Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (18 page)

"Did Eileen love Zack?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Did she believe Zack loved her?"

Another pang of Eileen's grief assaulted me. "Not love, but hoped he felt some affection ... until this week."

"What changed her mind?"

Emotional overload clouded my understanding. "I'm ... not sure."

"Okay, Jeff. You're doing fine. Stay relaxed ... stay calm. Now, do you remember your accident on the stairs the other evening?"

"Yes." I breathed easier, relieved to leave Eileen's melancholy memories and once again embrace being me.

"What happened after you left us downstairs?"

The memory flashed through me like watching a video. "I went upstairs. Listened at the doors ... Susan's apartment. Kay Andolina's room."

"Did you hear anything suspicious?"

"No."

"Then what did you do?"

The video continued in my head. "I went ... upstairs. It was dark."

"What happened when you got to the top of the stairs?"

"I saw movement. Someone hit me—pushed me. I fell ... backwards."

"What happened next?"

I'd gone tumbling—crashing to the floor. "I hit my head. Had the wind knocked out of me."

"And then—?"

"Heard noises ... no, a strange voice."

"Kay Andolina?"

"Yes."

"She checked you over."

The picture in my mind was so clear, and yet—I was looking down at myself, like an eerie, out-of-body experience. Kay, dressed in a lavender-quilted robe, knelt beside me. "She touched my face."

"What did she say?"

The words—her intonation—echoed through my head. "'Look within.'"

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know," I answered, confused.

"What happened next?"

"My head hurt. I opened my eyes ... you were there."

"Okay, Jeff, you're doing great. Now if I told you to look within what would you see?"

Another image drifted into my mind—craggy rocks and millions and millions of trees. With it came a hazy sense of trepidation. "Mountains."

"The Green Mountains?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know."

"Are you looking at the mountains?"

The image shifted. Low clouds—a threatening sky. "No."

"Are you on the mountain?"

Renewed tension rose within me. "Yes."

"What are you doing?"

"Climbing." Me, alone, slogging through the trees, trying to run.

"Why?"

The tension shifted to panic, growing exponentially. "Have to get away."

"From what—from whom?"

The fear grew, threatening to choke me. "I—I don't know."

"Okay, Jeff. Remain calm. That's it—breathe slowly."

Richard's quiet confidence eased the angst and caused it to dissipate.

"Now, I'm going to bring you out of the hypnotic state. When I count to three and snap my fingers you'll open your eyes and you'll feel refreshed, and you'll remember everything you've told me. You feel fine. Oh, and in the future, when you feel a headache coming on, I want you to remember how relaxed and well you feel right now, and that will help ease the pain. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay. One. You're aware of everything around you. Two. You're filled with positive energy. Three. You're fully alert and feeling fine."

He snapped his fingers and I blinked, momentarily disoriented. I looked around, grateful to find myself back in Richard's cozy room, feeling relaxed. And while a remnant of the headache lingered, I felt better than I had before we'd started, just as he'd suggested.

"How did I do?"

"You're a very receptive subject."

I struggled to sit up and took a deep breath. The clarity I'd experienced during hypnosis was already beginning to fade. Despite Richard's instructions to the contrary, under hypnosis the knowledge had still been emotionally laden. Fully conscious, it was no longer colored by Eileen's passions but mirrored my own.

"My God. Laura's some kind of pedophile."

"How do you feel about the idea of having sex with Eileen?" Richard teased.

"That doesn't appeal to me, either. I wondered why she kept inviting me into the hot tub. I had no idea I was so attractive to old ladies."

"Neither did I." He sobered. "Did I ask the right questions?"

"Definitely."

"Do you have impressions of things you didn't tell me about?"

"Lots. I need to let it percolate. All I'm sure of now is that we've got four really good candidates as murderers."

"What about that mountain stuff? What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why would Kay Andolina say that to you?"

I remembered my conversation with her at the party. "Maybe it's because an angel looks out for me."

"A what?"

"An angel," I repeated.

He smiled. "I didn't know I'd been elevated to heavenly status."

"Very funny. She's got it in her head that she's responsible for Eileen's death because she was rude to her. She complained, and Susan was going to throw Eileen out. She kept calling me Greg, too."

Richard's amusement faded and he frowned. "I had a long conversation with her husband. That is until Alyssa came up and interrupted us." He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Kay had a breakdown after the death of their son." He shook his head in sympathy. "She shot and killed him. His name was Greg."

"An accident?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"She heard a noise in the night. There was a loaded gun in the house. Now she talks to angels."

"Did Fred ask you for professional advice?"

"He just needed to talk. It's been hard on him. He loves her, but he's frustrated by the changes in her. Eileen's death brought back a lot of unpleasant memories, which is probably why she's confused."

I felt a surge of compassion for the woman and her husband, regretting my earlier, hasty judgment of them.

I forced myself to consider everything else I'd learned that evening. There were still so many pieces of the puzzle missing.

"Do you think Beach would let me look at Eileen's belongings? I'm sure the killer—or someone—got rid of the incriminating page on that writing tablet, but the information I dredged up tonight might still be of use to Beach. And I might get more by touching Eileen's stuff."

"Haven't you had enough for one day?"

"I want to get it over with. You're the one who wanted to go home as soon as possible."

He glanced at his watch. "It's 10:15."

I got up and headed for the door. "I'll call the station to see if he's still there. If it's a go, I'll meet you in the living room in five minutes, okay? Or I can go by myself if you'll loan me your car."

He shook his head. "I'd better go, too. But I've had too much to drink. You'll have to drive." He threw me the car keys.

When I called the police station, Beach seemed surprised to hear from me and asked if it could wait until morning.

It couldn't.

The roads were nearly deserted, which suited me fine. When I have a headache,
headlights penetrate my brain like knife thrusts. I was glad it took less than ten minutes to get to the police station.

Despite the hour, Beach was waiting for us. We sat on plastic chairs in the reception area and he listened patiently while I told him everything I'd learned that evening—avoiding how I'd obtained some of the information.

"It'll be interesting to hear what Mr. Dawson has to say about his expected windfall. I wonder if she even has a clue about her husband’s intentions."

"You and the chief can tag-team them. It’s likely one of them will crack."

"And it'll be interesting to hear what Ms. Ross has to say about being blackmailed. More likely, all three will deny everything. Unfortunately, without proof, everything you've told me is just hearsay."

We followed him to the same interrogation room I'd been in the evening before. Spread out on the metal table were Eileen’s suitcase, a travel tote, and a briefcase. Beach jerked a thumb toward it. "Go for it."

I opened the briefcase first. It contained maps, a magazine, several travel folders, and a yellow legal pad—the one I'd seen in the vision. No indentations marred the remaining pages, indicating more than just the sheet Eileen had written on had been removed. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. "Maybe I should look at the fireplaces when we get back to the inn."

"And the barbecue," Richard added.

The travel tote, complete with shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste, was of no help. Richard looked over the bottles of medication.

"Are you familiar with those?" Beach asked.

"I've seen the same combinations before for cancer treatment."

The black, soft-sided suitcase beckoned. I exhaled, sweat already dampening the back of my shirt.

"What's wrong?" Richard asked.

I gestured toward my chest. "I've got this weird feeling in my gut. Like I shouldn't touch it."

"You're the one who asked to see it," Beach reminded me.

"Yeah.”

Putting on a brave front, I unzipped the case and threw back the lid. A swell of emotion pounded me. Overwhelmed, I wasn't immediately able to identify it. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes welled with sudden tears.

"Jeff?" Richard asked.

I stumbled into a chair and forced myself to breathe evenly. Eileen's neatly folded, terry cloth robe—the last thing she'd ever worn—sat atop her other clothes, radiating wave after wave of despair.

"What is it?" Beach asked.

"Betrayal." I covered my eyes with my hand, massaging my aching temples.

"Get beyond it," a detached Richard advised.

I nodded—reached for the robe, and settled my left hand on it. Conflicting images filled my mind. Laura. Mouthing epithets. In the clearing behind the inn. Then a younger, more vulnerable Laura, crying. The images strobed back and forth, making me dizzy.

"Eileen ... argued with Laura. But she didn't look the way she does today. Her hair was darker. It must've been years ago. Why am I'm getting something from so long ago?"

"Can you zero in on what happened Friday night?" Richard asked.

I shut my eyes, swamped by more painful memories. Zack—his eyes wide in anger. Pushing Eileen. Demanding money. Blaming Eileen. Eileen's terrible guilt.

"Eileen ... talked to Zack. She argued with him."

"About what?"

"Money. I don't know when. It could've been Friday. I'm not sure."

"What else?" Beach asked.

Eileen's lingering emotional baggage poured relentlessly out of the suitcase.

The hot tub. Eileen's hand clutching the tumbler of scotch, gulping it, the amber liquid dibbling down her chin. A voice. Quiet. Menacing. Unintelligible. Skyrockets of pain. Then, blissful nothingness.

I let out a shaky breath.

"All I'm getting is betrayal. She felt she had no reason to live. Then she was dead. Floating in the hot tub."

"Murdered," Beach said. "But who did it?"

I shrugged, my head pounding. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out the prescription bottle.

"No," Richard said, taking it from me. "That's it for tonight. Sit back and relax."

I did as I was told, and watched in silence as he closed the suitcase, zipped it shut, and set it in the corner of the room farthest from me.

Acute defeat settled over me. "Sorry, Beach. I thought maybe I could get to the bottom of this if I saw—touched—Eileen's stuff."

He shrugged, obviously as disappointed as me. "You tried. It looks like I go about this the old-fashioned way."

Exhaustion pulled at me. But there was still so much that needed to be said—to be asked. I forced myself to think about other things. "What's Stowe's drug problem like?"

"Not good. It's a transient population—upper-middle class to wealthy people who like to party. Why?"

"Adam Henderson grows and sells marijuana on the side. You might want to look into that when you get a chance."

"Did he try to sell you some?"

"No, but he sold it to at least one of the other guests."

"Are you telling me this to get back at him for pushing you down the stairs?"

"I could've pressed charges if I was that pissed. I'm just telling you what he does to make money on the side."

Beach scowled. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, what's this about Ted Palmer being arrested for joyriding?"

"He mentioned it to you?"

"He thought you'd already told me. Either that or he wanted to tell me himself before I found out some other way." That struck me as odd. "How did he think I'd find out?"

"Does anyone at the inn know about this psychic stuff you do?"

"I don't think so. Maggie could've told Susan, but she knows I like to keep it quiet."

"I can see why. Anyway, Palmer's never been in trouble since his arrest almost eleven years ago. But he still could've been the one who forced you off the road. Wouldn't you have known that?"

"Not necessarily. I tap into emotions. If he wasn't bothered by nearly killing us—I wouldn't pick up on it. And whoever killed Eileen obviously isn't obsessing over it and feels confident he—or she—won't get caught."

Beach frowned. "Two days ago I would've laughed if anyone told me I'd believe a psychic. Now...." He stared at the floor. Suddenly I was getting something from him.

I couldn't take much more.

"What is it, Beach?" I asked, anticipating his question.

"My sister—is she...?" His expression was one of hopeful dread.

"I don't know about the hereafter. I only got what you felt about the accident. You're being too hard on yourself. How old were you, six?"

He nodded. "I caught a bass. Karen was so excited. She tried to help me land it and fell in. Neither of us could swim. The dock was two feet higher than the water. I couldn't reach her. By the time I got help, it was too late."

He fell silent, radiating remorse.

I felt like a creep intruding on his misery.

My head threatened to split. "I—I have to go," I said, then Richard was at my elbow, helped me from the chair and guided me out the room.

"Wait," Beach called after us, and handed Richard a large brown envelope.

Before I knew it, we were outside, standing in the parking lot. Above the mercury vapor lights the sky was inky black and dotted with stars. My breath came out in a wispy fog. There'd be a frost by morning.

"Come on," Richard said, steering me toward the car. "I'm taking you back to the inn and putting you to bed."

"You make me sound like a bad little boy."

"Well, you certainly don't know your own limits." He got in the car, tossed the envelope in back and buckled himself in. "Seat belt," he reminded me.

I didn't have the stamina to argue. I fumbled with the belt. "Beach ought to chat with Kay Andolina," I said, sinking back in the seat. "She's the one who talks to angels."

Then we were on the road heading north. Except for a few of the village's hot spots, the place seemed deserted, shut down, asleep.

I was shutting down, too.