Death by Tea (17 page)

17

I was up early the next morning, fully determined to learn something new about David's murder. I dressed in one of my better outfits—a light blue summer top with spaghetti straps, and white shorts with sandals to match. I topped it off with a floppy hat and sunglasses. I looked like I was heading to the beach, which was precisely the point. How could you not relax around someone dressed so causally?

I left the house with a spring in my step. I wished I had a convertible I could drive with the top down instead of my small black car. With the way I was dressed, I felt as if I were back in California, and a convertible would only enhance the feeling. I didn't want to go back there for more than a visit, but I did miss the breeze and California sun.

I arrived at Ted and Bettfast just past nine. It was probably a bit too early to interrogate someone, especially if they'd talked about the book some more after they'd gotten back and had gone to sleep late. I didn't know how these things worked, so it was entirely possible.

I parked in the lot, got out of my car, and then just stood there, soaking in the morning sun. There was a cool breeze that would have been cold if it wasn't for the heat pounding down from the cloudless sky. Today was going to be a scorcher, and I couldn't be happier. Maybe once all of this was over with, I'd take some time to lay out. It had been forever since I'd tanned. One look at my bone-white legs was enough to tell you that, just before they blinded you.

I headed for the front doors, purse thrown over one arm, feeling oddly like a movie star arriving on set for the first time. Maybe it was the clothes. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the bed-and-breakfast that did it. The place might be crumbling around the edges, but it still held a magnificence to it that seemed to enliven everything around it. One of these days, I'd have to stay for a weekend, just to see if the feeling lasted past the first day.

An older couple stood talking to one another just outside the front door. The discussion wasn't quite heated, but I could tell neither of them was happy about whatever it was they were talking about. I slowed my pace, hoping they wouldn't notice my approach so I could catch a hint of their conversation, but as soon as I was out of the parking lot, they both clammed up and turned my way.

“Looking for a room?” the woman asked with a smile. She had dyed black hair and wore huge hoop earrings in ears that were starting to sag from all of the weight. Fine lines wrinkled the corners of her eyes and mouth when she smiled. Her hands, which were folded demurely above her navel, were spotted with age yet looked strong enough to work for long hours tending a garden.

The man next to her had black hair as well, though his wasn't dyed. Gray streaked his temples, adding character to a face that was already full of it. He had a pair of reading glasses on a chain around his neck, and one of those Burt Reynolds mustaches rested above his lip.

“Not today,” I said. “I'm here about one of your previous guests, David Smith. Did you know him?”

The couple looked at each other and frowned in unison.

“We did,” the man said. His voice was surprisingly soft, almost feminine. “He stayed with us for a night or two.”

I noticed the “us” and took a stab in the dark. “Are you Ted and Bett Bunford, by chance?”

Bett nodded. “We are. I don't know why you would want to know anything about that man. He sure could sweet-talk the ladies, but there was just something about him I didn't care for.”

“Really?” I asked, interested. “Did he do or say anything that roused your suspicions?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Bett looked at her husband.

“He was too much of a smooth talker,” he said. “You could tell he was trying too hard. I don't know what that girl saw in him. I think everyone else saw through the act.” He heaved a sigh. “It truly is a shame what happened to him, of course. I don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

I took another stab in the dark. With the way they were opening up, I had a feeling I knew what they'd just been talking about. “Was that what you were discussing when I pulled up?”

I was rewarded with a pair of nods.

“It's just not right that they are still having the book club competition so soon after his death,” Bett said.

“We were considering asking them to leave,” Ted added.

“
You
were considering,” Bett retorted, turning on him. “
I
was thinking we should at least have a memorial or something in his honor.”

“We didn't even know the man well enough to know if he had any honor!” Ted threw his hands up into the air and looked at me. “See what I have to deal with? She doesn't like the guy and then wants to honor him like a damn fallen hero.”

“It's not that,” Bett said. “But he
did
stay here with us, you know?”

“Is it okay if I go in and have a look around?” I asked, cutting in before they could get too deep into their argument and drag me into it. “I won't disturb anyone.”

Ted frowned at me. “Well, I don't know about that. . . .”

Bett's eyebrows rose. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Krissy Hancock,” I said with a smile. “I'm looking into David's death.” I paused, inwardly wincing at the coming lie. “I'm working with the police.”

“Oh, well, why didn't you say so,” Bett said. “Go right in. If you need anything, Justin is inside, helping the guests.”

“Thank you.” I turned away, hoping they wouldn't call the police to verify my story. They didn't seem the type, but as I was quickly learning, you can never quite tell with some people. They might appear to be a sweet older couple, but deep down they might be as cynical as the old man who sat on his front stoop screaming at kids to get off his lawn.

I entered the bed-and-breakfast and found my gaze landing on a young man who stood just inside, wringing his hands worriedly as he looked past me to where the Bunfords were arguing again. He quickly looked away when he saw me watching him but didn't move as I approached. I saw by his name tag that I was looking at Justin.

“They aren't talking about you,” I said with a smile, hoping to win him over.

Justin glanced at me with only one eye. He kept the other averted by the downward angle of his head. Shoulder-length hair hung down, concealing half of his face. Acne covered his chin and cheeks, and I imagine if I were to be able to see it, his forehead as well. His clothes were probably a size too big for him, making him seem smaller than he really was. Soaking wet, I bet he didn't weigh much more than 130 pounds, though he was near six feet.

“That's good,” he said, shooting a quick glance to the door. “Is there something I can help you with? Do you need a room?”

“No thanks.” I kept my smile firmly in place. The poor guy looked ready to bolt at the first provocation. I put his age at seventeen, and that might even be generous. “I'm here about someone who recently stayed here. Did you happen to know David Smith?”

Justin's eyes darted around me, as if he was afraid to look me in the eye. “Yeah, I guess. He's the guy that died, right?”

“Right.”

I was hoping Justin would take the lead and suddenly start filling my head with previously unknown facts about our mysterious British guest. Instead, he just stood there, looking everywhere but at me.

“Do you happen to know anything about him?” I asked after it was evident he wouldn't speak on his own volition.

“No.”

“Did he have any visitors to his room while he was here?”

He shrugged and looked at his feet.

“Did he pay any of the other guests a visit late at night? Did he fight with anyone? Did he do or say anything that you found odd?”

Justin shrugged again. “I just work here. I don't pay much attention to what the guests do.”

Something about the statement seemed off to me, like he'd rehearsed the line, but I didn't push. Justin looked ready to flee, and if I kept nagging at him, he might never open up and tell me what it was that was bothering him so much. Sure, he could naturally be like this—a lot of awkward young men were—but there was something about him that told me he was hiding something. I couldn't ask him now, not without scaring him off, though I intended on coming back later to try again.

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.” I started to walk away, but paused. “Do you know if any of the other guests from Cherry Valley are up yet?”

His face brightened from miserably sober to only mildly depressed. “Two of the women are out back. The guys are still up in their rooms.”

“Thanks.” I turned and headed for the back, figuring that I could talk to Sara again and see if she had anything new to add. Now that more time had elapsed since David's death, she might remember something that would help point to his killer. Without Albert hovering over her, she might open up more.

As I stepped through the back doors, my mind went to the photo I'd found. There was no way I could bring that up now, or like ever. I don't think Sara would appreciate it.

Sara was lying in a chair by the pool, wearing a bikini on a body that made me feel oafish by comparison. Her skin had already bronzed more than the last time I'd seen her. If I'd lain out that much, I'd have promptly turned blister red and would have spent the next three days sick as a dog. Vivian was in a chair on the other side of the pool, eyes closed and snoring softly.

I approached Sara's chair, passing right in front of her sun. She heaved a sigh and without opening her eyes barked, “What?”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.” That sounded diplomatic and police-like enough, didn't it?

Sara opened one eye and squinted up at me. “You're the coffee shop girl, aren't you?”

“I am.”

“So why are you asking me anything?”

“I was hoping you could tell me more about David, who he was, what he did for a living.”

Sara blinked at me, her face suddenly pale. She raised a finger and delicately wiped at her eye. “Why would you want to know about him?” she asked, a twinge of jealousy marring her words. “What is it to you?”

I winced at her tone. Clearly she wasn't ready to talk about him, and feared I was attracted to him. But if I wanted to get an accurate portrayal of who David was, Sara was the best option. She was the one who'd spent the most time with him, saw him at his most private. She was the one who had lost the most by his death. They were obviously more than just friends, if the photo I'd found was any indication, so she had to know more than the others.

“I only want to know more about him,” I said. “It might help me figure out who killed him.”

She sat up straighter. “Are you working with the police, then?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Then how could telling you anything possibly help?”

I bit my lip. Apparently she hadn't read Rita's e-mail that talked about my awesome detective skills. “I helped on another murder case,” I said. “I solved it, in fact. And this murder happened in my store, so this time it's sort of personal.”

Sara grew tight-lipped. “I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to spend a few minutes out here without someone reminding me of what happened. How would you like it if someone killed your boyfriend and then started poking at the wound while you were still suffering?”

Her voice rose as she spoke. I took a step back, worried she might come off her chair and take a swing at me. “I didn't mean anything by it,” I said. “I just want to help. I'm sorry.”

Vivian was sitting up in her chair, watching us with interest. Sara was breathing hard, barely able to contain her anger. Tears coursed down her cheeks and dripped onto her tanned chest. I felt like a royal jerk for asking her questions so soon after his death, but how else was I supposed to get answers? I suppose after the last murder investigation I should have learned my lesson; the wife hadn't taken it well then, either.

I turned and hurried away before I upset Sara any further. I didn't think she knew who killed David, or else she would have told the police about it already. Then again, I hadn't had contact with anyone about the case, so as far as I knew, she had and Paul was moving in on the killer even now. And if she turned out to be the murderer herself, well then, it wasn't like she was going to suddenly admit it in the middle of my not-so-official interrogation.

I threw open the door that led back into Ted and Bettfast, not really looking where I was going, and ran straight into the arms of the man I'd originally come here to meet.

“Whoa!” Dan said with a lopsided grin. He was wearing a Speedo suit with a towel draped over his shoulder. His body was hot where I pressed against him. His arms had reflexively gone around me when we'd bumped into one another—or at least, that's what I hoped.

“I'm sorry,” I said, extracting myself from him. “I wasn't watching where I was going.”

“That's okay.” Dan let his hand fall away from me almost reluctantly. He eyed me up and down, and his smile grew. “I should have seen you coming.”

I kept my eyes planted firmly past his right ear. I'm sorry, but Speedos don't look good on any man. I don't care if you are built out of nothing but pure muscle—and Dan was a close thing—there is something obscene about them.

“I was hoping to see you, actually,” I said. “Do you, uh, think you could get dressed and we could sit down and talk?”

Dan chuckled. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Just a little.” I blushed. Fool betrayer of a face.