Eaves of Destruction Read online

  “You said she was here with a boyfriend. Were they sharing the room?”

  “No. They had separate rooms, but they were traveling together. His name is Mr. Winesap. He’s very attractive.” She blinked. “Oh, we saw him downstairs at the bar the other day. Do you remember?”

  “I do. Wasn’t he sitting with another man?”

  “That’s right. He was sitting with Mr. Greenfield, another guest. Mr. Winesap is here for the first time, staying in the Juliet room.”

  “But Loretta has been here before?”

  “That’s right.” Jane smiled. “She stayed here once before with another man, but they must’ve broken up, because Mr. Winesap is new.”

  “How long has it been since she was here?”

  She considered. “It was about this time last year.”

  “Did Loretta and the two men all travel here together?”

  “Oh, no. Loretta and Mr. Winesap arrived together.” Jane closed her eyes and thought for a second. “Mr. Greenfield’s by himself. I think Mr. Winesap and Mr. Greenfield just happened to be at the bar at the same time the other afternoon.”

  This was why Jane was such a great innkeeper. She remembered her guests and made it a point to learn everything she could about them without prying.

  “Was Loretta here as a tourist?” I asked. “Or did she come on business?”

  Jane frowned as she thought about that. “It’s hard to say. Both times she’s been here, she’s only stayed for three days. And she books one of the larger suites because, she told me, she planned to have meetings in her room.” She glanced at me. “That sounds like she was here on business.”

  “Do you know who she meets with?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone go up to her room.”

  “What about that other woman she was with the day I came looking for Joe Scully?”

  “Oh.” Jane looked puzzled. “I forgot about her. They seemed like friends, not business acquaintances. Anyway, I don’t know if she went up to the room or not. Sorry, Shannon.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I was just wondering. Does Mr. Winesap stay for the meetings?”

  “No, he’s here as more of a tourist. He dresses very casually and leaves every morning to go out and see the sights.”

  “Do you know where he is right now?”

  “I have no idea.” She grimaced. “It’s going to be a terrible shock when he gets back.” She gasped. “Oh God, shock. I shouldn’t have said that. Oh, this is awful.”

  “Yes, it’s awful,” I said. “But Loretta didn’t die of electrical shock.”

  “But the hair dryer—”

  “It was used to strangle her.”

  Jane seemed to gasp for air. “Oh my God. How do you know these things?”

  “I put GFCI outlets in all the bathrooms to prevent that very thing. And both the TV and the hair dryer have trip switches. Neither of them would’ve killed her if they fell into the water.”

  She brushed her hair back, clearly exhausted by the ordeal of finding the dead body. “I don’t know how I’ll ever explain all that to Mr. Winesap.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything,” I said gently. “That’s Eric’s job.”

  “That’s another reason why I wish he would show up.”

  I was wishing Winesap would show up, too. I checked my watch. It was past dinnertime. Maybe the man had come back earlier and murdered his girlfriend. He could have been long gone by now.

  “Let’s go downstairs and wait for Chief Jensen,” I suggested. The sooner Chief Jensen arrived, I thought, the sooner the cops could track down the mysterious Mr. Winesap.

  • • •

  Chief Jensen and Tommy arrived ten minutes later and went to work in Loretta Samson’s suite. I stayed around a while to make sure Jane would be all right. It was going to be a long night at the Hennessey Inn, but with both men working the scene, along with several uniformed officers and Leo the crime-scene investigator, I knew she didn’t need me sticking around any longer. And I wouldn’t have to worry about Jane, because Eric would take care of her.

  As I drove home, I thought about everything I’d seen in Loretta Samson’s room, and knew that something felt wrong. I replayed the entire scene in my head, but couldn’t figure out what I was missing. I had a sinking feeling that it would keep me awake that night.

  • • •

  I paid bills, reviewed schedules, and took care of other work stuff all weekend. Then, early Monday morning, I walked over to the Cozy Cove Diner on the town square to meet my dad and Uncle Pete for breakfast. We usually met on Saturday mornings, but the guys had had a business matter to attend to. I wondered if it’d had something to do with the boat Dad had been eyeing the last time I saw him.

  “Hi, Shannon,” the waitress at the front counter said when I walked in. She held up a coffeepot. “Coffee?”

  “Definitely. Thanks, Cindy.” I would need the whole pot to get me awake after spending most of the night tossing and turning. Seeing a dead body in a bathtub could do that to you.

  “Shannon,” Dad called. “Over here.”

  I walked over to the booth by the front window and gave Uncle Pete a hug. Dad moved over so I could slide into the booth and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

  “Hi, Dad,” I murmured.

  “Hi, honey. You working today?”

  “We sure are. We’re over on Cranberry Circle, at the Jorgensen house. They want an orangery installed in their side yard and we’re redoing some of the wainscoting in the dining room.”

  “Busy girl.” Dad gave my hair a playful tug. “What else is going on?”

  I carefully avoided any mention of dead bodies and instead chatted about the Spaulding renovation and the Derrys’ dry rot. I mentioned that Carla and two of the guys were working on Emily’s tower roof today and that we had several other jobs around town. He asked a few questions, as always, and we talked about the work in general. Even though he was retired, he liked to keep up with the company news.

  “So, are you two official yet?” I asked, smiling. “Did you buy the boat?”

  Uncle Pete looked up from his paper and grinned. “Pulled the trigger yesterday afternoon.”

  “All right! Congratulations!”

  Cindy walked over right then and poured me a cup of coffee. She took our orders and strolled back to the front counter.

  I held up my coffee mug. “Here’s to the new yachtsmen.”

  Dad snorted. “Hardly a yacht. But she’s a beauty.”

  “Do I call you Skipper now?”

  “You can call me Captain.” He glanced at Uncle Pete. “He’s the Admiral.”

  “Impressive,” I said with a laugh.

  “Hey, I won the bet,” Uncle Pete said with a shrug.

  Dad rolled his eyes. “It means I do all the work. He drinks beer and snoozes in the sun.”

  “Nice gig.”

  Uncle Pete winked at me, then continued reading the paper as Dad and I chatted.

  “I heard about Scully,” Dad said. “Can’t believe it.”

  I knew why he hadn’t said something about it right away. He was letting me settle in and relax by talking about the ordinary. My guys. Our jobs. His new boat. Now that he’d given me time, he was easing me into the subject. That was my dad. Was it any wonder I was nuts about him?

  “I can’t believe it, either,” I said. “He was a big jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  “He always was an irritation,” Dad grumbled. “Like a splinter of wood under your thumbnail. Painful and always in the way.”

  That pretty much summed up the man.

  “Was he bugging you about anything specific?”

  “Yeah. In fact, I tried to call you about it last week, but you were away.”

  He winced as if regrett
ing not getting back to me, but it was too late now. “I got your message but I figured we’d see you today, so I decided to wait.”

  “That’s okay. I called to ask if something happened between you two that made him hate me so much.”

  Dad sighed. “The easy answer is yes. I’m afraid you’re taking the heat for what I did to him ten years ago.”

  Dad looked guilty, uncomfortable, and definitely uneasy. Oh, I so didn’t like to see that.

  “What did you do?”

  He took a sip of coffee, then sat back in the booth. “I got him fired.”

  “You’re kidding.” I almost smiled at the thought. “You did something I’ve dreamed of doing forever. What happened?”

  Dad’s warm brown eyes narrowed in remembered outrage. “He accepted a bribe from a competitor and I busted him. Sherman fired him, but then he got reinstated when Sherman died.”

  Sherman Sweet had been the head of the building department. His name said it all. He was the sweetest old guy I’d ever met. It was a real shame when he passed away and Scully took over.

  Frankly, I often wondered why the mayor put up with him. It wasn’t as if Scully had been elected. And there had to have been hundreds of complaints about the man over the years. Why not just fire him and hire someone else? Heck. Anyone else.

  “I always wondered if it was my imagination.” I shook my head. “I guess he really was out to get me. But you know, that somehow makes me feel better. At least I know there was nothing I could have done to win him over—not that I ever tried.”

  “Sorry about that, honey,” Dad said. “I hate that he took his bitterness toward me out on you. But Scully had a lot of enemies and it looks to me like someone finally had enough.”

  “Yeah. Well, he started coming around every day at the Jorgensens’. Mrs. Jorgensen called the mayor to complain, but Scully still came around. And then he had the nerve to show up at Jane’s place and throw his weight around. I know he did it just because he knew I was the contractor.”

  “He was a toad, rest his soul.”

  I nodded. “Jane called me about it and I raced over there, but he was already gone. And then the next day, he was, well, really gone.”

  “Why was he at Jane’s place?”

  “I told you we’re renovating her old garage, right? Well, I pulled the permits for that job a while ago and Scully decided he’d show up and check things out. We haven’t even started that job yet, but that didn’t stop Scully. He just did it to rile me.”

  “He wasn’t just a jerk,” Dad grumbled. “He was an incompetent jerk.”

  We drank our coffee in silence for a moment until Uncle Pete began folding the newspaper. “Did you see this story?”

  Dad set down his coffee mug. “Which one?”

  Pete handed the paper to Dad. I could see the full-color picture accompanying the story. It was a photograph of Loretta Samson when she was alive.

  Dad stared at the photograph. “She looks familiar.” He began to read the article.

  “Sure, she does. It’s Loretta Beeman,” Uncle Pete said. “Don’t you remember her?”

  Dad glanced more closely at the photo. “Oh, yeah. Loretta. She’s still a beauty. Or she was. Sorry. It’s been so long, I almost didn’t recognize her. Didn’t you date her, Pete?”

  Dad knew Loretta? Uncle Pete had dated her? How was that even possible?

  “I sure did,” Pete boasted. “She was a pistol.”

  “Wait,” I said. “When did you date her?”

  “Oh, years ago,” Pete said. “You were just a baby.”

  “The newspaper is calling her Loretta Samson,” Dad said. “She must’ve remarried.” Dad gave me a sideways glance. “Says here, she died just last night. And she was staying at Jane’s inn.”

  I nodded. “It’s true. Jane called me. She was so distressed about finding the body, she asked me to keep her company.”

  Dad dragged one hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Honey, I don’t like you being in the thick of all these deaths.”

  “Believe me, neither do I. And I don’t do it on purpose, Dad,” I argued. “Jane was really upset, so I stayed with her until the police arrived.”

  “So you didn’t see the body,” Dad said.

  I avoided looking at him and instead glanced down at the paper for a moment, and then gazed toward the counter. Where was my order of French toast and bacon? I really needed a distraction right about now.

  “Shannon,” Dad said sternly, “you saw the body? I don’t get it. Why can’t you leave this stuff up to the police? You found Scully’s body, too. Honey, I’m worried about you.”

  “We should cancel our trip,” Uncle Pete said immediately. “Stick close to town until things blow over.”

  “No way,” I insisted. I wanted these two to go ahead and live their lives and enjoy themselves without worrying about me. Besides, if they did stick around, they’d stick to me like glue and maybe they’d end up in danger. I couldn’t risk it. “You’re both going fishing. You don’t have to worry about me. This is just some weird coincidence. The death at Jane’s inn had nothing to do with Scully’s murder.”

  And yet, Scully had been there the other day and had seen Loretta Samson. And right after that he went tearing out of the place. What was the connection? I chewed on my lower lip until I realized that my dad was watching my every move.

  “Here we go,” Cindy said, carrying three plates on one arm with the ease of a circus juggler.

  I breathed a monumental sigh of relief. “Yay, food.”

  Cindy set our plates down and started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. She stared at Uncle Pete’s newspaper, still folded to show Loretta’s picture. “Hey, she looks familiar.”

  “You’ve seen her before?” I asked.

  “Sure. She’s been coming in here once a year for as long as I can remember.” She read the headline and frowned. “Oh no. That’s a shame. Poor woman. She was always so friendly. That’s too bad.” She glanced around the table and her smile returned. “Well, you all enjoy your breakfast. I’ll bring coffee around in a minute.”

  “Thanks, Cindy,” Dad said.

  We all began to eat and stopped talking for several blessed minutes, thank goodness. It gave me a chance to think. Loretta Samson had been coming here for years, Cindy said. The last two years she’d booked a room at Jane’s inn. I wondered where she’d stayed before that. Probably didn’t matter. I wondered what she did while she was here, besides walk to the pier. Did she have friends in town? Or business? I took a sip of coffee and then brought up the subject again.

  “So, Uncle Pete, you said you dated Loretta. How did you know her? Did she once live here?” Frankly, I was dying of curiosity. My father and uncle had both known the dead woman, and yet Jane had been under the impression that Loretta had only visited Lighthouse Cove twice in the last two years.

  Uncle Pete glanced at Dad as if he might be seeking his permission to speak. Dad rolled his eyes. “Might as well tell her. She won’t stop bugging you until she knows all the answers.”

  I laughed. “I’m not that bad. Just curious. This woman was a regular visitor in town and she ends up dying last night. And this morning I find out that you both knew her. It’s intriguing, don’t you think?”

  “She was an interesting woman,” Uncle Pete said.

  “Pete knew her better than I did,” Dad confessed. “I was a happily married man at the time, but he was footloose and fancy-free.”

  “And Loretta was a beautiful woman,” Pete said, sounding a little misty at the memory. “Smart, too. She had a way with money. Always working a deal.”

  I frowned. “What did she do for a living?”

  “She was a housekeeper back when I knew her.”

  “A housekeeper? But she was always working a deal? Did she make money on the side?”

 
“Not much. Believe it or not,” Uncle Pete said, “back then, housekeeping was a decent middle-class job.”

  “That’s true,” Dad said with a sly grin. “I should know. After all, I was just a construction worker, but I did okay.”

  I almost laughed. My father had made a boatload of money building and renovating the houses of the rich and powerful. But if you asked some people around town who didn’t know better, they might say he was just a working-class guy living on social security.

  Funny thing was, Dad would probably agree.

  Uncle Pete sat back with his coffee in his hand. “Loretta grew up here.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah. Gosh, she was a pretty gal. Remember, Jack?”

  “I remember,” Dad said. “Didn’t she end up marrying what’s his name?”

  “Ernie,” Pete murmured. “Can’t think of his last name.”

  “It wasn’t Samson,” Dad said.

  “Ernie?” I said. “Who’s Ernie?”

  “He worked for the Jorgensens,” Uncle Pete said. “Did a little bit of everything. Chauffeur. Handyman. Gardener. Even did some cooking.”

  His words sank into my brain. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Did you say he worked at the Jorgensens’ house?”

  “Yeah. So did Loretta.”

  “Right. They worked together,” Dad said, nodding. “I used to see Loretta when Matthew and I got together over at his house, which was pretty often. His parents had just died and the house had been bequeathed to him since he was the oldest son. We were great friends back then. Well, we still are friends, but I don’t get a chance to see him too often.”

  “Unless there’s a poker game,” Pete said, grinning. “He likes to play poker.”

  “Did you know he’s an artist?” Dad asked. “A good one. We have one of his paintings in the hall, unless you moved it.”

  “The pasture scene?” I said. “With the horse?”

  “Yeah.” Dad nodded. “I always liked that picture.”

  “I do, too. It’s still there.” I had thought that Dad had one of Matthew’s paintings but I couldn’t believe it was the one hanging in my hallway. So, we owned a genuine Matthew Jorgensen painting. I couldn’t wait to tell Amanda.