Room At The Inn (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (5 page)

"I'm not sure."

"What if he won't come?" Her voice was sharp.

"Then we should leave. Tonight."

"But what about the article? What about the pictures?" She sounded panicked.

"I know. This is one hell of an opportunity for both of us. If the photos turn out, it'll be a great portfolio piece."

Her frown turned into a tentative smile. "Then you're serious about photography?"

"It's more of a career than tending bar. This job is a first step, but photography's a long-term goal. Right now, I feel that Richard needs to be here."

She looked thoughtful. "Are you sure you're not just feeling insecure? You were independent for a long time, and you've had to rely on Richard a lot this past year. He's been almost like a parent to you."

"Don't think I haven't considered it.”

I thought I'd bounce back a lot quicker from the mugging six months before. A residual effect of the fractured skull was crippling headaches that often plagued me. I hadn't had a really bad one in over a week, which was a record for me. But I'd also noticed that when my haphazard insights kicked in, the headaches followed with a vengeance.

Maggie touched my hand and dug into her purse for her cell phone setting it on the table. "Eat up. Then go call him."

I nodded, thankful she'd accepted the idea so gracefully.

"Besides, it'll be great to go shopping with Brenda. We could hit the outlets in Rutland while Richard and you do whatever it is you—"

"No. He can't bring Brenda."

"Why not?"

I couldn't explain why I wanted Richard to come—let alone why he should leave Brenda at home. "I ... it wouldn't be good for her."

She looked around the room before speaking. "Are you saying she wouldn't fit in because she's black?"

"No, nothing like that. I just get the feeling she should stay in Buffalo. You know, keep the home fires burning. Something like that."

Maggie frowned, the disappointment in her eyes inescapable. Luckily the waitress arrived with our food. We ate in silence.

Maggie was still working on her entree when I excused myself and headed for the restaurant’s entryway. I dialed and glanced at my watch: 7:30. Richard answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Maggie, what's up?"

"It’s me. I forgot to bring my charger, so I’m using Maggie’s phone. And not much is up. How're you?"

"Fine." A long pause ensued. "Jeff, what's wrong?"

The moment of truth.

"Rich, can you come to Stowe?"

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I need you to be here. Tomorrow. And I need you to stay for a couple of days."

Another long pause.

"Jeff, you know I volunteer at the clinic on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. They'd have a hard time finding a replacement on such short notice."

"Rich, please come."

The silence lingered for at least ten seconds.

"I can't. I just can't.”

I stood there, stunned. Despite Maggie's warning, I hadn't believed he'd actually say no.

"Look, Jeff, I can't turn my life upside down every time you get one of those funny feelings of yours," Richard continued.

I tried to hide my disappointment. "You're right.”

A plump woman in a tight black mini dress stood just within earshot, She had her cell phone ready, too. I turned away.

"I'm sure whatever it is that’s bothering you will settle itself in a day or two," he said.

"You're probably right." Oh, yeah? Then why did I feel doomed?

The woman moved to stand before me, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Why didn’t she just go outside? She glared at me, so I did.

"Look, Maggie’s waiting for me, I’d better get back to her. I'll see you on Monday night. Bye." I slapped the phone shut, stabbed the power button to turn it off, and shoved it into my pocket.

I let out a frustrated breath and gazed around the packed parking lot. The twilight deepened. Headlights flashed on the highway. The world would soon come to an end. At least, the world as I knew it. I'd asked a lot of Richard over the past few months, maybe too much, because now, when it really counted, he'd let me down.

That wasn't true. He just didn't understand what this meant to me. How could he? He didn't have that sick feeling in his gut.

By the time I got back to the table, the waitress had cleared the dishes and Maggie was eating some local Ben-And-Jerry's ice cream. She proffered her spoon. "Want a taste?"

I took my seat and shook my head.

"Is he coming?"

"No."

"Oh." She sounded surprised. Subdued, she ate another spoon of ice cream. "You weren't serious about us leaving Stowe, were you?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Well, whatever's bothering you, we'll just have to handle it together. Right?"

I smiled and reached over to squeeze her hand. "Yeah.”

But I had a feeling we were already in over our heads.

We lingered over our coffee. Not that there was an abundance of conversation. Maggie respects my quiet interludes. The waitress, however, hovered anxiously until we finally vacated the table and headed back to the inn.

Maggie drove. I couldn't analyze what I was picking up while behind the wheel, and I didn't want to get us into an accident, either. When we passed that spot in the road, I intended to surrender myself entirely to the feeling, vision—whatever it was—that nagged my psyche.

Maggie braked. I tensed as we approached that familiar stretch of road. The headlights cut a path ahead of us, revealing only the double-yellow line in the highway. Too many shadows obscured the landscape, yet something registered in my mind's eye.

"Colorado!"

"Colorado?" Maggie echoed, eyes still on the road.

"That spot in the road has something to do with Colorado."

"The Rocky Mountains versus the Green Mountains?" Maggie suggested.

"Maybe. It's not even a picture in my mind—just a vague feeling. Damn, it's frustrating only getting one piece of the puzzle at a time."

Maggie pulled into the inn's driveway, parking behind the black BMW with Québec license plates. She took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to me. "You're going to make yourself crazy. Then you'll get one of your sick headaches and neither of us will have any fun. Some vacation."

"Sorry. I won't mention it again."

She frowned. "Don't be like that. You torture yourself with these things and usually they don't amount to anything. Why put yourself through it?"

"I'll try not to think about it. Okay?"

Grudgingly, "Okay." She tried to be more cheerful. "What do you want to do next? Read? Play a game of pool?"

"I haven't played since the night I was mugged."

"Did you win?"

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully, not remembering much else about that evening.

I must've had a weird look on my face, be
cause she reached out to touch my shoulder. "We don't have to play if it brings back painful memories."

"It won't bother me." I smiled, and then wagged a finger at her. "Just don't come after me with a baseball bat if you lose." Hey, I could joke about something that had nearly cost me my life a scant six months before. "Come on, I'll teach you to play Eight Ball."

She followed me inside. No sooner had we opened the door than a voice called out. "Jeff?" It was Zack. "There's a telephone message for you."

I met him halfway ac
ross the room, took the yellow Post-it note from him. "Thanks." He retreated for the office as I glanced at the slip of paper.

"Well?" Maggie asked.

"It says 'call home.'"

"Richard?"

I nodded.

"I'm going to dump my purse in the room. I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

She went upstairs while I went out on the back patio to make my call. It took a long time before the Maggie’s phone found a signal and I could dial. Richard answered on the first ring. "I didn't expect a message from you," I began.

"And I wasn't expecting a weekend vacation, either," he said sourly.

"Then you'll come?"

"Let's just say if I don't, I'll have a miserable weekend at home."

I couldn't help the broad, idiot grin that spread across my face, or the feeling of triumph that coursed through me. Good old Brenda was always on my side.

"I managed to find someone to cover for me at the clinic, so I guess I'll be there tomorrow." He sounded ... resigned?

"Thanks, Rich. I knew I could count on you." I gave him the directions on how to get to the inn once he got into town. The logistics of actually getting to Stowe were going to be his problem. "Maybe we shouldn't let people know we're related," I suggested.

"Is all this intrigue really necessary?"

"It could work to our advantage."

He sighed. "Whatever you say."

"Thanks," I said, feeling calmer.

"Listen, don't expect me until evening. Will I be able to get a room at the inn?"

"Well, they're booked solid right now."

"Great. Where am I supposed to stay? You do know it's a holiday weekend."

"I know. But I don't think you should worry about it."

"Is this another one of your psychic messages?"

"Yes," I said hurriedly. In retrospect, I should've analyzed that piece of insight a little closer.

"Anything else?"

"Leave Brenda home."

"Oh, she's going to love that. Why?" When I didn't answer immediately, he spoke again. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No. It's just ... why risk it?"

"Risk it?" The impatience left his voice—replaced by concern. "Jeff, maybe you and Maggie should just come home."

"It's already too late. Whatever's going to happen ... I think we're supposed to be a part of it."

"Jeff, I don't like the sound of this."

"I don't either." If I had to describe what impending doom felt like, this would be it. I cleared my throat. "See you tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Rich. You're the best."

"Good night, Jeff."

I slapped the phone shut, feeling more relaxed than I had in hours.

Wandering into the barroom, I found Maggie sitting at the old upright piano, flipping through a stack of brittle, yellowed sheet music.

"Do you play?" I asked.

"I used to. But
We'll Kick the Kaiser
doesn't do much for me." She picked out middle C, tapped it and winced. "Sounds like it hasn't been tuned in decades." She changed the subject. "Is he coming?"

"Brenda convinced him."

"That's one you owe her."

"More like a hundred."

She nodded toward the pool table. "Shall we?"

Laura and Ted sat at a table at the end of the game room playing backgammon. "Hi," Maggie said, but the mismatched lovers barely acknowledged our presence.

The snub burned me. For all she tried, it was apparent Maggie's natural friendliness just wasn't appreciated by most of the other guests at the inn—their loss.

Ignoring them, I racked up the table. "The object of the game is to knock the balls into the pocket."

"I got that part," she said, chalking the end of her cue like I'm sure she'd seen hundreds of times on TV, never knowing why.

"The table's divided into quadrants. You place the cue ball—that's this white one—behind the imaginary line that's right about here."

Her stony stare perfectly conveyed her annoyance.

"Why don't we just take turns knocking them into the pockets?" I suggested.

She brightened. "I'll take the striped ones.”

"Ladies first." I came up behind her, positioning my arms around her, guiding her movements with the cue stick. "This is called the break shot.”

Bemused, she looked at me over her shoulder. "I think I can handle that."

I backed off and she bent over the table, took careful aim and hit the cue ball. It slammed into the fifteen ball with a satisfying smack. The nine ball went into the left corner pocket.

Her eyes shone with pleasure. "How was that?"

"Just fine."

I grabbed a cue stick from the rack—not too badly warped—and stood on the left side of the table while Maggie considered her options. I had a clear view of both the barroom and the game room, and heard, before I saw, Eileen trudging down the stairs. Dressed in a heavy, white terry-cloth robe and matching terry thongs, she clutched a bottle of scotch under one arm and held a tall plastic tumbler in the other hand. Unsteady on her feet, I guessed she'd started her own personal happy hour before joining the rest of the guests. She went straight to the bar, filled the glass with ice, and then poured the scotch.

Kay Andolina sat in a wing chair by the cold fireplace on the opposite end of the room. "Can I offer you a drink?" Eileen asked her, her words slurred.

"No, thank you!"

"Rats! I missed," Maggie said. "Your turn."

I turned my attention back to the table. It took less than a minute for me to pick off all the solid balls, and go after Maggie's, too.

She blinked, disappointed. "Maybe you're in the wrong job. You could be the next Minnesota Fats."

"Except I'm from Buffalo, and I'd have to gain a hundred pounds." She studied the table, looking crestfallen. I paused in racking up for another game. "Sorry, Maggs. If you'll play again, I'll give you a second chance if you miss."

"If we were more evenly matched I'd refuse. Since I haven't got a chance of winning, I accept your offer." Her tone of superiority was all for show. Maggie's not the competitive type.

I let her break again, my gaze drifting back to the other room. Kay Andolina stood near the bar, only a foot from Eileen, her face flushed with anger. "How dare you," she said, her voice low and menacing. For a moment, I thought she might slap her.

Eileen tried to stifle a laugh. I'd missed whatever insult she'd just delivered. This didn't seem like the friendly woman we'd met the night before.

Kay stalked up the steps and Eileen collected her bottle and glass before ambling into the game room. You didn't need to be psychic to feel Maggie's ire rise. Her ex-husband had cheated on her, and all the unresolved anger she claimed she'd conquered suddenly surfaced, threatening to erupt.

"Join me in a drink?" Eileen asked the room at large.

"No, thanks," I said. Ted looked up from the backgammon board, but Laura seemed oblivious to her presence.

"A bunch of teetotalers, eh?"

Laura continued to stare at the game board before her. "Some of us don't succumb to our vices."

Eileen blinked, then laughed. "Oh
, come now, my dear, everyone does. You more than most."

At last Laura’s gaze rose to meet the Englishwoman's, her glare filled with absolute hatred. I got a strong sense of déjà vu. These two knew each other well. A decades-old tension hung between them. But how had they ended up in Stowe at the same place and time for a seemingly carefree weekend vacation?

Without a word, Laura rose. She brushed past me, hurrying up the stairs with Ted following a step or two behind. "Laura, wait!"

Eileen laughed. "I seem to be clearing a path wherever I go. I hope I shan't offend you too, my dear."

Furious, Maggie slammed her cue stick into the wooden rack on the wall and stalked into the barroom.

Eileen's eyebrows rose.

I shrugged. "PMS."

She took a long pull on her drink. "I'm on my way to the hot tub. Would you care to join me?"

"Don't you think you've had enough? You wouldn't want to cook yourself."

Eileen smiled. "Quite right, my boy." She stepped uncomfortably close and patted my cheek, her hot breath reeking of scotch. "Quite right." Then she turned on her heel. "You know where to find me should anyone come looking. And I'm sure someone will."

I watched her stagger toward the Jacuzzi. Her jocularity was all for show; her shoulders sagged in defeat. More than just defeat—desolation.

Maggie stood in front of the bar, clutching a half-empty glass of sherry. Bright spots of pink stained her cheeks. "Isn't it a little warm for sherry?" I asked.

"I didn't feel like going upstairs for the gin."

I took the glass from her hand, set it on the bar and led her to the loveseat across the way. "Don't let her upset you. You'll just get a sick headache and then neither of us will have any fun."

It took a moment for my words to sink in; she'd said the same thing to me earlier. A smile cracked her solemn features. "Okay, you win."

I heard footsteps cross the living room above. Moments later Susan came down the stairs, looked around the barroom
, and frowned. "Is Ms. Marshall around?"

"I think she's in the hot tub," Maggie volunteered.

Susan looked chagrined, picked up a clean glass and poured herself a large sherry from the decanter on the bar. I got the feeling this wasn't something she normally did—God forbid she should let her hair down in front of the guests. Ah, but we weren't paying guests, I reminded myself. I settled back in my seat, grabbed a magazine off the end table and flipped pages, trying to ignore Susan as thoroughly as she ignored me.

"Mrs. Andolina is not happy with her," Susan continued.

"So we heard."

Susan took another sip. "As long as she isn't drinking, Eileen's the perfect guest. But after she's had a few—"

Maggie joined our hostess at the bar. "I don't envy you dealing with such things."

I buried my nose deeper into the magazine, trying not to listen.

"Don't get me wrong, I love running the inn. But sometimes I have a bad day. Today is one of them."

We must have run into her when she was having a string of them, I thought as I put the magazine down and wandered back into the game room. Racking up the table, I picked up a cue and sank balls while the women talked.