Mayhem at the Orient Express (9 page)

This was news, and eager to turn the conversation away from threatening notes, frightening
arguments, and murder, I glommed right on to it. Maybe a little time-out would put
Ted at ease. And make him more likely to tell the truth.

“As a newcomer to the island, I might be able to answer any questions about relocating
here,” I said.

“And we can certainly help out when it comes to where to live and things like that,”
Kate offered.

Yeah, I thought, as long as where you decide to live doesn’t bring too much traffic
past Kate’s house.

I wiped the notion from my mind along with the bitter little smile that threatened
to give away my thoughts, and gave Mariah my full attention.

“What are your plans?” I asked her.

“Well . . .” Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. “I was hoping to bring a little
style to the island. A little class. I was thinking of opening an exclusive women’s
boutique.”

Kate nodded her approval. “That would save me a lot of trips to the mainland,” she
admitted.

“And it would attract the tourists, that’s for sure,” Luella added without bothering
to mention that she was probably the last person on the island who would ever shop
anywhere that called itself a boutique.

“Clothing?” Chandra asked, and I was grateful. Apparently, shopping was a subject
nearer and dearer to her heart even than murder. “And jewelry, too?”

“Clothing, jewelry, shoes, purses.” Mariah laughed. “It’s not that I’m saying those
of you who live here don’t have style . . .” She took us all in with one regal glance.
“But let’s face it, ladies, when it comes to fashion, enough is never enough. I know
I should have started looking for retail space last fall, but . . . well, it’s complicated
and I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say that I didn’t have the financing
then, and I do now. That’s why I came to the island so early in the spring, to see
if I could find an available storefront. Speaking of which . . .” She turned her full
attention and a simmering smile on Ted. “That space will become available, won’t it?
The place that was the Orient Express? Renting it quickly would surely be advantageous
for you, and it’s an ideal spot. I remember seeing it as I walked around downtown
the other day. I bet there’s plenty of foot traffic that passes there on busy summer
weekends.”

The tips of Ted’s ears turned red. “We might be able to arrange something, sure. Now
that Peter Chan is dead, I imagine that invalidates his lease agreement, and you’re
right, getting another tenant in there fast would be ideal.”

“You can’t do that!” Chandra’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Not without proper preparation.”

Like the rest of us, Ted was at a loss. He cleared his throat. “Preparation? I’m not
sure what you’re talking about.”

Chandra buzzed with excitement. Or maybe that was her aura getting all revved up.
“A cleansing. You can’t expect to walk into a building where there’s been a murder
and have life just go on as if nothing ever happened.”

“Well, I suppose there will be some cleanup,” Ted admitted.

Chandra was in her element now, and the center of attention, to boot, and she sat
up tall, murder all but forgotten in the face of Mystical Matters. “I’m not talking
about physically cleaning up the place,” she said, and thinking about it, she wrinkled
her nose. “Though I suppose someone will need to do that. But what I’m talking about
is a spiritual cleansing. You know, a ritual.”

Ted hesitated. Like anyone could blame him?

“It couldn’t hurt,” Luella said. “And who knows, it actually might help!”

“Might?” One corner of Chandra’s mouth pulled into a cynical smile when she looked
at Mariah. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to take a chance with that building otherwise.
Imagine all the bad energy that was unleashed in the instant of Peter’s murder.”

Even I couldn’t argue with that.

Call it karma. Call it vibes. Call it just plain spooky. Murder is an ugly business,
and whether it actually helped or was purely symbolic, making an effort to dispel
its shadows made sense to me.

Apparently, it did to Ted, too.

“It might not hurt to have somebody go in there and say a few prayers or something,”
he admitted. “You know, to sort of—”

“Cleanse the spiritual environment and readjust the feng shui. Of course!” Chandra
hid her grin behind a expression that was supposed to be serene and oh-so spiritual.
“I’d be happy to help. Of course, I suppose we’ll have to wait until the police are
done with the building.”

Honestly, could we have asked for a more perfect cue?

No sooner had Chandra spoken the words than my doorbell rang.

When I answered it, police chief Hank Florentine stepped into the house.

“Exactly the man I need to talk to.” Chandra didn’t miss a trick. The moment she saw
it was Hank, she sashayed into the entryway, her chin in the air. “I’ve been asked
to do a cleansing,” she informed him. “Of the place where the recent Unfortunate Incident
occurred. You will let me know when your people have vacated the premises.” This last
bit was not a question, which was just as well, because Hank didn’t look especially
inclined to answer it.

In fact, cap in hand, he ignored Chandra completely and turned to me. “Any rooms?”
he asked.

“Here?” Of course he was talking about Bea & Bees. I just wasn’t used to being this
much in demand.

“We’ve got a generator at the station,” Hank went on to explain, “so there’s electricity
there, and heat. But the other guys on the force have all brought their families in.
The place is crawling with people, and I’ll tell you what, I don’t really like the
thought of sharing the floor in my office with a bunch of twelve-year-olds. I thought
if you had an extra room . . .”

I did a quick mental tabulation. My guest rooms were full, but if Kate moved out of
Suite #5 and into my suite with me, she could have the pull-out couch in my sitting
room, and I could put Hank up in Kate’s former room. It was good PR, what with me
being new to South Bass and Hank knowing everyone there was to know on the island.
And besides, if the little tingle on the back of my neck was right and Ted Brooks
did know more about Peter’s murder than he let on, it sure wouldn’t hurt to have a
man in blue under my roof.

Kate was still sitting at the dining room table, but she’d apparently done all the
same calculations I had. She popped out of her chair. “I’ll move my stuff down to
your suite,” she told me when she sauntered by.

“And I’ll be back later this evening,” Hank said. He plopped his cap on his head and
opened the door and a fierce blast of wind rattled the chandelier in the hallway.
“Hard to believe it could possibly be getting worse,” he said, and he disappeared
into the storm.

I turned to find Chandra with her arms crossed over her chest, aiming a death look
at the closed door. “I can’t believe you’d let that snake in the grass stay here with
me.”

“He’s not staying with you. He’s staying with us. And it might not hurt to have him
around.”

“Oh, you mean . . .” Chandra’s gaze wandered (not subtly, I might add) into the dining
room where our guests were digging into the oatmeal cookies. She gave me a broad wink.
“I get it. Protection.”

“We’re not going to call it that.” I wound an arm through hers and piloted her into
the kitchen. “We’re going to treat Hank just like any other guest.”

“Guest?” Her
tsk
was one of epic proportions. “Just keep that son-of-a-bitch out of my way, or I’ll
tell you what, there’s going to be another murder.”

9

B
y late afternoon, the lunch dishes were cleaned up and Luella and Meg had started
in on making dinner. That’s not as easy as it sounds. I do, after all, technically
live alone, and when there are other people in the house, they are people to whom
I have promised only breakfast. I’m not at all sure how they managed, but after a
great deal of digging through the freezer and poking through cupboards, the mother/daughter
dynamic duo not only found the right ingredients for pizza for that Tuesday evening,
but they put on a pot of beef vegetable soup to simmer the rest of the day so we could
serve it for lunch on Wednesday.

I left them at their work in the kitchen and had just stepped out into the hallway
when Ted walked down the steps bundled in his trenchcoat and wearing his fedora and
a heavy black wool scarf that was triple-wrapped around his neck.

“You’re not going out?” Okay, so not exactly a polite question, considering I said
it in a tone of voice I might have used if I asked if he’d decided to walk to the
moon. Before he could answer, I pointed to the window. “It’s worse than ever out there.
If you’re going for a walk, you could get lost, and if you’re planning on driving—”

“I’ve got four-wheel drive on my SUV.” He sounded confident, but the look he gave
the window and the weather beyond was anything but. “I can’t just sit here and do
nothing. I’ve got to check on my properties. They could be getting damaged.”

“And there’s nothing you can do about it. Not until after the storm lets up.” Yes,
I was the voice of reason.

And Ted still moved toward the door. “I know you’re right.” He shivered and he wasn’t
even outside yet. “But I can’t stand the thought that there might be something bad
happening and I don’t know about it. If I get stranded someplace—”

“You’ll need to call the police and hope for the best.” I couldn’t be any clearer.
I might have turned into a full-service inn when it came to rooms and meals, but I
was not the ski patrol. I wouldn’t risk my safety or the safety of any of my guests
who might pitch in and try to help, not when Ted should have known better and stayed
put.

Unless the real reason he wanted to leave had nothing to do with his rental properties.

I was going to say that the thought stopped me cold, but cold was something I didn’t
want to think about, especially when the heavy oak front door rattled in the wind.
I will say that considering the possibility brought me up short. And made me wonder
if Ted had more on his mind than just checking out the condition of the buildings
he owned.

If he was fleeing from the long arm of the law, who was I to stop him? There was no
way he was going to be able to leave the island, anyway, and honestly, I knew I’d
rest a little easier if, until we knew who was who and what was what when it came
to Peter’s murder, he wasn’t under my roof.

I stepped away from the door. “Bon voyage,” I told him.

Ted gulped down a breath for courage and headed outside.

“Oh my, it is terrible out there.” No sooner had he left than Amanda came down the
steps, still wrapped in her thick chenille robe and shivering in the blast of cold
air that came in when Ted went out. “I’m so grateful you’re letting me stay here,”
she said, glancing out the window. Together, we watched Ted retreat into the storm.
Once he was down the front steps, we lost sight of him completely in the swirling
snow. “It’s bad enough being in a strange place, but then to not feel well . . .”

“You’re obviously better. You came downstairs.”

“Yes.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to push too
hard, but I thought I’d watch a little TV, maybe make a cup of tea.”

I motioned in the direction of the parlor. “Put up your feet and make yourself at
home. I was just going into the kitchen. I’ll put on the kettle for you.”

When I got into the kitchen, I found Meg stirring the soup pot and her girls next
to her, both busy with coloring books. Kate, Chandra, and Luella all had their noses
pressed against the back window that looked out over the driveway.

“He’s leaving? He’s going out in this weather?” Shaking her head, Kate turned and
walked back over to the breakfast bar. She slipped onto one of the high stools there.
“What do you suppose he’s up to?”

I sat down next to Kate, and Luella and Chandra came over. I told them what Ted had
told me. “I’m not sure I believe him,” I made sure to add. “But there’s not much I
can do about it. I can say this: if he gets stuck, I’m not going to get him.”

“If he gets stuck . . .” Chandra plopped down on the stool next to mine, her head
propped in one hand. She drummed her nails against the granite counter. They were
purple, studded with gold stars, and when she beat her fingers up and down, the stars
winked at me. “If he gets stuck . . . not that I’d wish that kind of thing on anybody,
mind you . . . but if he did get stuck out in the snow somewhere, we’d have more time
to search his room,” she said.

I’m not sure mortified quite covers the feeling that washed through me.

The sensation didn’t last long. But then, that’s because it was instantly followed
by appalled and astounded when Kate and Luella got right on board.

Kate was off the stool so fast, I’d bet anything she didn’t even hear me voice an
objection. By the time I was on my feet, my fists on my hips, my fellow book discussion
group members were already at the door that led into the hallway.

“Ladies!” I didn’t dare speak too loudly. Amanda was in the parlor. “We just can’t
go through a guest’s room. That would be—”

“It’s all in the name of our investigation,” Chandra said, so jazzed by the prospect,
she shifted from foot to foot.

“And it couldn’t hurt, could it?” Luella asked.

I swung my gaze to Kate. “And you? What kind of a cockamamie excuse are you going
to give me?”

“No excuse.” Kate was all business, ticking off her reasons on her fingers. “First
of all, you don’t need one, because this is your house and you have every right to
go anywhere in it that you want. Second, well . . .” A grin broke through her somber
expression. “Heck, I don’t need an excuse and neither do you. We’re investigating.
That gives us all the excuse we need to be just plain old nosey.”

They piled out of the room, and after I asked Meg to pour tea for Amanda, I went along.
Honestly, I didn’t have much choice. Kate was right; it was my house, and if anyone
saw me going into or out of Ted’s room, at least I could explain myself. The other
three? Not so much.

As soon as we were out of the kitchen, I shushed them and pointed to the parlor.

Chandra clamped her hand over her mouth. Kate and Luella nodded their understanding.
Like thieves in the night, we tiptoed upstairs.

Outside Mariah’s room, I paused long enough to listen at her door and caught the faint
strains of classical music. A finger to my lips, I signaled my confederates to keep
on keeping quiet and we shuffled and shushed our way to Ted’s door.

He’d locked it when he left, but I had a master key. Just to be sure he hadn’t come
to his senses and doubled back into the house while we were in the kitchen, I knocked.

“Ted, it’s me, Bea. I’ve got . . .” I’ve got what? A lot of nerve? Rather than admit
it, I scurried over to the linen closet and grabbed a pile of fresh towels. I rapped
my knuckles on the door again. “I’m bringing in fresh towels,” I said, and unlocked
the door.

Ted hadn’t returned, and don’t ask me how I knew it would be so, but it was no big
surprise that he wasn’t the world’s most tidy guest. There was a duffel bag open on
the chair near the windows, and clothes spilled out of it. When Chandra made a beeline
over there, I cautioned her not to touch anything, and watched as she leaned in nice
and close with her hands behind her back, peering at what she could see of Ted’s possessions
like a nearsighted owl.

Luella went to check out the bathroom.

Kate and I did a quick turn around the bedroom.

“He reads the newspaper.” There was a small pile next to the bed, and Kate shuffled
through it. “The
Toledo Blade
from a couple days ago, and a
Cleveland Plain Dealer
from last week.” While she set the newspapers aside, I took a gander at the bedside
table.

Ted had left an iPod there along with a pair of reading glasses and a folded sheet
of paper. Being careful to note exactly where I’d gotten it so I knew precisely where
to put it back, I picked up the paper and unfolded it.

“It’s a takeout menu,” I said. “From the Orient Express.”

Chandra, Kate, and Luella gathered around.

“That proves it,” Chandra cooed. “He’s our killer.”

I restrained myself and didn’t give her the look I wanted to give her. Then again,
I was pretty sure Chandra wouldn’t have noticed, anyway. Just like subtle doesn’t
work on people like Chandra, they’re impervious to obvious, too.

“Of course he has a menu.” Kate said what I was thinking. “He admitted he owns the
building.”

“And that he ordered lunch there on Sunday,” Luella said. “He must have picked up
the menu at the grocery store. I saw a stack of them near the door.”

That all made perfect sense, and in spite of Chandra’s runaway imagination, I knew
it didn’t mean a thing when it came to alibis, motives, or murder. What did strike
me as odd was . . .

Ted had turned off the lights in the room before he left, and I went over to the wall
near the door and flicked the switch to turn on the ceiling fan and light, the better
to take a closer look at the menu.

“This is weird,” I said, and for the second time in as many minutes, the ladies gathered
around me to see what I was talking about. I pointed. “Ted has one of the lunch specials
circled. Look. It’s the one for orange chicken.”

Turns out, the League of Literary Ladies members are nothing if not plucky. There
may have been a ripple of enraptured delight, but three cheers for us; rather than
salivate at the very mention of orange chicken, we soldiered on.

“That’s not so strange,” Kate said, stepping back with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Ted said he wanted to make sure there were no peanuts in his lunch, and see, Peter’s
menu lists the peanuts right there.” She pointed. “Right in the description of the
dish.”

“But that’s the weird thing,” I pointed out. “Remember, I used to live in New York,
and that means I’ve had my share of takeaway. In my experience, you don’t mark off
the dishes you don’t want to order on a menu. You star or underline or circle the
ones you do want to order.”

Luella stared at the menu. “So what does it mean?”

Leave it to Chandra to have the answer to that. She threw an arm in the air, one finger
pointed to the ceiling, and her words were edged with what I suppose she thought was
a Poirot-like accent. Honestly, she sounded more like Ozzy Osborne. “It means he has
been lying,” she announced. “From the start. The orange chicken, it was surely poisoned.”

“Peter wasn’t poisoned,” I reminded her. “He was stabbed. And the orange chicken has
nothing to do with it.”

“Oh.” Chandra’s expression fell along with her arm. “Then what does it mean?”

I shrugged. It was as honest as I could be, and if nothing else, I figured I owed
my coconspirators that. “If Ted is allergic to peanuts, I can’t see why he’d want
to order a dish that clearly has peanuts in it.”

“So he didn’t do it,” Chandra said.

“So we don’t know if he did it or not,” I told her.

“So we have to keep investigating,” Kate said, and before I could stop her, she was
on her way out the door and headed for Mariah’s room.

I scrambled to turn off the lights and lock Ted’s door behind me.

“You just can’t walk in there,” I said in my best stage whisper, scampering over to
join them outside Mariah’s room. “She’s in there.”

“And you . . .” Since I hadn’t needed the diversion, I was still holding that pile
of towels, and Kate gave them a pat. “You have the perfect excuse to go in.”

“But . . .” I should have known they wouldn’t accept what I’d hoped was a valid excuse
to abort the mission. Before I could, Chandra pushed me to the door and Luella knocked
on it for me.