The Purloined Letter Opener Page 10

  His warm smile made Lydia’s breath catch.

  No, not yet. Nothing could happen yet.

  But maybe, soon.

  Lydia watched Ellis as he did a quick sketch of the paper in the door jamb. He explained that drawing the scene would force him to really see all the details.

  She could see that. Though he was no great artist, it did look better than what she would have done.

  And she was not about to tease him and ask for him to sign it and give it to her once the mystery was solved.

  Then Ellis photographed the paper in the hole, both close up and from a distance, using a ruler to show the size. Afterward, he used a pair of tweezers to pry the paper out, slipping it into a plastic evidence bag, sealing the bag, signing and dating it.

  “Will you get any fingerprints from that?” Lydia asked.

  “I doubt it,” Ellis said. “The surface isn’t smooth. But I can send it to the techs in Yakima to see if they can pull anything from it.” He sighed. “It doesn’t make sense to try to fingerprint the door. There are too many people coming and going.”

  Ellis took a few more minutes to photograph the rest of the restaurant, drawing a quick sketch of it as well. Lydia couldn’t see anything amiss. Except, of course, that it was getting late and she still had prep work to do. She tried to control her anxiety and let Ellis do his job.

  In the kitchen, Ellis stopped and took more photographs. “Is this just how you found it?” he asked.

  “No,” Lydia said. “I turned off the gas. Opened the windows. Then I moved the stepstool so I could look at the alarm on the ceiling.”

  “Was the stepstool in the usual place?” Ellis said.

  “I think so,” Lydia said, thinking back. “I don’t remember. I was in a panic.”

  “It’s okay,” Ellis said. He took out his sketch pad again and did a quick drawing of the kitchen, noting both where the stepstool had been moved to and where Lydia thought she had found it. Then he photographed the alarm. Before he took it down, he wrapped tape around the edges of it, then pulled it off and examined it.

  “Clean,” he said after a moment. “No fingerprints.” Ellis paused, looking up at the alarm. “You couldn’t take that alarm down without touching the edges of it. So whoever did it either wore gloves or wiped the prints off afterward. This is actually a good thing.”

  “Why is that?” Lydia said, not following the detective’s logic.

  “Even if I’d declared this a crime scene, and gotten a tech crew out here, they wouldn’t have gotten much from it,” Ellis said.

  “Oh,” Lydia breathed out a sigh of relief.

  After Ellis had removed the alarm from the ceiling, he brought it over for her to see. The person hadn’t removed the batteries but instead had cut the wires connecting the batteries to the alarm.

  “Most of these units will squawk when you remove the batteries. By cutting the wires, they were able to stay silent,” Ellis said.

  “I didn’t know that,” Lydia said.

  Ellis nodded. “Someone had some knowledge of how these things worked,” he said. “That’s another clue. Now, I just have to hope that whoever it was who stole the units from upstairs took them back to their place, and didn’t just toss them.”

  “Right,” Lydia said. Should she go looking in the trash receptacles up and down Main Street? Maybe later that afternoon. Or maybe Ellis would have to do it.

  Next, Ellis went over to the stove and used more tape on the handles.

  “Single fingerprint—probably a thumbprint—only on one side of these,” he said, showing her the tape. “And I bet it’s yours.”

  “There should be lots of fingerprints there,” Lydia said. “Not just mine, but Misty’s as well.” It wasn’t that they never cleaned the handles of the stove, but it didn’t happen every day.

  “Exactly,” Ellis said. “The perpetrator cleaned up after themselves. We probably won’t find any fingerprints anywhere, not even on the paper in the door jamb.”

  That was both good and bad. Good, because that it meant that Lydia had made the right call, asking Ellis to process the crime scene by himself.

  Bad, because it meant whoever had tried to kill her and her guests had gone about it very methodically.

  Lydia watched Ellis work. He moved slowly, documenting everything, first with photographs then with a sketch.

  She found she enjoyed this, watching those big, gentle hands do their job. She’d heard the phrase, “competence porn” before. Watching him, she really understood the concept.

  “You sleep down on this floor, don’t you?” Ellis asked as he was finishing up.

  “My bedroom is just past this wall,” Lydia told him, pointing to the western wall of the kitchen.

  “I’m surprised that you didn’t succumb to the gas,” Ellis said, peering at her closely.

  “I did feel awful when I woke up. Had a headache and felt lethargic. But I always sleep with a window open,” Lydia explained. “Oh! That probably eliminates Neil.”

  Ellis just turned and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

  Geez. She’d never been able to do that, had never been that cool. She remembered trying to teach herself that one-eyebrow trick when she’d been in high school, but had never been able to get her muscles to do that.

  “Neil Roswell. My ex. He knows that I prefer to sleep that way.” Lydia didn’t add that she always slept in just a T-shirt as well. Ellis didn’t need to know how she slept. He would have to discover that himself.

  Ellis nodded, thinking. “All right. I’m going to go upstairs and examine the brackets, from where alarms were removed. Chances are I won’t find anything, but I want to document them anyway.” He looked around, then said formally, “I now release the kitchen back to you.”

  “Thank you,” Lydia said, happy that he understood that she really needed to start cutting fruit for breakfast.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Ellis said slowly before Lydia could start work again. “Don’t tell Misty Martìnez about this. Or anyone else, actually.”

  “She isn’t a suspect, is she?” Lydia asked, surprised.

  “No, but she is a gossip,” Ellis said with a wry grin. “And once she knows, everyone in town will know. She has an amazing network of contacts. I’d like to keep this quiet for now, if that’s possible.”

  “Good point,” Lydia said. It pleased her that he’d been thinking of her reputation. Then again, maybe he had other reasons.

  “You tell me if anything else is missing,” he said as he picked up the stepstool.

  Lydia had already pulled out the drawer with her knives in it. “Everything’s here,” she said after a moment. That had been her biggest fear—that whoever had turned on the gas was planning on killing again.

  And this time, not implicating her with merely a letter opener.

  After Ellis had left, Lydia scurried around the kitchen, trying to get everything set before guests started arriving. She quickly came up with a story for Misty about why the windows were open and she was so late—she’d slept in and still felt tired, and the fresh air was helping her wake up.

  Still, Lydia couldn’t help but wonder why Ellis didn’t want her telling Misty. Or anyone else. Was he setting a trap?

  She shivered again when she thought about how close of a call they’d all had. The explosion wouldn’t have just killed her, but all of her guests. Including Ellis. Had that been the real reason why the killer had done this?

  Once Ellis caught whoever it was, hopefully Lydia would have a chance to ask them.

  But the person needed to be caught soon. Before they killed again.

  When Misty came in about an hour later, she was bursting with news. “Neil’s been spotted again, yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Guadalupe, who runs the ice cream shop over near the post office? She saw Neil, even chatted with him for a few minutes. He said he was here to see his family.”

  Lydia peered at Misty, confused. “Neil doesn’t eat ice cream. He has a dairy intolerance,”
she said slowly. “Or at least, that was what he’d always claimed.”

  He’d never actually gotten himself tested or anything. It was just one more thing she had to be careful of around him. Luckily, they’d found some amazing dairy-free butter as well as cheese so he could indulge himself sometimes. If she was being fair, she did remember how bad his stomach got the few times he did have dairy, how he’d have to run for the toilet. The over-the-counter pills he got for reducing lactic acid helped, but it was always better if he just avoided it.

  “That is strange,” Misty said. “But he gave Guadalupe that name when he ordered his ice cream. Neil Roswell.”

  Lydia shook her head. Of course, Neil would discover that he could actually eat dairy after she’d left. Or maybe he’d found better pills. Being denied dairy for so long was part of the reason why she served cheese on so many things that she cooked now.

  “Guadalupe promised to call if he showed up again,” Misty said. She bustled around the counter and looked more carefully at Lydia. “Bad night?” she guessed.

  “Yeah,” Lydia said, relieved that there was a good opening for her lie, that she didn’t have to find an excuse for explaining the gas and everything. “Didn’t sleep well. Still have a headache.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie, though her head was feeling better.

  “You want me to prep back here?” Misty asked.

  “Sure,” Lydia said, handing her the knife. She escaped into the restaurant. She hadn’t realized until just then how nervous she’d been feeling in the kitchen, how uncomfortable she still was back there.

  Damn it! Whoever had come and attacked her place was not going to win. She would be comfortable here. This was her home.

  Nothing, and nobody, was going to drive her from it. Period.

  20

  Lydia had just put all the sheets into the dryer when Alice came in to work Sunday afternoon. Almost all the rooms were changing over. Lydia hadn’t been lying when she’d said she was booked full—until Ellis left, she wouldn’t have another open room until August.

  “Hi, Lydia!” Alice said cheerfully as she walked in. “Mama said to be sure to tell you that I had a nightmare last night.”

  “Thank you for letting me know,” Lydia said, looking up at Alice. The girl did have dark lines under her eyes, and her round face seemed puffy. She wore her usual navy blue polo with jean-shorts and sandals, her parents always dressing her to look like everyone else.

  Alice had nightmares at least once or twice a month. They would keep her up for most of the night, and either her mother or her father would spend the time with her. It meant that she would be tired and grumpy the next day. Lydia tried to let Alice go home early those days.

  But it also meant that Alice had an alibi for the previous night. Not that Lydia had even considered that Alice would have come in and turned on the gas as well as stolen the alarms. That much planning would have been far beyond her abilities.

  Still, Lydia made a note to be sure to tell Ellis about it, so he would stop considering Alice as a suspect. Unless he believed that whoever had turned on the gas had not been the killer. Lydia still believed the two acts were done by the same person.

  “Are you feeling better?” Lydia asked. At Alice’s nod, Lydia added, “I had bad dreams too.” It was close enough to the truth.

  “You should take a nap,” Alice proclaimed solemnly. Then she yawned.

  “So should you,” Lydia said, laughing. “Come on. Let’s get the cleaning done quickly so we can both take some time off.”

  “All right,” Alice said cheerfully, following Lydia up the stairs.

  At least the smell of gas had dissipated quickly, and Lydia had been able to close up all the windows. She was tempted to leave one or two open that evening, just in case the attacker came back. But no, she couldn’t do anything out of the ordinary. She had to act as if everything was the same.

  It was the only way she could fight back right now, to reclaim her home.

  Alice and Lydia had a good routine, and so the rooms were cleaned in short order. Lydia texted Jen McGowen, letting her know to get her daughter early. The pair of them sat in the restaurant after they were finished, talking about the picnic that Alice’s family was planning on Wednesday.

  “You should come!” Alice proclaimed again. “Mitch wants to see you.”

  “And why is that?” Lydia asked. She doubted that he was interested in her any more than she was interested in him.

  “It’s for his book,” Alice said solemnly. “Wants to talk with you about the case.”

  “I see,” Lydia said. “There isn’t really much more to tell. The detective is working on it.”

  “I know!” Alice said. “I talked with him again yesterday.”

  “Did you?” Lydia said, her hackles rising. “What did you talk about?”

  “The eggs,” Alice said. “I was just collecting them, you know.”

  “Good,” Lydia said, warmth suddenly filling her. She’d told Ellis that Alice had merely been collecting the eggs, that she hadn’t been planning on using them on Schooner’s house, not until the thought occurred to her that Friday.

  Had it already been more than a week since the old man had been killed? It seemed like forever ago. Things wouldn’t get back to normal, either, until the killer had been caught.

  After Alice left, Lydia stayed sitting in the restaurant for a while. Should she maybe go take a nap? Before she could get up, Misty came into the room. “Guadalupe just called. Neil is there.”

  Lydia stood up. “Can she delay him?” It would take her fifteen to twenty minutes to walk to the ice cream shop from the B&B. Driving might or might not take just as long, depending on how many tourists were clogging the two main streets through town.

  Just then, Lydia’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Patrice.

  Neil just came in.

  “Wait a minute,” Lydia said. Her chest suddenly felt tight, as if there weren’t enough air. She turned to face Misty. “Is Neil still at Guadalupe’s shop?”

  “She just called,” Misty confirmed. “He had just walked in.”

  Lydia showed Misty the text from Patrice. “How can he be in two places at once?”

  “I don’t know,” Misty said. “But Guadalupe wouldn’t have called if he weren’t there.”

  “Does Guadalupe actually know Neil by sight?” Lydia asked.

  “She’d seen pictures of him, at the high school, but she’d never met him before,” Misty admitted. “She wasn’t sure it was him, the first time she saw him, so she asked the guy his name. He told her that yes, he was Neil Roswell.”

  “I bet he isn’t, not really. Patrice knows Neil,” Lydia said. “She wouldn’t be fooled.” What was going on here?

  Misty nodded. “I’ll let Guadalupe know. Should she try to delay the guy?”

  “No,” Lydia said. “Though if she can get a picture of him, that might be useful for the cops later. But only if she can do it without him realizing it.”

  Lydia took off quickly, heading out the door, rushing up Main Street. She had to get to Patrice’s bakery before the real Neil took off. She texted Patrice as she walked, asking her to delay her ex if at all possible.

  Crap! Why were there so many tourists out today? She actually had to step into the street to get around the first group ambling down the sidewalk. A second large cluster were gathered at the cute window display of the little clothing boutique. Normally, Lydia would have been happy to see tourists interested in more than just restaurants and bars. Right now, she’d cheerfully strangle them all for getting in her way.

  “He’s gone,” Patrice said as soon as Lydia walked in. “He said he was here visiting his family. Hadn’t gone to see you. Seemed surprised that you were here.”

  “Really?” Lydia said. He’d known that she’d come back here just after the divorce.

  Patrice nodded. “I told him that you’d opened a B&B just down the street. Told him he should stop by.”

  “Do you know where he might h
ave gone next?” Lydia asked, opening the door again.

  “Nope. He wasn’t that talkative,” Patrice said, grimacing. “Never knew what you saw in that guy.”

  Lydia snorted. “At this point, neither do I.”

  Lydia walked back out onto the street, looking up and down. The B&B was east of the bakery, further up along Main Street. As she hadn’t seen Neil when she’d been walking this way, he had to have gone the other direction.

  If he was walking at all. He might have just gotten into his car and driven off after stopping by the bakery. He liked driving. He’d never understood why Lydia preferred walking everywhere.

  Still, Lydia headed up the street, away from the B&B, keeping a careful eye peeled for Neil. It had been five years since she’d last seen him. He probably wouldn’t have changed that much.

  She stopped in Janice’s consignment store, in case Neil was hiding in the back, as well as Bob’s hardware store just up the street. No one had seen Neil, though many of the shopkeepers didn’t know who she was talking about. They’d come into town long after Lydia and Neil had graduated from high school.

  Lydia kept looking, even stopping in at The Cove, though it wasn’t the sort of establishment that would Neil go to. But only a few regulars sat in the big bar, the TVs all turned on and loudly displaying whatever game was being featured.

  Finally, Lydia turned around, defeated, and started slowly walking back to her B&B. Neil was in town. She believed Patrice. However, someone was also impersonating Neil. Was that to throw suspicion for the murder onto him? He had hated Schooner Thomas. Blamed him for making it harder for him to get ahead.

  After debating with herself for a few moments, Lydia turned and walked up Barton Avenue, heading toward the precinct. While she didn’t have anything definitive, it was still an oddity—someone impersonating her ex—and she thought the detective should know about.

  It wasn’t that she just wanted to see Ellis again. Not at all.

  21