Checking Inn (16 page)

“I know you were having an affair with Samantha!” I yell into the phone.  “And I should warn you the police are pretty sure you were the one who killed her.”

“I– what– Samantha is 
dead
?” he finally gets out.

“Honestly, the innocent act is so last week.”  Smiling, I nod at Maggie.  I’ve always wanted to say that, and it came out impeccably, if I do say so myself.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Greg says, and I can hear his voice rise in a slight panic. 

“Just like you weren’t sleeping with her?” I counter.

Greg pauses again, and then finally sighs into the phone.  “Okay, listen Kate.  I might have slipped up once or twice–”

I snort into the phone.

“But, I did not kill anyone!  I swear to you, this is the first time I’ve even heard that Samantha is dead,” his voice breaks on the last word and I can hear that he is crying on the other side of the phone.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me, just this one time,” I say.  “If you have been sleeping with Samantha this whole time, why did you continue our relationship?  We hardly ever see each other– why string me along?”

Greg sighs into the phone.  “I do really care about you, Kate.  Please believe me.  I know I made a mistake–”

“A 
mistake
?” I yell.

“Okay, I fucked up.  But, it’s not like you make it easy to love you,” he says.

“
Excuse me
?”

“Nothing in life is ever good enough for you!  You kept bitching all the time that you needed a good review for the Inn.  So, what did I do?  I go out of my way to ask Samantha to come and review it and you go insane trying to please her–“

“
You
 asked her to come to the Inn,” I say, flabbergasted.

“See, you’ve never appreciated the things I have done for you.  Like all the new things I have tried to get you to try– you just fight me on everything,” he argues.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Have I not properly thanked you for getting your mistress to come and review the Inn?  WHAT DID YOU HAVE TO DO TO GET HER TO AGREE TO THAT?” I yell.

“See, this is exactly what I am talking about,” he says.

“You know, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re a disgusting, cheating liar, I would almost feel sorry for you,” I say, gripping the phone cord that is wrapped around my fingers into a tight clenched fist.  “But, I don’t,” I slam down the phone in its holder.

I turn to walk away but my fingers are still tangled in the cord and the phone falls off the wall.  I casually pick it up and place it back.  It was still a good exit, I reassure myself.

My mother’s eyes are wide as she continues to stir the eggs, pretending that she hasn’t just heard what happened. 

I walk over to where she is standing and put my head on her shoulder. 

“Greg the Great and I are not going to be getting married,” I say, looking at the disgusting green colour the eggs have turned.

“Oh, really?” she asks in what I’m sure she thinks sounds like regret.  “That’s too bad.”

“Mmm,” I say, nodding and taking a piece of egg out of the pan to try.  It’s actually pretty good.

“Well, there are better fish than him in the sea and at least we won't have to put up with his mother anymore,” she says, her one arm wrapped around my back in an embrace.  “Ben is quite nice.”

“Mother,” I sigh, and move my head slightly so my eyes can reach hers.

“What?  I’m not saying you have to ask him out this second,” she says.

“Greg and I just broke up,” I remind her.  “And besides, relationships that start out in heated moments like this never work out.”

My mother looks back to the eggs and shrugs.  “I think when something’s good, it’s just good.  It shouldn’t matter how or when it happened.”

I study the eggs too.  “Was it ever good between you and dad?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” she nods.  “But not as good as it should have been.  I can’t really fault your father for doing what he did. We were both unhappy for a long time, and he just wanted to find what we should have had together with someone else before it was too late.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” I point out.  “If you’re unhappy, then do something about it, but finish what you have started first.  A cheater is a cheater, there is no excuse for it,” I say adamantly.

“You might be right,” she concedes.  “But it takes too much energy to stay mad at someone. You hurt yourself more than you hurt them.”

A thought suddenly occurs to me and I lift my head and look at my mother.  “Was Vivienne one of the women Dad had an affair with?”

My mother’s face freezes for a moment before she eventually relaxes and nods her head.  “She’s the only one I haven’t been able to quite forgive, though God only knows why,” she shrugs.  “I think I could let it go if it weren’t for those tacky nails of hers…”

My mom turns back to the stove and turns the gas off.

She’s a walking contradiction, and I find myself looking at her and loving her for it.

To stay mad at someone for twenty-something years, not because they slept with your husband, but because of the colour they paint their nails…

My eyes widen, and I grab the counter for support.

That’s it.

“Kate, what’s wrong?” my mom asks.

“Nothing.  I think– I mean, I’m not sure, but I think–” I look around wildly for my purse and remember Ben put it in my bedroom last night.  I race over into my room and sift through my purse for my phone.

I click on the photo’s icon and find the picture of Samantha’s closet.

I stare at it and can’t believe my eyes.  The answer has been here this whole time.

“Kate, what’s wrong?” my mother repeats as she comes into my room, looking at me in concern.  Maggie is sitting beside her, looking at me as if to say, “You finally figured it out?  I had it a week ago.”

“I have to go,” I say, grabbing my coat and my purse and running past my mother and Maggie to the front door.

As I turn the doorknob, I open the door and look over at my bewildered mother standing in the front hall– she is desperately trying to catch up with what is going on.

“Call Ben and tell him to meet me at the Inn in half an hour,” I say before closing the door and running to my car.

Fourteen

I should have seen it.  I mean, I know I have been distracted lately, but usually I am so good at this sort of stuff.  I pride myself on being able to spot something out of place.  I blame it on not making a list.  I would have had it if it was written down.

Samantha’s closet had every color of nail polish under the sun, but no red.  And there definitely wasn’t any red polish in her bathroom at the Inn.

It’s a long shot, a 
really
 big long shot.  That’s why I have to try and get the confession myself.  If I went to the police with this they would 
never
 be able to prove it.  But, I only know one person that is connected to all of this,
and
 religiously wears red nail polish.  Vivienne.

My mind flashes to Samantha lying on the bed with her bright red nails and I shake my head to get rid of the image.  I need to be completely focused if I have any chance of this working.

It’s all starting to make so much sense to me.  Samantha’s apartment décor, the financial backing for the reviews: 
that’s
 how Vivienne became a success overnight.  Except, Samantha wrote a bad review for Viv, and was about to publish it.  It would have ruined her.

I call Vivienne and tell her she needs to meet me at the Inn right away.  I say I want to talk to her about re-decorating the room that Samantha was killed in.  She tries to put me off, saying she is busy at the moment, but I threaten her by saying I will have to get a new designer.

Her schedule is miraculously clear for the next hour or so.

I pull into the Inn and see that her car is already in the parking lot.  Ben’s isn’t anywhere in sight, which makes me slightly nervous.  But it’s better this way; she won’t confess to anything if Ben is around.  She probably won’t say anything to me either, I realize, but I have a plan.

No list, but a good plan.

Let’s see what ‘fly by the seat of your pants’ Kate can accomplish.

I walk through the Inn and force a warm, welcoming smile onto my face when I see Vivienne standing by the guest book.

“Finally decided to sign in?” I ask, walking up to her and placing a kiss on her cheek.

She shakes her head and smiles in return.  “Just seeing what fabulous people have visited our town recently.”

“Well, they might be the last for a while,” I say and walk to the staircase.  “Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

We walk silently up the staircase and turn right down the hallway.  I unlock the door to the room Samantha was staying in and let Vivienne go in first.

“It seems not too long ago that we did this room,” she says, putting her purse and coat down on the couch. “But I can understand why you want to redecorate it.”

“Mmm,” I say, nodding my head.  “I was thinking of doing floral drapes.”

“No, I don’t think that will be right with the lighting in here,” she says, getting out her notepad.  “You’ll want something with stripes, or dark circles on white, like I originally suggested.”

My body shakes, and I run my hands up and down my arms.  I try to explain it away, “I still get the chills in this room.  I mean, someone was 
murdered
 in here.  That’s why if we have any chance of reopening we have to redo the whole thing.  I can’t have the stigma attached to the Inn.”

“You’re right,” she says, nodding.

“I still can’t believe it though, can you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side to feign innocence.

“It is rather disturbing,” she nods.

“I mean, you hear about these things, but to actually know the person…” I shake my head.  “Poor Samantha.”

Vivienne shakes her head, “I’m actually surprised no one did it sooner.”

“Vivienne, how can you say that?” I ask.

“Honestly Kate, Samantha was a terrible person.  I’m sorry, but I just can’t muster up any sympathy for her,” she shrugs.

“But to die like that…” I say, shaking my head.

She doesn’t say anything else and I decide to move on.

“And what do you think about the furniture in here?” I ask, leading her into the bedroom.

I can see her hesitation before she enters the room and I turn to look at the dresser.

“Well, these antiques are beautiful, but I think a more modern, sleek piece would be more beneficial to the wear and tear of the guests.”

“And the bed?” I ask.

“Well, naturally you will want to get rid of it since that’s where the body was found,” she says, and looks around the room.  “I think if you got something without a footboard it would open the space up more.”

I nod and look around again.  “You’re probably right.”

I step towards the bathroom door, but stop and turn around.  “You know, it’s funny, I don’t remember saying the body was found on the bed.”

Vivienne pauses, her eyes losing all warmth before she gently laughs.  “Well, I just assumed it was.”

I nod my head and smile, “Good guess.”

She looks around the room and then closes her notebook.  “You know, maybe we should do this another time.  Perhaps when you sort out what you are going to do with the Inn,” she suggests.

“You’re right,” I say, walking towards her.  I stop when I get to the dresser and run my hand over the top again.  “I’ve always loved antiques.  I know they weren’t your first choice when we designed the rooms, but I’m glad I went with them.”

“They add a certain charm,” she concedes.

“I know you like sleeker furniture.  It must be the New Yorker in you,” I say with a smile.

“Hmm, you know I really do have to run,” she says.

“I was so worried that Samantha was going to hate all the furniture I picked in her review.  I guess it was a good thing she never did end up writing it,” I say.

Vivienne just nods her head.

“I mean, we all know what can happen to a business if a renowned critic doesn’t like our work,” I say, watching her face.

“I think you put too much stock in what one woman says,” Vivienne says, waving the argument away.

“But you did too, didn’t you?” I ask.  I see her forehead wrinkle ever so slightly before she shakes her head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I called Mr. Sanders, Samantha’s boss, on the way over to offer my condolences about Samantha’s death,” I lie.  “He told me he fired Samantha a week before she came here to write her review.  He said he fired her when she wrote a negative review and refused to destroy it.  He told me the review was about you.”

“That’s a lie,” Vivienne spits out.  “I don’t need a review from Samantha Manning; I’m already successful.” 

“Maybe he was mistaken,” I shrug.  “Even so, I think I should tell the police, and they can call Mr. Sanders to confirm who the person was.  I mean, that review probably cost Samantha her life, so it’s only plausible that they will want to talk to the person.”

“Wait!” Vivienne says as I take a step forward.  “You don’t understand.”

I see the desperate look on Vivienne’s face, partially from fear, but also from something else that I can’t quite pin down.  Though my gut, the one Ben has been telling me to follow, is very wary of it.

“Then help me,” I say.

“I designed that woman’s apartment free of charge.  Greg got it all set up for me.  She was supposed to write an excellent review, and I was going to give the agency her salary for the year.”

“But she didn’t write an excellent review,” I state.

“She was horrendous.  And everything she said was a lie!”

“So, she wrote a bad review and you 
killed
 her?” I ask.  I mean, I know I was worried about a bad review as well, but never in a million years would I ever contemplate killing someone because of it.

“You don’t get it.  I gave her the money, I did everything she asked, but she still wrote a bad review.  One that would ruin me!  I went to her boss and told him I would not be giving him any money unless it wasn’t published, and he assured me it would be taken care of.”