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Gera had trouble falling back to sleep, so she overslept again the next morning. This time, she completely missed breakfast. And Minnie was nowhere to be found.
Grumpy and out of sorts, finding the half-eaten sucker was the final straw.
Gera stopped by the front desk, determined to give the staff a piece of her mind. While she was at it, she would complain about the thin walls. Perhaps even ask for a different room, on a floor devoid of infants.
Someone different was at the desk this morning, a middle-aged woman with coiffed hair and a matronly smile. Her nametag identified her as Terri. She smiled at Gera as she approached.
“Good morning, Miss Stapleton. How are you today?”
Gera answered with a terse, “I’m fine, thank you,” even though her inner voice said, A little weirded out that you know who I am, but whatever.
“How may we help you this morning?” Terri smiled.
Gera set a napkin upon the counter and opened it to reveal the half-eaten sucker. “I found this in my room.” Irritation sharpened her words. “Apparently, the maid left it on my couch when she cleaned yesterday.”
Terri scooped up the napkin and whisked it out of sight. “Those naughty children,” she clucked.
“There were children in my room?” Gera asked incredulously. “Are those the ones I heard crying in the night? Please tell me why—and how—they had access to my room?”
“Oh, dear,” Terri murmured worriedly. Her eyes darted about, searching for reinforcements, but there was no one else in the lobby to help field the complaint. “I—I’m afraid it’s the children again, playing tricks.” Her hands became animated. Her fingers twitched as she fingered the edge of the counter. Straightened the collar of her blouse. Tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry they bothered you, Miss Stapleton. This—This really doesn’t happen very often, you know.” She soothed her hands over her hips, pressing out imaginary wrinkles. Fingered the clasp on her watch. “Not all the time, at least.”
The woman was a nervous wreck. Something in her face gave Gera pause. “You bring your children to work with you?” she asked in surprise.
This could be a story. Her mind raced ahead with possibilities. A single mother, perhaps, trying to make ends meet. An innovative childcare option put in place by management or, better yet, the hotel’s owner. She liked that in a man, too, by the way.
Busy thinking of angles for such a story, Gera almost missed Terri’s reply.
“Oh, no, not my children! Miss Cordelia’s.”
Flabbergasted, Gera stared at the woman. She actually blamed a ghost for the maid’s incompetence! The only thought Gera could muster was, And she looks so normal.
“This isn’t the first issue I’ve had, you know,” Gera continued. “The first day, the remote was hidden under the couch cushions and the batteries were missing. The next day the maid left on all the lights in the room and toys on the bed. Don’t try to turn this into a marketing ploy, the way Leah did. I see it for what it is, a pattern of incompetence.”
Terri began to wring her hands. Her next words came out in a breathless rush. “Let me call for Lucy.” She reached for an outdated rotary phone and dialed a two-digit extension. Turning slightly away from her guest, she spoke into the receiver with urgency. “We have a bit of a situation. Please come to the front desk.”
Terri turned back to face Gera, attempting a smile that was meant to be bright and reassuring. The nervous warble of her lips ruined the effect. Her fingers worried the edge of her collar again as she said, “Lucy will be with you shortly.”
“You know what? It’s just a sucker. Forget it,” Gera decided, trying to calm down. She knew she came across too strong at times. She certainly hadn’t meant to cause this woman a nervous breakdown.
“No, no. Lucy will know what to do. She’s on her way.”
With a sigh, Gera stepped back from the counter and waited on Lucy, head of Housekeeping.
A few minutes later, a heavy woman came puffing into the lobby, clearly winded. Gera didn’t know if her breathlessness was due to excitement, age, or weight. Perhaps it was a combination of the three. The old woman waddled when she walked, wiggling in distinct layers—first her broad hips rolled, which caused a wave to move across her belly, which in turn sent an upward swell jiggling across her enormous bosom. Unbothered by it all, the woman’s black face split with a wide smile. Freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose, her skin pulled too taut for wrinkles. It was impossible to guess her age, but her thinning hair was a wiry cap of solid gray.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” she asked in a deep, booming voice, beaming at Gera as if she were a shiny new bauble. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing? Nerva told me you were a looker, but I didn’t know she meant this pretty!”
The woman’s warm greeting—and her reference to the deceased Minerva Cody—caught Gera off guard.
“I’m Lucy. You met my Leo the other night.” Her voice dropped with feigned accusation. “He didn’t tell me you were this pretty, either.” She nudged Gera with a beefy elbow and belted out a hardy laugh, setting off another jiggle of her bosom. “Ain’t that just like a husband? After all these years, afraid I might be jealous!”
At a loss for what to say, Gera went with a meek, “I’m Gera.”
“Oh, I know who you are, honey. What I don’t know is what’s troubling you today.” It took effort, but she whirled around to face Terri. “What’s this situation you called about?”
“It’s the children,” Terri reported nervously. “They’re up to their tricks again. They left this lollipop in Miss Stapleton’s room.” She presented the half-eaten sucker for inspection.
Lucy looked relieved. “I thought you were going to say it was the babies. The speaker system broke again and the babies cried all night, least ways ‘til Nerva started singing to them. I was afraid the babies kept her awake, like they did the guest in 407.”
“Wasn’t it their baby?” Gera broke in with a speculative frown. “It sounded like it was right next door to my room.”
“Oh, there aren’t any babies in the hotel, Missy. No mortal babies, that is. But don’t you worry, we’ll get the system up and working in no time. Nerva sang so much last night, she’s got herself a sore throat, so we’ll have to get it fixed for sure. We can’t have those babies crying again all night.”
With a defeated sigh, Gera said aloud, “Look, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I should’ve never mentioned the sucker to begin with. I just thought perhaps you would like to know your cleaning staff needs to do a better job while in the rooms, but—”
“This wasn’t from my cleaning staff!” Lucy huffed. “None of my girls would’ve left that there.” She jabbed a fleshy finger toward the offensive sucker.
“You really can’t be sure of that,” Gera protested. “But forget it; it’s not a big deal. I—”
“I most certainly can be sure of it!” Lucy insisted. She propped her hands upon her ample hips. “See those teeth marks? Sonia is in the process of getting dentures. There’s not a single tooth in that woman’s mouth! And what color is that sucker?”
“Red,” Terri supplied.
“Shawna is allergic to red dye. That little white girl’s skin is so fair, she breaks out if she even gets close to anything with red food coloring.” Lucy shoved a finger in her mouth to expose her gums, trying to talk with her lip hiked at an angle. “Gets these tiny wittwe bwistas, aw awound her gums.” Dropping her hand, she finished her argument. “And Justine is down in Tucson, taking care of her sick momma. So, it couldn’t have been any of my girls.” She gave a smart nod of her head and concluded, “Had to have been the children.”
Of course, she blamed the children. She thought she conversed with Minerva Cody. Gera knew she was fighting a losing battle. She muttered beneath her breath, “I’m stuck in the Twilight Zone.”
But she presented a bright smile to the other women and pretended all was normal and right. “Again, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for coming down and clearing everything up.”
“Anytime, sweet thing. Anytime,” Lucy chuckled, setting off another wave of jiggles. “You should join me and Nerva for tea. She likes you, you know. Thinks you make a nice match for her grandson.”
“Oh. How... flattering.”
Gera backed her way out of the lobby, strangely reluctant to turn her back on the old woman. You never knew what an unstable mind was capable of, she reasoned, even if the person seemed all sweet and grandmotherly.
She called Jillian the moment she cleared the doors. Getting through to her editor proved more difficult than getting through to the local bank president. By the time she heard the familiar voice on the line, Gera was already in her car and had the air at full blast, chasing away the heat.
“What’s up, love?” Jillian asked.
“Jillian, I want you to know I tried. I tried to make this story work, but I just don’t think I can do it anymore. This town is nuts. Literally, I mean nuts. Bonkers. Every single one of them believes in ghosts.” She adjusted the air vent to keep it from blowing directly in her face. “Okay, all except the guy with the overpriced collectibles. And maybe the sheriff. But everyone else is a believer, including the bank president. And he went to Princeton!” she threw out, as if that made a difference.
Jillian had the audacity to laugh at her. “What, do they have an anti-ghost clause for those attending Princeton?”
“I’m just trying to point out that, to the naked eye, these are seemingly normal, sane, educated people. But beneath the surface, they’re nuts. Absolute nuts. You cannot even imagine the conversation I just had.”
Had to have been the children, the woman had said, as if that were the logical conclusion.
“Gera, as a reporter, you know the importance of keeping an open mind. Just because some people see things differently than you do doesn’t necessarily—”
“You don’t understand, Jillian,” she interrupted her boss. “I don’t really care if they think a ghost helped them find a lost ring or kept them from stumbling in the dark or even if they think a ghost sang herself hoarse last night. Whatever. Whatever floats their boat. But I’m talking about murder. These people are content to blame the death of a man on a ghost. Someone killed Abe Cunningham. The police are being very tight lipped on how he died—”
“He was stabbed,” Jillian supplied. “We have a confidential source that just confirmed details this morning.”
“Okay, so someone stabbed Abe Cunningham and left him there to die. Did you see the pictures I sent you? There is no way a man as old as Abe could’ve scaled that fence and gotten inside, unless he entered through the gate. But people here are literally claiming that Mac, the once-friendly ghost, somehow picked him up, magically transported him over the fence, stabbed him, and left him to die. Never mind that a real murderer is still roaming the streets. They blame it on a ghost.”
Jillian was quiet on her end of the line, presumably pondering the issue. “Everyone?” she questioned.
“No, not everyone, actually. There are many in town who insist that Mac is a good, decent soul and would never do such a thing. But don’t you get it, Jillian? The point is, they believe it is possible that a ghost could kill a man. Maybe not this ghost, but a ghost in general. A tangible spirit. They. Literally. Believe. In. Ghosts.”
“But you believe someone else killed this man.”
“Of course! Of course, I believe someone else did it. Someone mortal!”
“Then prove it.”
Gera dropped her head back against the headrest and groaned. She had fallen into that trap quite nicely. “How, Jillian?” she asked wearily. “The chief of police has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want me interfering in his case. No one else in town seems worried about finding the true killer. They’re far more concerned with defending or attacking Mac’s character, whichever the case may be. Honestly, I feel like I’m caught somewhere in the Twilight Zone.”
“Ask yourself this. Why would someone want to kill Abe Cunningham?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then you need to find out.”
Gera was quiet for so long that Jillian had to ask, “Hello? Are we still connected?”
“Yes. Sorry, I was trying to think of reasons someone might want Abe dead.”
“Motive, Gera. Find your motive, and you find your killer.”
“I’m not a detective, you know.” Her tone was testy. Jillian asked the impossible.
“Of course you are! You’re a reporter, and that is essentially the same thing. Look, when I sent you on this assignment, I thought it would make a great side piece for our October issue,” Jillian confessed. “A bit of a twist to the old ghost and goblin story, if you will. But you’ve stumbled upon something, Gera. A murder. You say the town is unconcerned with finding the true villain. Why is that? Do they have something to hide? Why else would they be content to blame such a heinous deed on a ghost? These are the questions, Gera. Find the answers.”
“I’ll try,” she promised on a sigh.
“What was that?”
Gera straightened her shoulders and spoke with something that sounded enough like conviction to please her boss. “I said I will.”
Jillian chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”
“Thanks, Jillian. I needed a little pep talk right about now.”
“Oh! I think I saw a note here on my desk for you. Let me just find it...” There was the sound of shuffled papers and a brief pause, filled with bumping and one muttered curse. At last, Jillian came back on the line. “Yes, here it is. Ramon had a tip for you. He said to be sure to ask about something. Frankie D. and the hidden gold.”
“Who? What is he talking about? And what hidden gold?”
“Beats me, but unfortunately, you can’t ask him right now. He’s having all four wisdom teeth extracted and will be out until next week. And you know how loopy medication makes our friend.”
She did. With a sigh, Gera said, “Okay, thanks anyway.”
***
WITH NEW DETERMINATION, Gera pulled out of the parking lot. She made a mental list of things she needed to do today, angles she needed to explore. Jillian was right. Every crime had two elements: motive and opportunity. If she found these, she could find the killer, and just maybe the cover on the October issue of When It Happens.
Stopped at the foot of the hill by the church, Gera remembered the creepy feeling she had while there the night before. She considered the possibility that she simply had an aversion to religious institutes. Perhaps, she decided, she associated churches with death. Her last several visits to a church had been for funerals.
Her attention snagged on the police cruiser making its way up the hairpin curve from Main, climbing onto Clark Street. As the car passed directly in front of her, she saw the unmistakable profile of Miles Anderson behind the wheel.
Gera didn’t have to think it through. She eyed the cruiser until it disappeared, inching her way out enough to watch it round the mountain and head out of town. Then she whipped her own car in the opposite direction and drove directly to the police station. She took a parking spot at the far end of the street and hiked back up the sidewalk. The exercise was good for her adrenaline.
She was in luck. Officer Mike Cooper was at the desk when she walked in.
She popped in with a bright smile. “Hi, remember me?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Mike, isn’t it? I just dropped by for that list Chief Anderson left for me.”
He gave her a blank stare. “Uh, list?”
“Yes. I’m working on that magazine article, you know, and I’m here to pick up the list he made. Is he in?” She continued to smile expectantly, pretending to search the station for sight of him.
“No, he had to go into Prescott. You just missed him.”
She looked crushed. “Oh, great,” she muttered. “Just great.” She consulted her watch. “I need to be somewhere in a half hour. I don’t suppose you could be a lifesaver and just give me the information yourself?”
Officer Clark glanced around the empty office. “Uh, what information did you need?”
“The list of witnesses to the current crime spree. Oh, and the names of people who have access to the Bartlett building.” She tried to come across as casual. She hoped her blatant audacity didn’t bleed through in her voice.
The surprise on his face was comical. Gera bit her upper lip, trying not to smile. She hoped her one and only acting class was preparation enough to pull this off.
During a low point in her life, amid four jobs and the most recent rejection from the newspaper office, she wavered in the focus of her studies. Maybe journalism wasn’t the right thing for her, after all. When one of her online classes fell victim to technical difficulties, she snapped up the last spot in a theatrical night course. One drama class was all it took to reaffirm Gera’s commitment to becoming a reporter, but she had to admit, that one class had proved invaluable. Good acting skills were a must for any reporter.
The key to acting, the coach had told her, was believability. It helped if you were an accomplished liar—which, she noted, Gera was not—but there were ways to imply a lie, without actually telling one. Similarly, there were ways to imply believability, even when acting. It was all in the details.
“And he said he would give you a copy?” The officer’s voice was incredulous.
Gera nodded with enthusiasm. “He had a list.” It was true, she was sure. He just never said he would share it with her.
“Uh... well, okay then. Let me see if I can find it.” Clearly confused, the officer lumbered to his feet. He ran a hand up the back of his head, unsure of where to start and what to do.
For good measure, Gera glanced back at her watch. A small enough detail, but the officer noticed.
“Yes, appointment. Right.” He shoved aside a few papers, looking for a note in the chief’s handwriting, or an envelope with her name on it.
She spotted the thick folder that topped the stack. “Isn’t that the case file? Maybe it’s inside.”
He flipped the file open, making a show of thumbing through the pages. “Nothing,” he reported. Seeing her deep frown, he lifted the folder by its covers and flipped it over, to prove there was no envelope tucked inside. He yelped when several papers floated free.
Gera bit back another smile as he scrambled to gather the loose papers and stuff them inside the bindings. Some were photos, some were jotted notes. Others were newspaper clippings. Her eyes tracked the progress of one small slip of paper. It floated independently of the others, sliding neatly beneath another folder. She didn’t bother pointing it out to the officer. He looked frazzled enough.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see anything with your name on it,” Cooper said.
Gera’s sigh was clearly discouraged. “Does he do this often? Get so busy he forgets to do as he promises?”
The officer gave her a sympathetic smile. “All the time,” he admitted. “He’s a busy man.”
She drummed her fingers on the counter. Glanced worriedly at her watch. “How long does it take to get to Cottonwood?” Not that she was headed there, but Cooper didn’t know that.
“Depends on what side of town you’re going to,” he said. “If you’re headed to Police Headquarters, it will take a good twenty minutes.”
Gera squeezed out a groan. Shifted on her feet. Shifted again. Her mannerisms implied that she was torn, trying to decide between keeping an appointment and waiting for the promised information. She even tipped her head, suggesting she favored one silent option over the other.
It took him longer to respond than she anticipated. Gera stalled, blowing out a discouraged breath. Cheeks puffed, she let her shoulders sag. Come on, have a heart, she silently pleaded. How much more pathetic can I look?
He finally took the bait. “I don’t see anything he left for you, but I guess I could give you the notes myself.” He still sounded unsure about the whole thing. He pierced her with a direct look. “And he said you could see the files?” he clarified.
“Not the entire thing, obviously. I mean, I’m sure that’s classified.” She flashed her palms with an implied hands-off gesture. “But he was making a list.” She bobbed her head in a show of certainty, without actually telling a lie. What investigation didn’t require a list? “The string of recent misdemeanors and the witnesses who reported seeing Mac at the scene. Oh, and I wanted a copy of the coroner’s report,” she added. She threw in a little tidbit for added credibility. “Any word on the type of knife used?”
“Oh, so you talked to him this morning,” Cooper surmised. Last he heard, they were keeping the cause of death under wraps. But if the chief shared that much with her, he apparently didn’t mind sharing the rest.
With a shrug, the officer picked up the file folder and carried it to the ancient copier at the back of the room. “We just got that report back.”
The moment his back was turned, Gera slipped her hand over the counter and snagged the previously floating slip of paper. Tucking it into her pocket, she offered a suggestion. “You know, instead of making a copy, I could just snap a few pictures with my phone. It would be quicker.” She darted a glance at the clock on the wall.
Accustomed to doing things old school, it was obvious the thought had never occurred to the officer. He blinked into action. “Right. You have that appointment in Cottonwood.” He brought the folder back and flipped it open, pushing it toward her. “It will be quicker if you just do it yourself,” he said. “You know what you need.”
Gera knew a golden opportunity when she saw it. She wasted no time in snapping off photos of as many pages as possible. She ignored the nibble of guilt tugging at her conscience. Officer Cooper committed a huge breach of confidentiality. It could cost him his job, should her source of information be discovered. She would just have to make certain it never was.
“If you like, I can call Detective Chao and tell him you’re running late.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she played a hunch. “How did you know my appointment was with Detective Chao?”
“Easy,” Cooper shrugged. “He’s Macandie’s alibi. Naturally, Billy Boy was our first suspect. It’s kind of ironic how he’s turned out to be our ace witness, but you can’t get a more solid alibi than Chao.”
One thing acting class didn’t teach her was how to successfully hide her own feelings of surprise. She was afraid it showed now on her face. She had no idea who Billy Boy Macandie was, but he obviously had something to do with the case.
“You know what? Don’t call Chao just yet. I’m done here, and with any luck, I can make our appointment by the skin of my teeth.” Gera flashed a smile bright enough to give the sun outside a complex. “You, my friend, have been a lifesaver.”
Her flattery wasn’t lost upon him. “Now don’t you go off, speeding down the mountainside,” he warned gruffly, shaking a finger for emphasis. “The roads are dangerous enough without adding speed as a factor.”
“Hey, I’m no daredevil,” Gera promised. “Thanks, Coop.”
Gera waltzed out of the station, feeling quite proud of herself. She had the information she wanted—and more—and she hadn’t told a single lie to get it.
Yep, once again, that acting class had more than paid for itself.
