Grimm (12 page)

“Keep your hair on. Keep your hair on,” said Grandad, as Rory strode into the living room at 47 Boglehole Road asking questions without giving any time for answers. Before they could go any further, they were interrupted by thumping and muffled shouting from the other side of the front door. In his desperation to interrogate his Grandad, Rory had let the front door bang shut leaving Bonnie unable to get into the house. Red-faced, Rory backtracked to let her in.

“Imagine forgetting your partner in crime,” said Grandad with a grin.

“We’ve not committed any crime, but we’ll have you for withholding information from the investigation,” said Rory, frustrated that his opening salvo of questions had been cut short.

“That’s a serious charge,” said Grandad winking at Bonnie and looking for some back-up. This time she gave him nothing in support.

“Now where were we?” said Grandad. “Oh aye. You were standing in front of me having completely lost the plot. I hope you’re going to be a bit calmer second time round. I suggest you just give me one question at a time and I’ll see what I can do.”

Rory took a deep breath, which was the only gap that Bonnie needed to beat him to it. “Why are there fresh flowers on Lottie Gilchrist’s grave? Was she Derek Goodman’s Auntie? Are the initials ‘DG’ for Derek Goodman or is there some Gilchrist in town we didn’t know about?”

“Och, don’t you start!” said Grandad. “I might just put my head under my blanket and hope that you’ll go away! What is this all about? Where have you two just come from?”

“We’ve just been to Park Street Cemetery,” said Bonnie.

“You pair know how to have a good time, don’t you? Aren’t kids
like you supposed to be playing with computers or vandalizing bus shelters or something?”

“Come on, Grandad,” said Rory. “Quit the smart comments and just give us some answers. Lottie Gilchrist. Who was she? I mean who might she have become? I mean …”

“What are you talking about?” said Grandad.

Rory explained about Lottie’s grave, the flowers, the note and the initials “DG.”

“Right … I’m with you now. The Gilchrists did move away decades ago, so the initials are nothing to do with them. But Detectives McKenna and O’Donnell are correct in making a link to Derek Goodman.”

“I knew it!” said Rory clapping his hands together as Bonnie gave an appreciative nod. “What’s the connection?” she said.

“Well, if you give me a minute, I’m coming to that.” Grandad heaved himself to get more upright in his seat. “Hunter Goodman, who used to manage
The Chronicle
by the way, married a woman called Nancy Gilchrist and they had a son, called Derek.”

“So who was Lottie Gilchrist?” asked Bonnie.

“Nancy’s twin sister. They were identical and very close. In fact, Nancy never really got over the death of her sister. She died just a few years later and everyone said it was from a broken heart.”

“So that means that Derek Goodman, or ‘DG,’ lost his mum when he was young because his Aunt Lottie that he never knew died in that accident,” said Rory. “You could have told us that, Grandad.”

“I didn’t think it mattered that much,” said Grandad, “I can’t see what you’re trying to prove, Rory.”

Bonnie piped up. “Well if Derek Goodman is still leaving flowers to this day on the grave of a woman he never knew it’s obviously important to him. If he thinks that someone, or something like Hotel Grimm, is to blame for that fact …”

“Then who knows what kind of stuff he is going to write about them?” said Rory completing the thought.

Grandad wasn’t keen on the idea, but Rory and Bonnie reckoned
it had to be the next step, and a simple call set up an immediate appointment at
The Chronicle’s
office.

“I’m sorry,” said Rory to Bonnie after he put the phone down. “I can picture the place. It’s upstairs.”

“That’s rubbish,” she said. “I think I’ll write a letter of complaint to the paper. Do you think they’ll print it?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

After parting company with Bonnie, Rory considered how ironic it was that the history of Hotel Grimm was so closely linked to the paper.
The Chronicle
declared every week that it wanted the place closed but it seemed that the paper would be a bit lost without its favourite front page story. If the hotel ever did close, maybe
The Chronicle
would need to look at its own rebranding, Rory thought ruefully. Turning the last corner, he bumped straight into his mother.

“Rory! Fancy meeting you here,” said Momo, flapping in the usual flurry of baggy coloured clothes and jewellery that could double as percussion instruments.

“Hi Mum, what are you doing here?” said Rory.

“Well, I’ve just been at
The Chronicle
seeing if they would do a feature on my next exhibition. I must say Derek Goodman was charming and I think he’s going to be very supportive. It’s all very exciting Rory. It’s called “Half Measures”. You see, imagine if …”

“Er … actually, Mum, I’ve got to go
The Chronicle
too, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Now you see, Rory, this is a bit of what ‘Half Measures’ is about. We are all in such a rush these days that we need to slow down a bit. We’ll get twice as much back you know!”

“Yeah, okay,” said Rory, “But right now I really
am
in a rush. Maybe see you later?”

“I’ll be at the studio later, but there’s stuff in the fridge for tea.” Rory sometimes had difficulty making out if the fridge contents were to be eaten or were some of his mother’s art materials. Half measures was often what he ended up taking to start with, just to be on the safe side.

“Great thanks. Must dash, Mum.”

The brass plaque to the side of the door read “The Chronicle: serving Aberfintry since 1908.” As he reached the top of the stairs, a receptionist looked up from behind her desk. Rory couldn’t think at first why her severely pulled-back hair and glasses were familiar to him. Then he realized that he had seen her portrait that morning. Grimson had seen something not immediately obvious to Rory as it had suggested a warmth that the woman herself did not seem to possess. The nameplate on her desk said she was Deirdre Dunbar, which was more of an introduction than she was ever going to make herself.

“Yes?” and a raised eyebrow were as much as Rory got for a welcome.

“Er … Rory McKenna to see Derek Goodman.”

Deirdre Dunbar gave a curt nod to indicate that Rory should sit in one of two seats by the window. Rory looked around the walls at the framed
Chronicle
front pages representing decades of local reporting. The first headline he noticed was, “
He’s Done it Again!!!”
with a photo of Lachlan Stagg driving a JCB that was almost failing to hold an enormous and presumably world-record-breaking potato in its giant scoop. Glancing further around the reception area he could see that at least half a dozen of the pages were reporting some outrage connected with Hotel Grimm. He could only make out the headline and subtext detail of the one nearest to him. “
Inferno at Hotel Grimm” American tourist and staff member recovering in hospital.

Rory strained to see more but felt that getting up from his seat to look more closely would somehow be frowned upon by Deirdre Dunbar. As it was, he managed to annoy her anyway because he was concentrating so hard on trying to read at a distance, that he didn’t notice her telling him that he could go through to see Derek Goodman. Caught out, Rory suddenly felt very unprepared to see the editor but headed for the indicated door, knocked and entered.

“Good afternoon, Rory. What a coincidence, having just seen
your mother,” said Derek Goodman rising from his desk with a thin smile and an outstretched hand. “The whole town feels it knows you so well but it’s good to finally meet you in person. Of course, I have my own sources, as Gracie and Gordon have told me so much about you.”

Rory winced and wondered what on earth the gruesome twosome would have said about him.

“So how are things in the world of Zizz Cola?” he said, indicating for Rory to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Is there some exciting update that
The Chronicle
should know about?”

“Things are fine thanks, but that’s not really the reason I’m here.”

“Sounds intriguing. Tell me more,” said Goodman, reaching for a pen and a spiral bound notebook.

“I’ve actually been doing a bit of local history investigation and thought that you may be able to help out,” said Rory.

“Local history, eh?” said Goodman sounding slightly disappointed. “Well
The Chronicle
has certainly been covering stories for a few decades, so we may be able to comment.”

“Yes,” said Rory. “I’ve actually been using your archive in the library.”

“Excellent,” said Derek Goodman. “Being a resource to the community is what we are all about. So what brings you here now?”

“I thought that it might help to talk to you directly,” said Rory, feeling increasingly anxious about how to raise what he was here to talk about.

“How flattering,” said Goodman, “What particular topic is it you’re interested in?”

“Hotel Grimm,” said Rory.

“Oh really?” said Goodman his face impassive and his voice flat. The only change in his manner was that although the editor looked straight at Rory, his pen began to write slowly across the page of the pad in front of him, almost as if his hand was disconnected from the rest of him.

“Yes,” said Rory, concentrating on looking Goodman straight in the eye and holding his gaze. “
The Chronicle
has certainly given a lot
of coverage to the place over the years.”

“Well…” said Goodman. “It’s made its own coverage really.” His face seemed to go from cold to frozen. “Unfortunately, there are just so many disastrous things that continue to happen there. We’ve just been the ones to report it and make sure that everyone nearby knows exactly what’s happening on their doorstep.” His pen raised and hovered over the page like a hawk. “What is it you’re interested in exactly, may I ask?”

“I suppose … well, in all the reading I’ve been doing … I find that … I’m just trying to separate fact from fiction,” said Rory.

There was a long pause. Derek Goodman’s eyes seemed to be boring into him and Rory found that he couldn’t keep looking at the editor any longer. His eyes flickered away and when Goodman spoke it was with barely veiled anger. “Separate fact from fiction? I do
not
like what you are implying there. You should be careful with your choice of phrase. What makes you think there is fiction in the contents of
The Chronicle?
”

“Well,” said Rory beginning to wish that Bonnie was sitting beside him to give him some backup. “I was wondering if there could have been another way of looking at what has happened at Hotel Grimm, that didn’t cast the hotel in quite the same negative light?” Even as he spoke Rory felt like he was digging a huge hole that he was on the verge of falling into.

“Go on,” said Goodman.

“There are things that you seem to have missed out. Like the fact that Gwendolen Grimm died a few years ago,” suggested Rory. “A real tragedy for the Grimm family, but not one that you seem to have reported in any way at all.”

There was a pause. “Mmm,” said Goodman thoughtfully, the hint of a smile returning to his face. “What an interesting visit this is turning out to be. What
is
this meeting really about, I wonder? The world famous Zizz Boy comes to see me to talk about Hotel Grimm and to claim that things aren’t so bad up there after all. What
is
going on? Don’t tell me that you’re involved with the Grimms?”

Rory was disconcerted to see that Goodman’s pen was now flying
across the page even though the man continued to stare intently at Rory. It was too far away and too upside down for Rory to see what was being written but he was becoming very nervous about it.

Goodman meanwhile was like a fox with a first decent sniff of a rabbit; his smile widening with every breath.

“They’ve got to you haven’t they?” he said.

“Got to me?” said Rory confused at Goodman’s remark.

“Yes, yes, yes. That evil murdering crew. They’ve wheedled away at you with a sob story, lured you into believing that they’re something they’re not, and now here you are trying to separate
fact
from
fiction.”
Goodman’s fingers flicked the air to signify his use of Rory’s phrase.

As Goodman’s confidence and smile grew by the second, Rory began to bristle with anger. “No one has got to me,” he snapped, flicking his fingers back in the same way. “I can make my own judgement about things.”

“The global success has gone to your head.” Goodman’s pen stopped writing and he leaned over the desk towards Rory. The smile faded and he lowered his voice. “Let me tell you, young man, that place is dangerous and it
will
close. Oh yes … I will see to it personally.”

Before Rory could stop himself, the stony face of the editor provoked him too much. He snapped back and everything spilled out. “You really don’t like the Grimms, do you? You have a grudge and you get a dig in at every opportunity. Is it because of what happened to Lottie Gilchrist and your mother? You’ve just never been able to forgive them?”

There was a long long silence and Derek Goodman seemed unable to look directly at Rory as his eyes cast around looking for a place to land. Then they narrowed and he gave Rory a piercing look.

“So you’re going to make this personal are you? Why should you care anyway, Zizz Boy? What is it you’re trying to do up there? Trying to make amends?”

“What do you mean make amends?” Rory asked.

“For the fact that your family is at the root of the problems.”
Goodman spat the words out and sat back.

“I really don’t know what you are talking about,” said Rory, genuinely perplexed and trying to think how his parents might have influenced events at Hotel Grimm.

Goodman shook his head and gave Rory a contemptuous look. “Playing the innocent even though all of the deaths could probably be laid at your own family’s front door.”