telling you. Go around the north side.” Jacob smiled and then turned his attention to something on the counter in front of him.

  Seth held the door and I led the way again. We beelined our way to the north side of the building.

  “That’s dark,” Seth said. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone, still not making the narrow space appealing.

  The corridor wasn’t big enough to walk through even if it hadn’t been filled with dirty snow that had somehow drifted into a slope up the side of the hotel building. It looked like it served as a depository for smoked cigarettes and empty coffee cups. I had the thought that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen anyone smoking anywhere, let alone on Main Street.

  “I can only imagine how bad the south side must be,” Seth said.

  “We’re not going back there,” I said.

  “Nope. But I think you should call Jodie and tell her.”

  “Tell her the police might have missed something crucial?”

  “Well”—Seth flipped off the flashlight app—“maybe not those exact words, but I bet if you take her out for breakfast tomorrow, you can find a softer segue into the conversation. And she might even tell you about what you overheard between Creighton and her.”

  “You think so?” I said as we reluctantly pulled ourselves away from where we stood and started back up the hill.

  Seth shrugged. “If she’s going to tell anyone, it would be you.”

  “True.”

  “Are we done being detectives tonight?” Seth asked.

  “I think so.”

  “We can always begin again tomorrow.”

  “Deal.”

  17

  The approach was tough. Though Jodie had little ego around me, she didn’t like hearing from anyone that perhaps she or another police officer might have missed something.

  But, to her credit, she rebounded okay.

  She chewed a bite of her syrup-drenched pancake for too many chews, and with more vigor than necessary, and squinted at me. I waited silently for her brain to line everything up. She was highly intelligent, but she was also cursed with a short, overly reactive fuse. I could see her rein in the sparks from the ignition I’d lit.

  “We talked to the person we thought found the body and the person who found the person who found the body. We thought Matt found the body. Howie came in next. I know Omar confirmed there isn’t a back door,” she said.

  “Well, mostly that’s correct. Jacob came upon Matt and Howie with the body, but a scream had prompted him to run upstairs. He was pretty sure the scream hadn’t come from Cassie. She was in a state . . . Well, it looked like there was enough blood that she couldn’t have been screaming so recently before he ran up the steps. I don’t know—maybe all the logistics are off, but he’s the one who called 911. And there isn’t a back door, but the fire escape outside the window might have been another way out. But it would be tough, Jodie. I doubt anyone could have gotten around the building and out to the street easily. Do you know who screamed?”

  “I didn’t know there was a scream, but that doesn’t mean that Omar didn’t know, or another officer. Maybe the crime scene guys.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We didn’t check the fire escape for evidence. I don’t even think any of us looked out that back window.”

  “So you never talked to Jacob, the hotel clerk?”

  “I didn’t, no. And Omar said he couldn’t find anyone. Maybe someone did later. I don’t know if anyone tracked down who exactly the call came from. You say he thought the scream belonged to a woman, and he was pretty sure it couldn’t have come from Cassie? Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  “Yes.”

  A string of profanity flung from her mouth as she set her fork down with more vehemence than necessary. A speck of syrup flew up from it and landed on her collar. She wasn’t in uniform, so I let it pass without comment.

  We were in a pink booth at the diner again, and I could see the elderly woman sitting behind Jodie bristle with her harsh words. She didn’t turn around, though.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “It might not mean much. If there was another female in the vicinity, you can figure out who it was. It might have just been a man screaming. You’ve told me many times how recall can be sketchy.”

  “It could mean a lot or it could mean nothing. At the very least, it could give a good defense attorney some perfect ammunition for reasonable doubt. It’s hard enough to convict a movie star. Shoddy police work, no matter what it truly means, is always a win for the other side.” She shook her head. “This case has been one misstep after another.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head again and wouldn’t look at me. She tried to make it seem as though she were distracted, not ignoring my question, but I knew her too well.

  “Such a waste of good pancakes,” she finally said. Her appetite always disappeared when she was upset. “I’m going over to the hotel. Want to come with?”

  “Yes. Of course.” My appetite wasn’t gone, but I tried to hide my disappointment over not getting to finish my own pancakes. I loved doing police stuff with Jodie, but only the safe stuff. I’d learned that it wasn’t nearly as much fun when so
meone was shooting a gun in your direction.

  I grabbed one more bite as we stood. Jodie paid by putting some bills on the table and making eye contact with our server. Even though she wasn’t dressed like one this morning, everyone who worked at the diner knew she was a cop, and her method of paying was perfectly acceptable.

  “I got this one,” she said as I reached for my wallet so I could contribute my share to the pile.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We marched down Bygone Alley and across the street to the hotel. I tried to match my steps with hers. Even when she didn’t have her uniform on, people seemed to understand that getting out of her way was the best option.

  I said a few “excuse me’s,” but she didn’t. I expected some “get out of the way’s” from her, but she kept quiet.

  Jacob was off duty, but another young person was behind the counter. Her eyes got big when she saw the attitude that came through the door. I wasn’t sure she noticed me.

  “I’m with the police.” Jodie flashed her identification. “I need to have full access to the upstairs.”

  The girl was blond and pretty, petite with a tiny nose but big green eyes that seemed incapable of hiding emotions. She was stunned, unsure, and somewhat scared. Fortunately, Jodie picked up on these things and toned it down.

  “There was a murder here, and it’s important that I have an unencumbered look around up there. I’ll tell your boss I pushed past you if they ask you any questions. They’ll understand,” she said with practiced gentle tones.

  The girl nodded. She was maybe seventeen and her ponytail was perfect. If she was local, she might have known Marion, but I didn’t bring up my niece’s name.

  “All right,” she finally said. She reached under the counter and fished out a key that was attached to a paddle that had once been part of a Ping-Pong set. “This is a master key.”