Following the directions to Barbara’s room on the third floor of the house, I ascended the stairs, found a kid that looked like an employee standing in the hallway in front of her door, knocking. He seemed irritated. “Hello, ma’am, I’m here for your bags. Are you going to open the door so I can take them?”
The door didn’t open. The employee reached his hand inside his pocket, took out a phone, and made a call. “Are you sure you sent me to the right room? No one’s answering.” There was a pause then he said, “I am standing in front of the presidential suite. Are you sure you have the time right?”
“Excuse me,” I said. “How long have you been standing in front of Miss Berry’s room?”
Without looking at me, he held a finger in the air, expecting me to wait until he finished his call. I lifted the phone out of his hand, pressed the end button.
He swung for the phone. Finch grabbed his wrist and said, “Don’t touch her. Understand?”
“What are you ... let go of me!” the boy yelled.
“Answer the question,” I said. “How long have you been waiting at Miss Berry’s door?”
“Couple minutes maybe.”
“How long ago did she call to ask for help with her bags?”
“She didn’t call. She asked at breakfast this morning.”
“Was breakfast the last time you saw Miss Berry?” I asked.
He nodded.
I handed his phone back. “How can I get inside her room?”
“Who are you?”
“A friend she was supposed to meet. Right now, actually.”
“If she was supposed to meet you here, why was she leaving?”
“She was leaving after we spoke.” I looked at Finch. “I don’t have time for this. Go see if you can find a manager so we can get inside her room.”
“I knew you weren’t really here to meet her,” the kid said. “Who are you?”
Finch started down the hall.
I looked at the kid, itching to smack the smug look off his face. “Did you hear about the murder of Alexandra Weston?”
He folded his arms in front of him. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”
“Miss Berry was Alexandra Weston’s agent.”
“So?”
“The man who killed Alexandra Weston hasn’t been caught yet.”
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with the lady staying here?”
I stepped in front of the kid, tried the knob on the door. It was unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Miss Berry, are you here?”
The kid came in after me. “You can’t go in—”
I whipped around, slapped him across the face. Hard. “Shut. Up.”
I searched the small, Victorian-style room for any sign of her. Finch called to me from downstairs. “Joss, get down here!”
I followed the sound of his voice down the stairs and into a small room that had been converted into a library. On the floor, in front of a pair of chairs, coffee had been spilled, and in front of that, still clutching the handle of the cup, was Barbara Berry’s body.
I bent down, checked for a pulse.
A housekeeper entered the room and screamed, drawing the attention of everyone scattered around the house. As they gathered around, Finch stepped in front of Barbara, to keep the crowd at bay.
“What do you think?” Finch asked. “Can you tell from looking at her?”
“Is she dead?” one man asked.
“It appears she is.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“I checked her pulse. There isn’t one. I also checked her pupils. They appear to be dilated.”
The housekeeper leaned down.
“Don’t touch her,” I said. “You could destroy the potential evidence on her body.”
“How long has she been dead, do you think?” the housekeeper asked.
“Not long. We just spoke on the phone.” I eyed the room. “Has anyone seen Barbara since breakfast?”
A man raised a finger. “I have.”
“How long ago?”
“Let’s see. She came downstairs when I was watching TV so I’d guess about two hours ago.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Not a word.”
“Do you know why she came downstairs?”
Another finger went up. “I’m Lori, the innkeeper here. She wanted to know if I had any chocolate croissants left. The ones we served at breakfast. I heated one up for her, and I thought she took it back to her room. Maybe she didn’t.”
I crouched down, scanned the floor, located the croissant, topside down, halfway across the room.
“Why didn’t anyone notice she was in this room before now?”
“This room is hardly ever used.”
“There’s one other thing,” Lori said. “I overheard Miss Berry talking on the phone a while ago. She invited someone to stop by before she headed to the airport. She said she had something in her possession she’d be willing to return for the right price.”
“Did she say what she had?”
Lori nodded. “A flash drive.”