Chapter Eight

Between Sara and me, it didn't take long to learn where Brad was staying. Of course, I should have guessed. He booked the nicest hotel in town under his own name. The Maple Tree Hotel was famous for the mature maple trees that framed the building, and inside was bright and airy. I heard the restaurant had glass walls and views of the terrace and east gardens. It was popularly known for being very nice but I never had any occasion to go.

“I know one of the managers,” said Sara. “I'm sure when you explain why you came, she'll give you access. Even Sam said you're still legally his next of kin.”

“Is it weird that I shudder every time I hear that?” I pulled a face.

“Of course not! Your husband was a narcissistic, brutal man. I'm sure you never thought you’d have to deal with him ever again. It's a lot to handle.”

“It really hasn't sunk in at all yet. Aside from identifying his body, it all seems like a horrible dream that I can wake up from any moment.”

Sara lay a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I'm sure it won't sink in or feel real for some time. And that includes the idea that you're free of this horrible sadist either. No more hiding.”

“No more hiding,” I repeated as I sat up straighter. Then a new thought occurred to me. “I can call my parents now! And my sister!”

“I never guessed you even had a sister.” Sara frowned. “Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I know very much about you at all.”

“You must think I'm awful. I've been so cagey since I met you. I promise you it's not personal. It's all I knew how to do.”

“Not one bit. If anything, I'm sorry you didn't feel you could trust me enough to open up to me but I understand why. I can't imagine living in so much fear day after day.”

I smiled at her, recognizing a true friend in the making. Perhaps I really could have things like that now! I didn't have to remain guarded every time I opened my mouth for once. “Thank you for being so kind to me,” I told her. Then I waved to the note-scrawled paper we spread over the coffee table. “And for all this. You only came over to see if I was okay and now I've dragged you into my own amateur investigation.”

“Don't even think about apologizing. I'm happy to help you in any way I can. Plus, I have a little bit of experience in investigating a murder,” she said with a knowing look. Only a few months ago Sara had found a body in the library. The clues she’d followed had led to a dramatic arrest and I knew she was proud of the part she played in that investigation.

“I’ll need every bit of your experience to find out what's going on. Sara, Brad was attacked on my doorstep and unless I can find the perp or even another suspect, I'm sure Detective Logan will post me at the top of his suspect list. I saw the way he looks at me now, like he doesn't know whether or not to believe me.”

“I doubt that's what Sam thinks when he looks at you,” said Sara, holding back a smile.

“You can't even try to suggest he still likes me!”

Sara held up her hands in a sign of surrender. “Of course, he likes you. He's just being professional, that's all.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Of come on! You haven't noticed how long he looks at you?”

“No!” I paused, thinking about a moment a week ago at the café when I thought he wanted to ask me to get a coffee with him except he hesitated and then my order was ready. And the week before that when he came into the boutique and asked if I was content with the low crime levels on Main Street, making small talk until I’d been interrupted by a customer. “Maybe.”

“You must be severely out of flirting practice. I've noticed a few times that whenever you're around, all he looks at is you!”

“He does not!” I flushed crimson.

“Now you're blushing.”

“I am not! You're teasing me. Detective Logan has something on his mind but it's definitely not anything like that.” I stopped when Sara blew a raspberry and flashed her wide eyes at me. “That's not very mature,” I added in my most pedantic voice. “And it's not becoming either, considering the gravity of the situation.”

“Okay, you've got me there. I'll be serious. Let's go to the hotel and see what we can find.”

“Do you think Detective Logan will object to that?” I could imagine his face as he caught me picking through my now dead husband's things.

“I think he already combed the room. You have a good reason! You're just picking up his things to arrange for them to be shipped to his family,” said Sara.

“I guess so,” I said, although I remained unconvinced. “Detective Logan said he found a hotel keycard in Brad's rental car.”

“Do you have your ID to prove you're next of kin?”

“I do. I keep it in an envelope. I have my driver's license, along with my birth and marriage certificates. So I have my birth name and my married name, and my name now.”

“Then your original name isn't Blake?”

“No,” I said shaking my head. “Blake is my sister's name. My birth name is Meredith Arden.”

“That sounds familiar but I can't think why. I feel like I should know it. What name do you want to go by now?”

“I think Meredith Blake suits me just fine,” I decided, relieved that Sara didn't immediately recognize my name. Perhaps I was blinded by delusional thoughts of my own popularity! All the same, the public's memory dissolved much quicker than I thought.

“Let's go now. I'm sure you want to see if we can dig up any clues even more than I do,” said Sara.

“If you're sure?” I asked. I got to my feet hesitantly, feeling guilty, like I was somehow breaking the law by even thinking about handling Brad's things. “Oh! The door! I'm not sure I can lock it. It's kind of wedged shut. The frame and the lock are both splintered.”

“Let's draw the chain and push the couch against it. No one can get in. We can leave through the kitchen door.”

“Okay,” I agreed, impressed by her ingenuity. We took opposite ends of the couch and with some huffing and puffing, pushed it firmly against the door; then I knelt on the seat cushions and slid the chain into place. “My phone!” I called as I saw the device lying on the ground. That's where it slid out of my reach last night. I scooped it up, checking the blank screen. Of course it was dead; the battery was probably drained hours ago. Regardless, I pocketed it until I could charge it.

“You'll see five missed calls from me,” said Sara.

“I'm sorry I worried you.”

“Like I said, what are friends for? Now let's find out exactly what that awful man was doing in our lovely town.”

We exited through the back door and hurried around the corner of the house to Sara’s parked car. Driving the few blocks to The Maple Tree Hotel, she turned into the parking lot, finding a space close to the main entrance. As we walked into the reception area, Sara nudged me and pointed to the smartly dressed blonde woman at the desk. “That's my friend, Janey. She just got promoted to deputy manager,” she told me.

“Maybe you should do the talking,” I suggested.

“I think you'll do just fine,” countered Sara.

“Welcome to The Maple Tree Hotel,” said Janey. “How can I help you? Hi, Sara! Are you two together? Did you book lunch?”

“Not today, but I hoped you could help my friend,” said Sara, indicating I should take over.

“I'm Meredith Blake. That is, Meredith Van den Berg. My husband was staying here and I came to collect his things.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I heard about what happened and I'm so sorry. What an awful tragedy! I can take you to your husband's room,” she said. “I should probably tell you Detective Logan and one of his police officers have already been inside.”

“I expected they would.”

“I just didn't want you to be surprised. They took a look around and picked up a few things. That's what our other day manager, Don, told me anyway. He's not here today,” she explained.

“Things? Like what?” asked Sara.

“A laptop, I think but I'm not sure. They're made so thin now, aren't they? Don said it could have been just a fancy notepad.”

“Brad always traveled with his laptop,” I said. “If the police want it, I'm sure it's important to their investigation.” It certainly wasn’t important enough to Detective Logan to tell me he confiscated it, but why should he tell me anything?

“I'm sure. He told us to pack up the room and clean it but we haven't gotten around to it yet. Would you like some help?” she asked, her willingness to assist so warm and friendly. Once again, I was struck by how kind the townspeople were.

“I'll be fine,” I decided, “How many nights did Mr. Van den Berg book his stay for?”

Janey frowned but turned to her computer. “Let's see... five nights. He checked in two nights before he was... well, again, I'm so sorry.”

“Could you show us how to get to his room? I'd appreciate that,” I said, in an attempt to save her from feeling like she just put her foot in her mouth.

“Of course, follow me.” As we navigated the stairway to the room, Janey kept up a steady patter of how sorry she was, and what a shock it must be, and finally, she recognized me and liked my shop but was too nervous to actually come inside. I assured her she was always welcome any time as she opened the door with her master keycard, and it was only when she left that I realized I left the boutique closed for the day without any explanation.

“What do I do about the shop?” I asked Sara. “I can't just leave it closed indefinitely. But people will think it's strange if I do open it, especially after they find out what happened. I don't suppose there's any way to avoid that.”

“We can put a note on the door explaining that it’s due to unforeseen circumstances. Everyone understands that things can get totally out of our control. And if there's any emergency pickups or deliveries, your part-time girl can handle those, right?”

“I guess so. There's nothing due to be collected, so it should be okay. Oh, Candice wants a new dress but I don't think she needs it urgently. She's going to be on TV!”

“So I heard! But let’s worry about that later.” Sara stepped further inside, letting the door slide shut with a soft click. “Hey, this is a nice room.”

“Brad always insisted on having the best of everything,” I said as we stopped and looked around. It wasn't quite a suite, but a large room dominated by a king-size bed that hadn't been slept in. No dents or depressions in the pillow, and the covers were perfectly smooth and neat, just like Brad liked it. Of course he hadn’t slept in it, not that he could have guessed his first night in Calendar would also be his last.

A small, expensive, suitcase lay closed on the luggage rack and I could see a couple of personal items on the desk and nightstand. As always, Brad kept the space tidy and organized. Even the things he left out were neatly perpendicular to the edges of the tables and parallel to each other. A motivational business book was stacked upon a plain black notepad, with an expensive silver pen on top. I recognized the pen. I had it engraved for him when we got engaged.

I perched on the edge of the bed, feeling weird and obtrusive as I reached for the notebook. Brad's neat handwriting covered several pages but all the notes appeared to be about the book he was reading, including a few question marks beside topic points. I couldn't be sure if it were related to a project he was working on now, or general tips he found useful. “He owned his own tech firm,” I told Sara. “That is, he and his brother, David owned it. They started it in their parents' garage after graduating from college and it became a huge thing. They made millions on it, and there was talk about floating it on the stock exchange but they ultimately decided to keep it private. I suppose it's possible he made an enemy through work but I can't see why anyone would travel here to kill him. He'd be a much easier target where he lived.”

“What kind of tech firm?” asked Sara. She slid back the closet door and took a look inside.

“Mostly, they make microchips.” A business card slipped out of the notepad and I had to stoop to pick it up from the carpet. Brad Van den Berg, President, VdB Tech. “Not just your average microchips either. Theirs have some kind of amazing function. He tried explaining it to me plenty of times but for some reason, my mind never grasped it. I guess I don’t lean that way.”

“Sounds like it could attract corporate espionage?”

“That sounds like you've been reading a thriller recently,” I replied and Sara laughed. “Why would they kill him if they just wanted to steal his designs? They could so easily infiltrate the company with a mole.”

“Now look who's been reading thrillers,” countered Sara.

“It does sound strange,” I agreed. I returned the notepad to the nightstand and checked through the motivational book. There were no notes in the margins and nothing fell out. I returned it to the nightstand and stacked them neatly, like I found them. When I finished, I looked at them again. I didn't need to stack anything neatly anymore. I didn't need to be neat about anything. What could Brad do? Haunt me? I prodded the book with my finger, sending it off kilter. The moment of defiance gave me a small thrill of pleasure.

“A couple of things are hanging in the closet,” said Sara. “Should I check the pockets?”

“Yeah! Good idea.”

While Sara did that, I opened and closed the drawers of the nightstand, then rounded the bed to repeat the action on the matching nightstand. Finding nothing inside, I moved over to the desk. An expensive laptop bag was placed in the chair but the laptop was missing. Of course, Detective Logan would have taken that. I wondered how he would crack the password, having no idea how to go about it. Perhaps he had IT specialists at his disposal? All I knew is: Brad never allowed me to touch his laptop or know his passwords for any device. I would never have dared to touch them anyway; I preferred not to incite his rage.

“There's a receipt from a florist in his jacket pocket,” said Sara, handing me a slip of paper. “It's dated yesterday.”

I read the date and time. “The flowers left at my shop must have been from him. They were expensive.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“To scare me,” I decided.

“With flowers?”

“To let me know he knew where I was. I suppose it was mostly to unnerve me and it worked.”

“That is creepy.”

“There's a receipt from the Coffee Corner Café,” she said. “Maybe he had lunch there yesterday or the day before?”

I looked at the receipt. “My shop is visible from there,” I said with a shudder. Brad was watching me and I didn’t know. What if this wasn't the first time? Could he have been watching me for weeks? Months? The idea made my head spin. To think I convinced myself I was so careful. Obviously, I wasn’t careful enough.

“A month ago, I thought someone was watching me. I dismissed it eventually but there were a couple of days where I kept seeing the same guy and the same car everywhere I went. Then he stopped showing up and I figured it was just a stupid coincidence. What if I were wrong?”

“Was it Brad that you saw?”

“No. An older guy with gray hair and a goatee. He drove a rental car. I remember seeing the bumper sticker.”

“Could it have been a tourist? Or someone visiting from out of town?”

“I guess.”

“What if he was a PI?” said Sara. “Brad could have hired him to find out if you were in the area.”

I shuddered. “I guess I'll never know now.”

“You should tell Sam that. He'll find out anyway. I'll take a photo of the receipt and send them to you. Then we can put everything back in the pockets. Are you okay?” asked Sara.

I nodded, weakly. “Is there anything else in his pockets?”

“No, that's it. Just the florist receipt and the one from the café.”

“I should search his suitcase,” I decided. The case was zippered but the pulls weren’t inserted into the locking mechanism. I checked the outside pockets first and found them empty, so I unzipped the case and flipped over the lid. Brad packed light: jeans and two cotton sweaters, t-shirts and a casual shirt, underwear, socks. Nothing particularly unusual. “His toiletry bag must be in the bathroom.”

“I'll check.” Sara jogged into the attached bathroom and returned a moment later, holding a leather toiletry bag in hand. “I took the liberty of taking a look and there're the usual things. Electric toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream and a razor, deodorant, and a travel-sized aftershave.”

“I don't know what we expected to find,” I said, contemplating the suitcase. “I guess, maybe, some divorce papers? All we can ascertain from what's here is that he didn't bring enough clothes to stay very long.”

“Detective Logan could have confiscated all kinds of items if he thought they were relevant,” pointed out Sara. “Whatever is left here now isn’t the full picture.”

“I'm starting to realize that,” I agreed. I closed the flap of the suitcase and returned my attention to the laptop bag. Rummaging through the pockets, I found a couple of pens and another notepad, this one unused. Then, deep in the side pocket, and so easy to miss, my fingers touched on a small, rectangular piece of plastic. I teased it out and held it up. “A flashdrive!” I exclaimed.

“Sure looks like one,” said Sara. “You wouldn't believe the amount of data you can store on one of those things.”

“Maybe we should turn it over to the police?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Without us taking a look at it first?”

“Good point. Let's see what it contains and then I'll give it to the cops.” I looked around the room. “I think that's it. There's nothing else to search.”

“You don't want to pack up his things?”

I took a deep breath and blew it out. “I sure don't,” I decided. “I'll ask Janey if someone from housekeeping can pack Brad's things and store them until his family arrives to retrieve them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I don't want anything of Brad's! He's already given me everything I need.”

“What's that?” asked Sara, looking surprised.

“My freedom!” The one thing he swore he’d never give me.