Checking Inn (11 page)

“Don’t worry,” I spit out.  “Your name is already in print more than it deserves to be.”

“Well, that was interesting,” Ben says as we get back in the car and drive to Samantha’s apartment.  “I would have liked to see her old office, but it probably wasn’t the right time to ask by the end.”

“Sorry,” I say, gripping the steering wheel.  “But, do you know how hard I worked to make sure everything was perfect for that review?  I had a bikini wax for that woman!” 

Well, half of one.

Ben raises his eyebrows, but thankfully says nothing.

“And you want to know what the worst part is? I actually kind of 
admire
 her for getting fired.  At least she was standing up for what she believed in,” I say.

“Kate, don’t kid yourself.  Samantha sounds like she was a real piece of work.  My hunch is she wrote that article just to piss people off.”

“So, what now?” I ask.

“We go to her place and see if we can get any information on who the client was,” he says.

“You think that’s who could have killed her?” I ask.

“Who knows?  But it’s the only decent lead we’ve got.”

“How are we going to get in?”

“I have her key,” he says, fishing through his pocket and bringing out a pile of old receipts and wrappers.  He finds the key with some pocket lint attached to it and holds it up for me to see.

“Is that legal, to go into her place without a warrant?” I ask, parking the car in front of Samantha’s building.

“I have a warrant,” he says, opening his door and getting out.  “But, you are not on it, so if anyone asks, you work for the police department.”

I run after him into the building’s lobby, looking around to see if anyone is going to shout out that I don’t belong there.  I catch up to him at the elevator as he waits for the doors to open. 

“Could I get arrested for this?” I whisper and frantically look around again.

“By who?  I’m the police,” he gets in the elevator.

I quickly scramble in as well and watch as he presses the button for her floor.

“So, what are we looking for when we get inside?” I ask and take out my little clipboard from my purse.

“Whatever looks odd,” he says, looking at my clipboard and frowning.

“Okay.”

Look for odd things
, I write.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making a list.”

“A list of what?”

“Of things to look for,” I say.  Honestly.

“Does that actually help you?” he asks.  “All those checklists and rules?”

“Of course,” I say and can’t help but frown.  “This way I can make sure everything is done properly and we won’t waste any time.”

He looks thoughtful before asking, “What happened to the girl who slid down the banister?”

My hand suddenly stops writing and I put my clipboard back in my purse.

“She doesn’t exist anymore,” I say.

When the doors finally open at Samantha’s floor I am the first to get off. 

Samantha’s apartment is just as I imagined it, all sleek lines and chrome accents; it must have cost her a fortune.  It looks so cold– just like her.  There are pictures of her everywhere, showing places she visited all over the world.  And there isn’t a picture of anyone else in sight.

“She sure has a lot of mirrors,” Ben says, standing beside me in her living room, trying to take it all in.

“She had to look perfect all the time,” I say, and look around the room feeling sorry for her yet again.  Maybe that was why she was so cold. From this apartment, it seems as though she didn’t have anyone who cared about her.

“Okay, we can’t stay long, and we can’t disturb anything in case we need to bring a team in to look for forensics.  I’ll look in here and the kitchen and you look in the bedroom.  I have no idea what we are looking for, so just try and go with your gut,” he says, and after I take a step I feel his hand on my arm, stopping me.  “And, don’t touch anything.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding, and he lets my arm go.  I make my way to her bedroom and hesitate before finally walking in.  A person’s bedroom seems so private to me; it says more about the person than any other room in the home. 

She was meticulously tidy and I gasp when I look in her closet.  It is like my own personal heaven.  Every shelf is labeled, with her clothes sorted first by color, then by length.  She even has a shelf for her nail polishes, lined up from a light beige to a medium pink.

I quickly take out my cell phone and take a picture.  My closet at home is okay, but this is something else.  Maybe when this is all over I will knock down the wall into the spare bedroom and do mine just like this.  I could even have a special shelf for my clipboards!

Wandering around the bedroom nothing seems out of place to me.  I idly wander into the connecting bathroom but the countertops are pretty bare, probably because she took most of her toiletries with her to the Inn.

One of the drawers is slightly ajar, and I look over my shoulder to make sure Ben can’t see before I take out my pen from my purse and inch it open.  I’m not 
technically
 touching anything.  My pen is.

My eyes go wide as I see what is sitting on the top of the drawer.

Samantha took a 
pregnancy
 
test?

I step back as what this means sinks in.  That must be it!  That must be who killed her.  Maybe she went to the father, told him about the pregnancy, and he couldn’t handle it.  I shake my head, trying to comprehend how anyone could kill someone because they don’t want to be a father.

But, what if he was married to someone else?

I open my mouth to call for Ben, but stop when I see something poking out from underneath the pregnancy test box.

I take the tip of my pen and gently nudge the box to the side.

Oh my God.

Forgetting all about disturbing any evidence I pick it up and quickly close the drawer as I hear Ben’s footsteps approaching.  I shove it down deep inside my coat pocket and turn just as he enters the bathroom.

“Got anything?” he asks.

“Nope,” I say, trying to make my face neutral.

“Me neither,” he says and studies me from under his lashes.  “You okay?”

“Fine.  It’s just a bit... umm... unnerving being here.  In her home,”   I say.  “Can we go home now?”

“Sure,” he says, still studying me.

I give him a quick smile before squeezing past him in the doorway and walking to the front door.

“Maybe I should drive home?” Ben asks and I don’t even attempt to argue with him.  To be honest I’m not sure if I could drive at this point.

I hand him my keys and get into the passenger side, putting on my seat belt.

He keeps shooting me glances the whole way home but thankfully doesn’t say much.  We make most of the journey in silence which I am very grateful for.  I have a lot to think about, starting with why Greg’s business card was in Samantha’s bathroom drawer.

Nine

I am a criminal.  There is no use in trying to sugar coat it.  I stole evidence from a crime scene (which is currently in my underwear drawer because I couldn’t think of one other place I know no one will look), which basically makes me a wanted fugitive.

I have no idea why I took it to begin with.  It was a knee jerk reaction, and a part of me really wants to go and steal that key from Ben’s pocket so I can just put the card back in Samantha’s bathroom and let someone else figure it out.  But how could I do that to Greg?  I don’t even know what the card means. 

It probably means nothing, in which case, I really did do the right thing.  Ben already has it out for Greg, and if he saw that card he wouldn’t leave it alone.  He wouldn’t forget about it.  It would consume his attention. Trust me, I know.

“Come on, Maggie,” I say, trying to pull her away from a fire hydrant she has been inspecting for the last fifteen minutes.  “Mommy has to get back to work.”

The dog stubbornly refuses to move.  I thought I read somewhere that dogs are used in therapy to help relieve people’s anxiety and stress.

Honestly, I think this dog might be my undoing.

“Come on!” I say and lean my whole weight against the leash, trying to pull Maggie away from the hydrant.

Great, not only do I have barely any breasts or a butt, but a poodle weighs more than me.  There is just no justice.

“You know, I once had a bitch like that,” Mr. Phelps says from behind me.  I slowly stand up straight again as I take in the little man standing behind me.  I don’t think I have ever seen Mr. Phelps not hunched over, even when I was a little girl he always seemed old to me.  He has to be at least ninety, yet he walks around the town, all day long.  I have absolutely no idea what he’s doing, and I have a suspicion neither does he.

“She’s not listening because you’re too wishy washy with her,” he says, scolding me.

“I am not–” I say, offended, but then see Maggie start to chew on the leash.  “What do you mean?”

“You ask her to do things, even when you tell her to do them.  Your voice is too high pitched,” he says.

I put my hand to my throat.

“You need to show her the consequences when she doesn’t listen to you, because she isn’t taking you seriously.”

I look sharply at Maggie, flabbergasted.  Honestly, she doesn’t think I can be in charge?  I’m always in charge.

“You have to really mean it,” he says before walking away.

Once he has gotten out of ear shot I turn back to Maggie. 

“Alright, listen Maggie.  I am the boss,” I say in the deepest voice I can manage.  “Now,  come here!”

I point to the floor beside me and pull on the leash.  Suddenly another dog walks by and Maggie jumps up and starts walking beside him.

Well, it’s not exactly what I was aiming for, but at least it’s the right direction.

I stop at the post office to drop off a parcel for one of the guests.  I reach down to untie Maggie from the lamppost, but stop when I see Ben walk across the street towards me.  Quickly, I grab the leash and jump behind the hedge out of sight.

Maggie obediently comes along and sits down beside me.     

“Oh, so now you listen,” I say as we stare at each other.

I peek my head over the top of the hedge and freeze when I see who he crossed the road to talk to.

Vivienne just came out of the pharmacy and smiles at Ben when he approaches her.

What is Ben talking to Vivienne for?  Is it something to do with Greg?  Does he know about the card?

No, that’s crazy.  I am just being paranoid. 

I lift my head slightly over the hedge so I can get a better angle as I desperately strain my ears to hear what they are saying.  I can’t hear anything, but my eyes are fixed to their lips.  You know, it’s been on my list for years to learn how to lip read, but unfortunately for me– in this particular moment– I just haven’t been able to make room on my “Weekend Fun Projects List”.  Somehow it always gets trumped by relabeling the spice rack or alphabetizing my new books.

“Kate?” my mother asks from behind me, and I quickly turn around and pull her arm so she is behind the hedge too.

“Hi Mom,” I say, trying to nonchalantly lean on the hedge.

“What are you doing?” she says, looking from Maggie to me.

“Nothing?” I shrug.  “Maggie and me just decided to go for a walk.”

“No, I mean what are you doing behind the hedge?” she asks.

“Just taking a break from the sun,” I fan myself dramatically.

My mom peers over the hedge and smirks.  “Yes, I suppose things have been a little hotter than usual in town.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say and cautiously look back over the hedge.

“You know I’ve seen the way he looks at you, too,” my mother says.

“Mother!  No he doesn’t,” I say, shaking my head.  “Ben is just being nice to me because he wants my help with the case.  It’s his 
job.”

“Okay,” she says with a placating smile.  “And you spend all your time thinking about him because…”

“Because I want this case to be solved so everything can go back to normal,” I say.  “And I don’t spend all my time thinking about him!”

“Okay,” she repeats.

Honestly, I don’t.  I’ve only had to think about him recently because of the case.  If it weren’t for that he wouldn’t cross my mind.

Seriously.

“You’ve always been the worst judge of character,” my mother says to me while she pats Maggie on the head.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I say, but then lower my voice as I think I see Vivienne’s head turn in my direction.        

“You give people chances over and over again when they don’t deserve it, and then when someone finally comes along that is worth it, you push them away,” she says, and I can’t tell anymore if she is talking about Ben or herself.

“I don’t push people away,” I argue. 

They usually just naturally run away.

My mother doesn’t say anything else, but we continue to squat next to each other, peering over the hedge.

Ben is still talking to Vivienne, who is just enamored with him.  She is constantly putting her hand on his arm, and throwing her head back in laughter.

Well, I don’t have to be able to read lips to say I’m fairly certain he isn’t accusing her son of killing Samantha.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Mom asks, squinting her eyes.

I think this is the thing I love the most about my mother.  She always gets fully invested in what she is doing, whether she knows what is going on or not.   From the concentration on her face you would think we were solving some great mystery and she’s a part of the thrilling adventure.

“I don’t know.  He could have either just said “you should go” or “so you know”.  It’s a tough call.”

“What are you two doing?” Tracy says from behind us, and my mother and I both jump.

Mom quickly puts her finger to her lips to tell Tracy to be quiet and waves her down next to us.

Tracy squats and peers over the hedge as well.

“What are we looking at?” she asks.

“Detective Gable,” my mother answers.

“Oh good,” Tracy says, smiling, and puts her bag on the ground.