Dangerous Secrets (8 page)

We took a mid-afternoon break. I was hungry and
had the beginnings of one of my bad headaches. Despite the disruption in
routine, the glass jar by the coffee maker had been refilled with fresh-baked
cookies. Maggie and I were the only ones around to enjoy them. I took my
medication and crossed my fingers, hoping to counteract the worst of the pain
in my skull.

The empty dining room echoed like a cavern,
reinforcing my feeling of isolation. Maggie stared morosely into her decaf.
‶
I
want to go home.”

I reached over and touched her hand.
‶
It′s
not fun anymore, is it?″ She shook her head.
‶
What about the article?″

‶
I haven′t even started
it. Right now I just don′t care.″

‶
Maybe later you should sit down
and write some really great fiction about this place. Pretend we were guests
and had a wonderful time.″

‶
It would take a Pulitzer prize
winner for that,″ she scoffed.

‶
It′ll get your mind off
things. Think of it as a stepping-stone. This article could lead to something
better. We can turn this negative experience into a positive one.″ God, I
felt like a cheerleader, and a hypocritical one at that.

Maggie braved a smile.
‶
Okay. I′ll
start after we finish in the living room.″

We drank our coffee and swiped another couple
of cookies for later, then went back to the room and trekked all the gear down
the stairs for what I hoped would be the last time. My back, already sore from
that uncomfortable bed, was starting to feel the strain.

I set up all my gear in the living room/lobby
and, as I′d anticipated, Maggie got lost in the work. She suggested we
start a fire in the fireplace to make the room seem cozier. Susan agreed and
sent Adam to bring in wood.

About the same time, a battered Chevy van
pulled up outside and a petite young woman got out. Dressed in jeans, sneakers
and a baggy gray jacket, she had short-cropped hair, and silver-framed glasses.

‶
Ashley Samuels,″ she
said, flashing her identification card.
‶
I′m with the Burlington
Free Press.″

Susan looked wary.
‶
Susan Dawson. I own
the Sugar Maple.″

‶
Can someone tell me about the
murder last night—″

‶
Accident,″ Susan nearly
shouted.

‶
Sorry. I got the impression she
was—″

‶
You got the wrong
impression,″ Susan corrected her.

The reporter consulted her notes.
‶
A
Jeffrey R. Resnick and an Adam T. Henderson found the body in the hot
tub.″

‶
I′m Jeff Resnick.″

She reporter gave me a quick once over.
‶
Do
you mind answering some questions?″

Susan glared daggers at me, and Maggie′s
expression said
don′t rock the boat
.

‶
I ... heard a noise. On my way
to investigate, I ran into Adam. We went out back and found Ms.
Marshall.″

The reporter glanced at her notes.
‶
Eileen
Jane Marshall? Was she another guest?″

‶
That′s right.″

‶
The cops said she was probably
drunk.”

I nodded.

Ashley took in the photographic equipment.
‶
Doing
a layout or something?″

‶
We hope to,″ Maggie
answered.

Adam came in with an armload of wood, and I
introduced him. Ashley asked him the same questions. He shot a look at Susan,
as though looking for her permission before he, too, answered. She grudgingly
nodded and he corroborated my story.

Ashley closed her notebook, stowing it in her
large purse.
‶
Do
you mind if I have a look at the crime scene?″

‶
Accident,″ Susan
reiterated. She forced a smile.
‶
I′ll show you.″

While Susan tended to the public relations
dilemma, Adam finished making the fire.
‶
Let me know if you want more
wood,″ he said, and took off.

The cheerful blaze quickly raised the
temperature to an unbearable level, despite the fact we′d opened every
window. I readjusted the lights, sweating freely by the time I started snapping
photos.

I glanced out the window and saw Susan walk the
reporter back to her van. Silently fuming, she watched until the van was well
down the road before she returned to the inn and headed for her office without
saying a word to us.

By then I wasn′t feeling overly
ambitious. I was almost finished snapping shots when we heard another car pull
up the gravel drive outside. I motioned to Maggie and we glanced out the
window.

A big, old, white Buick Roadmaster station
wagon rolled to a stop. The driver′s door opened and my half-brother
Richard stepped out, making a visual recon of the inn. Dressed in light colored
slacks and a white golf shirt with green piping, he looked like a typical,
well-heeled vacationer. Older than me by twelve years, and taller by about six
inches, his presence radiated trust—something even I′m not immune to.

Maggie′s suggestion that I was too
dependent on my brother was right on the money. But that′s what families
are for—at least Richard thought so. And he′d been right about one thing;
a burden was a lot easier to shoulder when you had family to depend on. Since
we hadn′t been close for many years, it now felt good to count on him as
my best friend.

Richard opened the screen door and entered the
living room.
‶
Good
afternoon. I′m looking for a place to stay and hoped there might be a
room available.″

I struggled to keep a straight face.
‶
If
you ring the bell on the office door over there, I′m sure someone will be
along in a moment to help you, sir.″

‶
Thank you.″

He passed by me, giving the photographic
equipment a quick once over. Since he′d loaned me the money to rent it, I
figured he was probably just checking up on his investment.

Richard rang the bell and in moments Susan
opened the Dutch door.
‶
Can I help you?″

‶
I′m looking for a place
to stay. Do you have a room?″

‶
As a matter of fact, one of our
guests checked out suddenly this morning,″ she said. That was putting it
mildly.
‶
It′s
our deluxe suite. There′re two double beds. The cost is $425 a night. A
full breakfast is included in the price. It′s available for two
nights.″

‶
I′m not sure how long
I′ll be staying. At least until Monday morning.″

‶
That will be fine,″ she
said.
‶
I′m
afraid we′re a little short-handed this afternoon. Can you wait half an
hour?″

‶
That′s fine,″ he
said.

‶
Your name, sir?″

‶
Alpert. Dr. Richard Alpert.”

I had to jab Maggie in the ribs to stop her
from giggling. Susan introduced herself as the owner, and Richard signed all
the necessary paperwork, letting her swipe his American Express card through a
scanner.

‶
Let me give you a tour of the
premises,″ Susan said.

‶
I′d be glad to give the
doctor the tour if you want to get his room ready,″ Maggie volunteered.

Susan smiled sweetly. I′m sure she
would′ve preferred Maggie get the room ready.
‶
Thank you. Dr.
Alpert, this is Maggie Brennan. She′s writing an article about the inn
and is knowledgeable about all our amenities.″

Richard turned to Maggie, smiling broadly.
‶
I′m
sure I′ll be in good hands.″

Susan nodded and disappeared around the corner
before Maggie lost it entirely.

‶
Having fun?″ Richard
asked.

Maggie′s smile quickly faded.
‶
No.″
She looked to me to explain.

‶
You got the room because the
woman who was in it was murdered sometime last night.″

‶
Oh, great.″ He gazed at
us, suddenly looking very tired.
‶
Just what have you gotten me
into?″

Chapter 8

We planned to meet later at a restaurant, where
we could talk in relative privacy. Maggie and I finished taking the pictures,
packed the equipment and changed before heading out. We left first, hoping none
of the other guests would frequent the same eatery.

I still got that anxious feeling when we passed
that bend in the road. I thought once Richard arrived it wouldn′t bother
me so much. Instead, the urgency seemed to have intensified. I tried to ignore
it.

We arrived at The Ranch House, snagged a table
and ordered drinks while we waited for Richard. Preoccupied with trying to
puzzle out my emotional response to that empty stretch of highway, I was not
good company. Maggie looked relieved when my brother strolled in ten minutes
later, and we ordered a second round of drinks.

‶
How was the nap?″ Maggie
asked.

‶
That bed is almost as
comfortable as my own at home.″

‶
Lucky you,″ I said.
‶
I
swear we′re sleeping on planks.″

The drinks came in record time and we asked the
waitress to give us a few more minutes before we ordered.

‶
Did you have a hard time getting
here?″ I asked Richard.

He took a sip of his Manhattan to fortify
himself.
‶
Last
night, after we talked, I called the airline and booked myself on an eight
o′clock flight to Albany. Then I tried to charter a flight to Stowe. But
you can′t fly directly to Stowe, you have to go to Morristown. Only I
couldn′t get a car there, so the rental people got on the computer and
found one in Rutland, meaning I had to change the charter.

‶
Now I′m not usually a
nervous flyer, but that Cessna vibrated like it was about to fall apart. After
I got to Rutland, the rental car I was supposed to pick up had been given to
someone else. I had to wait two hours for them to dig up the old station wagon.
Then it took another two hours to drive here.″ He sighed.
‶
It′s
been a very long day.″

‶
A real comedy of errors,
huh?″ I said, trying not to smile while imagining all six two of Richard
squashed into a miniature plane. His expression was grim, but telltale
amusement lit his eyes.

The waitress returned and we had to figure out
what we wanted. After she′d gone, Richard said,
‶
So tell me
everything that′s happened and what I′m doing here.″

I gave him my impressions of the people
we′d met, even the things I′d kept from Maggie, figuring they both
had a right to know just as much as I did.

While I spoke, Richard jotted the names of the
players on his cocktail napkin. He underlined one of them.
‶
Do
you suspect Laura?″

‶
She qualifies. I can only guess
the depth of her anger or embarrassment. I′ve got a feeling that whatever
Eileen knew about her might have something to do with her little paramour. But
Eileen also insulted Kay Andolina, although I missed whatever it was she said.
Because of that, she argued with Susan Dawson. Susan was seething, but I got
the feeling her anger was deeper than this one incident warranted. She ordered
Eileen to leave in the morning, which didn′t go down well.″

‶
This is all very
convoluted,″ Richard said, consulting his notes.

‶
Don′t forget the bend in
the road,″ Maggie said.

I told Richard about those disquieting feelings
I got.

‶
You said someone hit Eileen.
Could they have ditched the standard blunt object in the field by the
road?″ he asked.

I thought about it.
‶
Maybe. It might not
hurt to look.″

Richard drained his glass.
‶
Then
what?″

‶
We wait to see what the police
come up with.″

‶
And what part am I supposed to
play in all this?″

‶
I′m not sure,″ I
admitted.

He shrugged.
‶
Then I guess I′ll just
hang around and see what happens. Too bad I don′t have any
company.″

‶
You ever shoot pool?″ I
asked.

‶
Not since college.″

‶
Maybe we can play a few games
when we get back. Maggie hasn′t got a clue.″

‶
Hey,″ she protested.

I winked at her, but spoke to Richard.
‶
Or
maybe you could mingle with the other guests. We seem to be at a disadvantage,
being hired help and all.″

‶
Some of the guests are a little
....″ Maggie′s words trailed off.

‶
Rude,″ I finished for
her.
‶
But
you′ve got the right clothes and a lot more polish than me. They′ll
probably accept you right off.″

‶
Snobs, eh?″

Maggie nodded ruefully.

The waitress arrived with a tray laden with
food and that was the end of our murder discussion. We reverted to tourists,
comfortable in each other′s company and enjoyed the good meal.

Maggie and I arrived back at the inn about
nine. We agreed Richard should show up later, and since he′d forgotten
his shaving cream, he asked directions to a store.

A patrol car and the two plainclothes
detectives were waiting for us when we pulled up at the inn. My stomach
tightened as I parked, then got out of the car. Sgt. Beach approached.

‶
Mr. Resnick, Mrs. Dawson says
you have pictures taken in the victim′s room yesterday.″

‶
That′s right.″

‶
We′d like a look at
them.″

‶
How can that possibly help? All
Eileen’s stuff was jammed in the closet. There was nothing that belonged to her
in any of the shots, and we rearranged the furniture and the objects in the
room and brought in more from the common areas.″

‶
May we please have the
pictures?″

‶
They’re on a memory card. Will
I get it back?″

‶
The pictures, please.″

He wasn′t about to negotiate. He
didn′t have a warrant, or he′d have already confiscated the camera.
It would probably be better to give it up voluntarily than draw unwanted
attention.
‶
It′s
in the camera bag, up in my room.″

‶
We′d be happy to
accompany you to get it.″

They weren′t going to take any chances
that I′d destroy it. But why? What did they think it contained?

I shrugged.
‶
Suit yourself.″

‶
Should I come?″ Maggie
asked.

‶
The room isn′t big enough
to hold four people. I′ll meet you in the barroom in a few minutes. Come
on,″ I told the cops, who dutifully followed me inside the inn and up the
stairs.

My camera bag was exactly where I′d left
it on top of one of the equipment trunks. I fumbled with the side of the camera
and extracted the memory card.
‶
Can you at least let me know how they come out?″

Beach took the card without a word and turned
to leave.

‶
Uh, a receipt please.″

Beach came up with a notebook and glowered as
he scribbled a receipt, thrust it at me, and left the room.

I watched from the window as the two detectives
got into their car and drove off. Something didn′t feel right about them
taking the memory card, but then nothing felt right since the moment we′d
arrived.

Maggie′s writing tablet sat on her
suitcase and I decided to take it to her. Working on her article might distract
her. I found her in the barroom, sitting on the loveseat, flipping through an
old decorating magazine.

‶
Doing research?″

‶
Why not? I′m in desperate
need of inspiration.″

‶
Here.″ I handed her the
tablet.
‶
Mind
if I shoot some balls?″

She wrinkled her nose.
‶
That sounds so
risqué.”

‶
Only if you have a dirty
mind.″ I bent down, kissed her, and then headed for the game room.

The Canadian couple was already there,
occupying another loveseat. A bottle of wine and a couple of half-full glasses
sat on the coffee table in front of them. I nodded a hello and the man gave a
brief wave while the woman smiled shyly, her eyes shadowed with worry.

I racked up the balls and started sinking
shots.

I missed playing pool. When I′d been
unemployed the year before, I found it a good way to pick up a few extra bucks.
I racked up for another game, and it wasn′t long before I was engrossed.
Then I practiced trick shots. If only my high school geometry teacher had used
a pool table as a visual aide, he might′ve had a class of Einsteins
instead of bored-to-death teenagers.

While I amused myself, Richard ambled into the
room, walking straight past me and heading for the bookshelves on the far side.
He scanned the titles for a moment. The Canadian couple looked up and he smiled
at the woman, who was paging through a magazine, its cover printed in French.

‶
Québécois?″ Richard
asked.

She looked at him over the top of her magazine.
‶
Oui.”

Then Richard launched into a flood of French
and the woman visibly brightened. Moments later, the couple invited him to join
them and they sat together in animated conversation.

I didn′t even know my brother spoke
French. But the fact that he did might be to my advantage; maybe he could worm
some information out of the couple. Not that I thought they knew anything about
Eileen′s death, but they′d been here at least a day before us and
might′ve seen something that could prove useful.

There I was, making this situation into a case.
Why is it so hard for me to keep my nose out of things that really don′t
concern me? As soon as the police cleared me, we could leave. But even though
we′d finished the photography, some part of me didn′t want to go,
not without knowing the truth about what happened to dear old Eileen. And I
knew my funny feelings about her death would continue whether I stayed in
Vermont or went home.

I′d just set up a complicated shot when I
heard footsteps on the stairs. Laura and Ted turned the corner and stopped dead
in the doorway, looking expectantly at the table. I took my shot and all the
balls streaked across the table, everything but the cue ball going into three
different pockets.

‶
Wow,″ Ted said,
‶
you′re
a jack of all trades.″

‶
I learned some tricks from a
pro a few years back.″ I handed him the cue stick.
‶
It′s
all yours.″

‶
Thanks,″ he said, and
started racking up for a game. Laura ignored me once again, blasting me with a
wave of suspicion. Her stuck-up bitch persona annoyed me, but there was more to
it. Did she think I′d killed Eileen?

Still pondering that thought, I wandered into
the barroom. The full sherry decanter was again waiting on the bar, along with
a sweating pitcher of iced tea. I poured a glass of tea and sat beside Maggie
on the loveseat. Her yellow tablet had some sentences scribbled on it, but most
had been crossed out.

‶
Having a hard time getting
started?″ I asked, and took a sip.

‶
The muse has not struck. I wish
I had a laptop computer.″

‶
How would that help?″

‶
I find it easier to compose on
a keyboard.″

‶
Try the piano,″ I
suggested.

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned.
‶
Very
funny.″

Laura came into the room, poured herself a
glass of sherry, and left without acknowledging our presence.

‶
Why don′t you start by
mentioning the friendly atmosphere here at the Sugar Maple. How the guests are
just brimming with good cheer and the love of their fellow man.″

‶
Some love. One of them killed
Eileen.″

‶
So, lie.”

Her smile was fleeting.
‶
You know your funny
feelings?″

I nodded.

‶
I have one. Only it′s
what Brenda would call bad vibes. I feel like something′s going to
happen, only I don′t know what.″

‶
There′s a lot of tension
here. Everyone′s afraid. And they′re radiating that fear.″

‶
You can feel it?″ she
asked.

‶
Yeah. It′s really wiping
me out.″ I glanced at my watch; it was almost ten o′clock.
‶
I′m
going to hit the sack early. Do you mind?″

She looked panicked.
‶
But I′ll be
down here all alone.″

I nodded toward the game room.
‶
Rich
is here. You′ll be okay.″

‶
Well ... all right. I′ll
keep trying to get something down on paper. I won′t be long.″

I leaned over and kissed her.
‶
Night,
love.″

‶
Good night.″

As I headed up the stairs, I realized the
scattered conversations downstairs would make an excellent cover for a little
nosiness on my part. Since no one was in the living room, I crept close to
Zack′s and Susan′s door and heard a television. I did a mental head
count; the Andolinas had also been absent from the crowd downstairs. Were they
still at dinner? I glanced out the window overlooking the drive. The Cadillac
was parked outside; they had to be in their room. I′d bet it wasn′t
as claustrophobically small as ours. The Camaro was gone. Alyssa and her
boyfriend, Doug, were probably at one of the village nightspots; they
didn′t seem like the stay-at-home types.

On a whim, I decided to do a little
reconnoitering and padded down the corridor, listening in front of each of the
doors. I heard muffled voices in the room next to Richard′s, but it was
hard to make out what they were saying; probably the Andolinas steeped in
conversation.