The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (19 page)

Chapter 15

I'd almost drifted off to sleep again when I heard a light, tentative tapping on my
door. Out of habit, I glanced over at Stone's alarm clock and saw it was only eleven
o'clock on this snowy Wednesday morning and already I was tired of lying around in
bed. I put on Stone's plaid flannel robe and stepped into my own fuzzy slippers. There
was another, more assertive, rap on the door, and I called out, "Who is it?"

I heard a muffled reply, which I didn't comprehend. I couldn't even distinguish whether
it was a male or female voice that responded.

"Who?" I asked again.

"It's Rosalinda," I heard clearly this time, even though she spoke in a breathy whisper.
"Rosalinda Swift. May I speak with you for a moment? Please? I won't keep you long."

I opened the door, and Rosalinda nearly fell into the room. I wasn't certain if she
was already on her way to getting tipsy, or if she'd just been leaning against my
door in order to hear my reply. Perhaps it was a little of both.

"Come on in," I said. Stone had cautioned me against speaking to any of the guests,
but I didn't feel at all threatened by this older, limp-looking woman. I felt confident
I could defend myself in the event of an unprovoked attack. Last evening she'd been
too inebriated to climb the stairs, much less climb them and shove me back down them,
so I didn't feel there was any chance she was behind the misdeeds taking place at
the inn. It was fortunate for Rosalinda her room was on the first floor, or she'd
never make it up to her bed after happy hour each evening. I motioned her into the
room and closed the door behind her. "What's up, Rosalinda? What did you want to see
me about?"

"Cornelius just told me what happened last night on the staircase, and I wanted to
check and see how you were faring today. First the poisoning, and now this—on top
of Horatio's murder—what in heaven's name is going on around here?"

"I don't know, but I wish I did," I said. "I am a little sore today from my tumble
down the stairs last night, but otherwise I'm doing fine."

"After that terrifying incident at supper, with Patty nearly choking to death, I felt
a mite overwrought and decided to turn in early last night," Rosalinda said. She ran
her hand over her calf-length skirt several times, as if trying to iron out an invisible
wrinkle.

"I don't blame you. Did you sleep well?" I asked.

"No. I tossed and turned all night, but it's to be expected with all that's been happening
here at the inn the last couple of days. Nothing personal, my dear, but sometimes
I wonder why we even chose this inn for the induction in the first place. We would
have been wise to pick accommodations with a longstanding reputation of professionalism."

"Urn, yeah, whatever..."

"I was all set to go home this morning until this blizzard struck. Even though I was
disappointed to have my plans thwarted, I've always enjoyed watching it snow and can't
help but think it's beautiful out—"

Okay, enough of this small talk, I thought. This vodka-swilling woman, who probably
thinks I'm nothing more than a scullery maid, did not struggle up the stairs to check
on my physical condition or tell me how much she adored snow. It was time to find
out what she really wanted.

"So, what was it exactly you wanted to discuss with me, Ms. Swift?"

"Well, um, I'm aware of the fact you've been doing some snooping... er, I mean, investigating
and inquiring as to who might be responsible for Mr. Prescott's murder, and I was
hoping there was some way you could help my brother—"

"Your brother?"

"Uh, actually, he's my half-brother."

"Your half-brother?"

"Yes, and it's all my fault, I know," Rosalinda said. Her eyes began to well up with
tears, and with trembling hands she reached into the cleavage of her silk blouse and
pulled out a tissue the way a magician would extract a bunny rabbit from his top hat.
She dabbed at her eyes and began to babble. "I don't know what to do. He's not the
one behind all of this. It's entirely my fault. I should never have. But how was I
to know. Oh my, you've just got to try to help him, Ms. Starr."

"Whoa there. Calm down Rosalinda, and tell me who your half-brother is and why he
needs help. I'm afraid you've completely lost me."

"Peter Randall is my half-brother. We had the same mother, you see, and he's been
arrested and charged with the murder of Horatio Prescott," Rosalinda said.

"Peter Randall's your half-brother? Hmm, that's interesting. Please go on."

"They've got the wrong man. My brother would never have taken another man's life.
Not even Prescott's."

"How can you be so certain, Rosalinda? The authorities must be fairly convinced, or
they wouldn't have arrested Peter for the crime. Your brother's alibi was pretty shaky,
you know, and he did have a recent lawsuit filed against him by the victim. There
seems to be a history of bad blood and a lot of friction and controversy between the
two men. And, as you probably know, these are the kinds of things that add up to a
strong motive for murder in the eyes of detectives."

"That's just not the case, though. The bad blood was between Horatio and me, not Horatio
and Peter. Let me start at the beginning," Rosalinda said as she awkwardly sat her
bony butt down on the edge of Stone's bed. She shook her head and let out a long,
dramatic sigh.

"As I said, Peter and I shared the same mother. My mother married Stu Randall five
years after my father died, and Peter was born about eleven months later. My stepfather,
Stu, was killed by lightning in 1983 while playing on a golf course in Arizona.

"When our mother passed away in 1985, she willed the Victorian mansion in the Museum
Hill district in St. Joseph to Peter and me. It's the home where Mother had lived
her entire life. The home was called 'Lily Belle' after my great-great-grandmother,
the original owner of the home. Therefore, Peter and I are the co-owners of the historic
home, which is now completely restored and open to the public. I live in another historic
home that I recently purchased here in Rockdale, just two blocks from my brother's
home. I'm in the process of having it restored, as well, and it's more convenient
to stay there while the restoration is taking place. By the way, Peter's a self-employed
financial consultant here in town."

I nodded, and glanced up at the sound of my door creaking open. Crystal peered around
it with a surprised expression. "Oh, uh, sorry. I didn't know anyone else was in here.
Hello, Ms. Swift. Is everything okay, Lexie?" she asked me.

"Everything's fine, Crystal. Rosalinda and I are just chatting. And I owe you a huge
thanks for that breakfast. It was terrific, sweetie."

Crystal smiled and asked me if I wanted another cup of coffee. She was balancing a
carafe of a Colombian blend on a round serving tray. It wasn't espresso, but even
a cup of regular coffee sounded appealing to me. I sniffed appreciatively at the fragrant
aroma as she filled my cup. Nothing was as welcome to me in the morning as the scent
of fresh coffee.

There was a clean, empty cup on Crystal's tray that she filled for Rosalinda. Without
having to ask, Crystal automatically dropped two sugar cubes and a dollop of cream
into Rosalinda's coffee, and stirred it several times before handing the cup to the
older woman.

"Thank you," Rosalinda said. She blew on the edge of her cup and took a small sip.
"It's perfect—as usual."

"You're welcome. Let me know if you need anything, Lexie," Crystal said. As she slipped
out the door, she left it noticeably ajar. I appreciated the young woman's show of
concern and caution. She had no way of knowing whether or not Rosalinda Swift posed
any danger to me. All the guests seemed harmless, but one of them wasn't as benign
as he appeared. There was at least one book staying here that couldn't be judged by
its cover, I realized. I couldn't let myself lose sight of that fact and become careless.
After Crystal had departed, I prompted Rosalinda to continue.

"So, anyway, I wanted to keep Lily Belle in the family, but Peter wanted to sell the
home. It's worth a great deal of money, you know. And we've bickered about this all
these years since Mother died. I just can't stand the thought of some outsider owning
Lily Belle, the home I grew up in and loved dearly my entire life."

"I can understand why you'd be so sentimental about the place," I said. "But I can
see Peter's side of it, too. I imagine it is a lot to keep up."

"Yes, it certainly can be nearly a full-time job and a great deal of expense. I'm
beginning to understand his feelings about selling the place, also." Rosalinda continued
to recite the rest of her story as if it was something she wasn't happy about disclosing.
"Well, as I was saying, a year or so before Mother was diagnosed with liver disease,
I was engaged to the late Mr. Prescott. Yes, we were lovers, believe it or not. But,
I'm sorry to say, the relationship came to an abrupt end, and I was crushed. If we'd
just broken up and gone our separate ways, it would've been one thing, but instead,
he tarnished my reputation and made me a laughing stock among my peers, and that was
unforgivable. I was humiliated in front of my family and friends."

"Oh? How'd he tarnish your reputation?" I asked. "How'd he humiliate you?"

"He insinuated I was only interested in him for his money and made comments to that
effect all over town. I'll admit I did have a lot of debts, due to high restoration
expenses at Lily Belle mainly, but I would've never lowered myself to marry merely
for money. Never! I truly loved the arrogant ass, or at least I thought I did. But
I vowed that one day I'd make Horatio regret having sullied my good name in public
the way he did. I was determined to even the score and have the last laugh. And it
took a long, long time, but eventually I did!"

"Oh, my God! So it was you who killed him?" I asked, nearly gasping in shock. I couldn't
hide my surprise or my disapproval. I glanced up to verify the door was still ajar
in the event Rosalinda felt obliged to shoot me in the head with a small handgun she
had concealed in her cleavage, after she'd finished her confession.

"No, no, of course not, Ms. Starr. Don't be silly. I didn't want to see Horatio dead.
I wanted to see him knocked off his high horse, so to speak. Publicly humiliated,
as I'd been. But I certainly didn't want him killed. After all, there's no fun or
satisfaction in humiliating a dead man. I wanted to see him suffer and sweat."

"Oh, well, that's a relief," I said. My heart felt as if it was racing. "So, what
did
you do? How did you knock him off that high horse?"

"I made a deal with my brother," Rosalinda said, nearly under her breath. I had to
lean forward and ask her to repeat herself, which she did reluctantly.

"I made a deal with Peter. If he'd engineer a plan that succeeded in bringing about
considerable financial ruin to Horatio Prescott, I would agree to sell the Lily Belle
so he could cash out his half of the estate. He declined my offer—again and again—until,
finally, one day he agreed to encourage Horatio to invest heavily in a high-tech computer
software company, the hottest new IPO on the NASDAQ. Peter had just received inside
information regarding the company's finances. The company had become too big too fast
and had bit off more than it could conceivably chew. Peter heard, from a reliable
source inside the company, that the CEOs of the corporation were planning to liquidate
and file Chapter Seven bankruptcy in the near future.

"Peter told Horatio instead that the company was about to be bought out by Microsoft,
and the stockholders would realize a huge profit. Horatio, naturally, rushed to jump
on the bandwagon, invested heavily, and ultimately lost over half his net worth. It
was the retribution I'd prayed for all those years. The only thing that would've brought
me more satisfaction is if I could have somehow let him know I was responsible for
his misfortune. But, of course, this was impossible, for my own safety, of course.

"I felt justice had been served, however, and Peter's end of the bargain had been
kept, so I placed the Lily Belle on the market, as promised. I currently have several
potential buyers interested in purchasing the property. Due to the lawsuit Prescott
had recently filed against Peter, it now appears to the authorities as if Peter had
an intense hatred of Prescott and a fervent motive to kill him. But Peter would never
have murdered him. It's not in his nature to physically harm anyone, and especially
not Prescott. My brother wanted his half of the money from the Lily Belle too much
to kill him. He knew I'd never uphold my end of the bargain if anything happened to
Prescott."