Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (7 page)

Cassie tossed and turned during the night because the hotel bed
was too soft and the pillows too flat, and woke six hours later with her back
feeling like someone had slammed her with a two-by-four.

After coffee and a long hot shower she felt better. She did
a few stretches and dried off, and then dressed in lightweight cotton slacks
and tank top, ran gelled hands through her shaggy spikes for most of a minute, and
finally came out of the bathroom.

The message light on the phone was blinking; she picked it
up and dialed six for voicemail, and heard Dorothy Kennelly’s voice:

“Cassandra, I must return to Florida to tend to some
personal business. I will be extremely busy, so I must leave this project in
your hands and will rely on you to keep it on schedule.

There is an envelope waiting for you at the front desk –
inside you’ll find $100 in cash, plus an American Express credit card in your
name. Please do remember to sign the back of the card before you use it. You
can also make cash draws on the card if needed, and together that should take
care of your living expenses while you’re in Cordell Bay.

As for the salary agreement, you’ll find the first
twenty-five percent deposited in your bank account in Las Vegas on Friday, another
twenty-five percent August 1st, and the final fifty percent when the finished
manuscript is accepted, which, as we discussed, should be no later than August
15th.

I expect you will be prompt and professional in the work you
agreed to perform. I will be in touch with you next week with information to
begin working with the publishing company’s representative. Until then, I wish
you the best of luck.”

Cassie played it back a second time to make sure she heard
it right. Dorothy Kennelly was gone? The woman who used Cassie as a paddle ball
from the moment she got off the plane yesterday, who constantly disapproved of
anything that wasn’t her own idea first, had suddenly cut the rubber band and
left Cassie free flying in charge of her own work? Halleluiah!

Maybe.

The voice in her head screamed watch out for the next paddle-slap
to come from somewhere. It did not make sense that Dorothy Kennelly would step
out of the project without leaving some kind of shackles behind.

Cassie gathered paper stacks from the spare bed where she’d
read them last night, attached sticky notes where she wanted to ask Rosalie some
questions, then more sticky notes went into the steno book. Still feeling
paranoid about Dorothy looking over her shoulder, Cassie put one more note actually
on the keyboard inside the laptop. Finally, she slid everything into her
satchel, and filled the outside pockets with personal items so she wouldn’t
have to carry the handbag too.

She clicked off the TV before the morning news report could
get her attention. The police visit to Baylin House and the Homicide details
reported last night were already closer than they needed to be in Cassie’s
thoughts. She could not afford that distraction right now.

Funny how much Cassie resented Dorothy making that rule last
night, and now it was Cassie’s own. Maybe Dorothy wasn’t the only one who
wanted everything to be her own idea first.

Dorothy had said to limit visiting hours to Baylin House, and
once again, Cassie surprised herself by agreeing. Rosalie Baylin’s near-death
condition was a shock; spending six hours a day asking her to peel open the
layers of her life for the entertainment of others was already more than anyone
should ask.

With new resolve, Cassie zipped the satchel closed and went
down to the lobby.

She retrieved the envelope waiting at the hotel desk. But
she took it into The Galley Cafe and ordered breakfast before she opened it.

Inside was a sheet of the hotel’s gold-embossed linen
stationary folded neatly around five twenty-dollar bills and the credit card. Hand
written in precise well-mannered lines on the inside of the page was another
note from Dorothy:

Cassandra,

Your rental car is prepaid to the date of your return
plane ticket. Your room is prepaid through Tuesday noon -- after that, you’ll
have to take care of extending it. The AmEx card is unlimited. The remaining budget
for your per diem expenses is $15,500, and as this is a business arrangement,
any charges above that amount will be deducted from Salary and Royalties due
you.

Best Regards, Dorothy

Very generous, Cassie thought. She signed the back of the
credit card and used it to pay for breakfast.

On her way out, she stopped by the hotel desk to verify the
nightly cost for the back-breaker bed upstairs. Too much! She would find
something more comfortable and more affordable before Tuesday.

The desk clerk – his name tag said ‘Charles’ – handed Cassie
a Cordell Bay City Map and suggested contacting a few apartment complexes in
town for a furnished ‘Executive Rental’, explaining that meant it would have
linens, dishes, and everything needed for apartment living except consumables. Considering
she was in town for such a short while, it sounded like a perfect arrangement;
she thanked Charles for the suggestion.

She pulled out of the hotel parking lot at the left turn
signal. Morning traffic on Bayside Boulevard was easier than the evening before,
and it helped to know which way she needed to turn before she reached the
signal at West Bend.

She did manage to miss the second turn -- didn’t recognize Fullmer
Street until she was too far into the intersection. But then she found a
convenience store on the next corner and helped herself to a copy of Rentals
Magazine from the rack outside. Nothing was wasted. Even with the little detour,
Cassie parked in front of Baylin House at 7:45.

Bea Morgan answered the door. There were deep stress lines
around her eyes and she looked tired; Cassie hoped all the excitement last evening
hadn’t given Rosalie a restless night.

“I know I’m early,” she apologized. “I could wait out here
on the porch if that’s a problem?”

“No, no, you’re fine, Miss Cassandra. Miss Rosalie’s been up
and working for a couple hours already. Come right in, she’ll be glad to see
you.”

“Did Dorothy let you know she was leaving?”

“Oh, yes, she and Miss Rosalie have spoken on the phone several
times this morning.”

Cassie followed Bea through the archway into the kitchen;
really wanting to ask if Bea had seen the news report last night, maybe even
recognized the Detectives. But she wouldn’t bring it up while they were in
Rosalie’s hearing distance.

“Good morning, Cassie,” Rosalie called happily when Cassie
came into the kitchen behind Bea.

Rosalie looked wonderful in a pale pink shirt that made her
complexion glow. Her full red hair gathered neatly into a clip at the base of
her neck, with just a few of those wispy curls that insisted on springing
around her face. On the table in front of her was an old manual typewriter with
a sheet of paper half covered in black print. Two more pages, completely
covered in her single space typed lines, lay on one side, an opened package of
fresh typing paper next to it.

“Good morning,” Cassie replied, feeling rather dumbstruck to
blend this bright-eyed alert woman, already so involved in her work, with a
first impression of Rosalie Baylin last night that she was on a fast downward
spiral on her deathbed.

“Sit there on the end next to Miss Rosalie,” Bea suggested. “You’ll
need that electric plug for your computer won’t you?”

“Yes, thanks.” Cassie glanced down to locate the outlet, and
worked her way between the table and the wall.

“Did you have breakfast?” Rosalie asked. “Bea has more
sliced peaches if you’d like some?”

“Oh, no, thanks, I ate at the hotel,” Cassie mumbled. She
was still struggling to absorb the difference in Rosalie’s appearance between
last night and this morning.

She slid the laptop and everything else out of the satchel,
and concentrated on setting up. Then she came face-to-face with the sticky note
left on the keyboard:
Need R’s childhood detail
.

Uh-huh. For now she just moved the note out of the way.

Bea turned to the sink full of dishes.

“Did you sleep well last night Cassie?” Rosalie asked when
their eyes connected. “Dorothy said she didn’t sleep at all. I hope she didn’t
keep you up, too?”

Cassie shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything from Mrs.
Kennelly until I got out of the shower this morning and found a message waiting.”

Bea chuckled low in her throat. Rosalie glanced at her with a
warning frown. Then she began a steady clack-clack-clack-clack on the manual’s
keyboard.

A few minutes later Bea draped a dishtowel over the rack of
dishes drying on the drain board, and left the room. Then there was no sound
but the keys of Rosalie’s typewriter.

A full hour passed; Cassie was making slow headway, retyping
the early pages into more coherent text in the computer file. It was too soon to
approach the list of questions. And Cassie really didn’t want to break whatever
concentration Rosalie had in her control.

After another hour, Cassie needed a short break -- her neck had
kinked and a spot above her shoulder blade felt like someone was pressing a hot
poker against her.

“Rosalie, I need to stretch a bit and to use a restroom if
you’ll tell me where to find it?”

“Under the back stairs,” Rosalie said without looking up.

Cassie squeezed out from behind the table and went to the
back hallway. Bea Morgan was coming out of the laundry room with a load of
folded towels.

“Bea, have you heard any more about what the police wanted
with Brady Irwin?” Cassie kept her voice low and followed Bea into the bathroom
where she put the towels in a storage cabinet.

“No,” Bea whispered, shaking her head. “And please, please,
don’t say anything to Miss Rosalie about that business.”

“No, of course not, but you said you speak to the men by
phone every morning. Didn’t he tell you anything when you called him?”

Bea peered down the hall toward the kitchen. When she was
comfortable they could not be overheard, she whispered, “Brady just said they
talked to him. That’s all.” Then she left to go back to the laundry.

Cassie used the bathroom, did a few squats and shoulder
rolls to loosen up, and rejoined Rosalie in the kitchen. A fourth page lay on the
new finished stack now. Whatever Rosalie was working on this morning was
clearly an emotional subject. The intensity of her keystrokes said it was
important.

Cassie was reaching for the new pages when the doorbell rang.
She flinched, but there was no change in Rosalie’s clack-clack-clack rhythm.

Bea moved past the archway toward the front door. A few
moments later she came into the kitchen and laid a business card on the table. Rosalie
glanced at it. She took a resigning deep breath, letting it out with a slow
shake of her head as she slid the card toward Cassie. “We’ve been getting a
couple of these a week lately,” she said. “The word is out and the alligators
are circling.”

Cassie picked up the card and read – Burch Realty, Cordell
County Specialists in Commercial Properties.

“The word is out?”

“My health problem, and our Business License,” Rosalie said in
a tone indicating she considered both as mere nuisances. “The license is on
hold again over some kind of status that has to be cleared, a couple new
complaints about one thing or another --Harvey has been trying to take care of
it.”

Cassie swallowed and kept her expression neutral. Rosalie
might think it was just a nuisance, but a Business License problem was bad news
to Cassie. “What kind of complaint can anybody make that holds up the license
renewal?”

Rosalie gave a cynical laugh. “When people are small minded,
they make up anything to cause trouble for others. Last year a neighbor filed
complaint with the Health Department that our septic tank wasn’t properly
maintained. She claimed we had raw sewage floating into her yard.”

“Yuk!” Cassie shuddered.

Rosalie grinned. “It was false. We’d had a hard rain that
week, and the tank was full, but it wasn’t leaking. There was nothing in the
neighbor’s yard, either. The Health Inspector was aggravated that he even had
to come out to look for it. He knew it wasn’t our fault.”

“But he held up the license anyway?”

“Not at all. He signed off the day he came out here, but it
took a whole month to get all the paperwork straight. Our license renewal was
held up until it was all cleared. That’s the way it works down here.”

And probably everywhere else, Cassie thought to herself.

“Harvey’s already fixed everything he can,” Rosalie quipped.
“They’ve been out to inspect and sign off, but apparently there’s one more for some
stupid new code that went into effect this year.”

Rosalie shook her head and went back to typing; clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

The reference to code lingered on Cassie’s mind. New code requirements
can have astronomical costs if an older building can’t be grandfathered exempt.
About the only time that happens is when the code has something to do with
safety.

Cassie thought about the size of the fund set aside to
produce Rosalie’s autobiography – at least twenty-thousand just to pay Cassie’s
travel and per diem expenses. Plus the salary, and who knew how much to
physically produce the books themselves, and advertising – wouldn’t all that have
been enough to hire a contractor for the needed repairs? It should have been
enough to tear the place down and rebuild it from scratch!

But Cassie already knew saving Baylin House wasn’t important
to Dorothy Kennelly. She was interested only in some big secret.

Around ten-thirty Bea returned to the kitchen. She slid a
big soup pot from the refrigerator to the stove and quietly peeled and sliced a
bowl of vegetables at the sink and added them to the pot. Rosalie continued
typing clack-clack-clack-clack.