Matthias awoke to the light of dawn and the realization that someone was pounding on his door.
“Mr. Jones, there’s a phone call for you,” Amalie announced, her voice slightly muffled by the thick wood panel. “Detective Brandon wants to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”
Matthias pushed aside the quilt, wondering when he had gone from being Matthias back to Mr. Jones. He reminded himself that Amalie could not be sure who might overhear her and that she probably thought she ought to maintain the appearance of a relationship that was appropriate and expected between an innkeeper and a guest.
“Tell Brandon to hang on,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
Amalie’s footsteps retreated down the hall.
He got up and quickly pulled on his trousers, a shirt, and a pair of shoes. Ignoring the man in the mirror—some rough-looking guy sporting the dark shadow of a morning beard—he made his way downstairs.
When he reached the reception area, Amalie was behind the front desk. She handed him the receiver of the white enamel and gilt telephone but she made no move to retreat and give him some privacy. Instead, she fixed him with an intent gaze and made it clear that she was going to listen to every word.
“This is Jones,” he said into the phone.
“Got a report of a body in a cabin at an old, closed-up auto court out on Miller Road,” Brandon said. “Victim was shot twice at close range. The medical examiner hasn’t had a chance to get there yet but the officer thinks the guy has been dead a couple of days. According to the driver’s license, we just found Charlie Hubbard.”
“Pickwell’s missing assistant.”
“Yeah. Figured you’d be interested.”
“I am very interested,” Matthias said. “Give me directions to the auto court. I’ll meet you there.”
He looked around for a pencil and a pad of paper. Amalie was already thrusting both into his hand. He jotted down the driving instructions and hung up the phone.
“They found the assistant?” Amalie asked.
“He was murdered. Most likely on the night he disappeared. Evidently there were a few flaws in his plan to sell the Ares machine. I’m going to take a look at the scene.”
“I’m going with you,” Amalie said.
“Trust me, you do not want to look at a body that’s been dead for a couple of days.”
“You keep forgetting that I have a personal interest in this case.”
“Amalie—”
“Also, Miller Road is not marked. You might miss it. I, on the other hand, know exactly where that old auto court is located.”
“You do know how to make your point.”