Chapter 26

  

When they arrived back at the inn, Joey headed upstairs to change out of his shirt and tie and Penelope went to look for Marla. Not finding her in the office, she checked the kitchen, which remained empty and unused. Penelope opened the door to the basement in the hall opposite the kitchen door, an earthy wet smell greeting her as she descended the stairs. Marla was tucked in a corner of the large room doing laundry, wringing out a set of sheets and hanging them from a line suspended in the air.

“Marla,” Penelope said, causing the shadow behind the sheet to jump. The industrial washer hummed in the corner, drowning out other noises.

“Penelope, you gave me a start,” Marla said. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve, sweat glistening her short hair. “We’ve got twice the laundry to do today, what with all the sick people upstairs.”

“Who else is sick?” Penelope asked.

“Let’s see, there’s at least ten of your folks up there now with different degrees of the flu. Some just feeling lousy, some who can’t get out of bed.” She shrugged. “It’s that time of year, I suppose.”

Penelope put her hand to her throat and swallowed again, grateful for not feeling any soreness. “We just got back from Jordan’s funeral.” She looked down at her black dress, as if it would explain perfectly where she’d been.

Marla picked up a wet sheet and shook it out, jerking it to and fro in her thick hands. “I’m not much for funerals, myself,” she said as she worked. “Ask me, families should be left alone at a time like that, not have everyone they know come and gawk at them while they try not to cry.” She hung the sheet across the line, inching the first one over to make room.

Penelope glanced at the dryer in the corner. “The young man from the hardware store, Bailey, was there. Made kind of a scene during the service. Do you know him?”

Marla’s face tightened. “Of course I know him. He’s my nephew.”

“So, his father is…”

“My brother,” Marla said. “That’s typically how that works.”

“Right,” Penelope said, taking the woman’s sarcasm in stride. “Have you ever known Bailey to be…violent?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Marla said quickly, snapping another wet sheet in the air. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

“I read an article about him getting arrested and was wondering if he might have had something to do with the recent break-in at the restaurant,” Penelope said matter-of-factly.

Marla scoffed. “Well, I can see how you might think that, you trying to put two and two together and whatnot.” She shook out another sheet from the basket, a frown on her face. “Bailey just fell in with the wrong crowd. He’s impressionable, got talked into doing something stupid. He’s made up for it.”

“The article I read made it sound like he was the ringleader,” Penelope said.

Marla snorted a laugh. “That’s a lie. You must know you can’t believe everything you read in the paper.” She picked up a wet towel and wrung a few drops of water from it onto the floor. Penelope took a step back.

Marla turned to the washer as it stopped spinning, pulled the door open, and dropped a pile of damp sheets into the wicker basket at her feet. She twisted her mouth into a smile and softened her voice. “Bailey’s no threat to anyone, Penelope. He’s a good boy, wouldn’t hurt nobody. Now, go on back upstairs. There’s lots to be done.”

“Okay,” Penelope said. “Thanks.” When she was halfway up the wooden staircase she looked back down at Marla, who was shaking her head and muttering under her breath, twisting the last drops of water from the sheet in her hands.