A Conventional Murder, page 14
part #2 of Megan Montaigne Series
Megan wasn’t quite sure what that meant or how to respond, but she needed Vanessa on her side so she nodded sympathetically. “I know, right?” she said.
Vanessa sighed and looked next at the computer screen for a moment, then back to Megan. “Anyway, sorry, I forgot you’re here for a reason. How can I help you?” Her customer service smile reached almost to her cheeks.
“So, I’m wondering if you would be able to tell me which of the conference attendees arrived early? Like Wednesday or anytime before that?” Megan said.
“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Vanessa said, but with a hesitation that Megan interpreted to mean that Vanessa could be convinced.
“I totally understand. But maybe can you tell me when Patrick Bates arrived?” Megan said, deciding to start small. “I’m helping Max. Officer Coleman.”
Vanessa raised an amused eyebrow. “Max has already been here and has all that information,” she said pointedly, but she didn’t seem angry. Rather she seemed tickled that she’d caught Megan in a fib.
Megan felt herself blush deeply. “Of course. Well … The thing is, I am helping Max, or at least, I’m trying to. Not officially or anything. Just because I want to help. Maybe I can figure something out that he overlooked.”
Vanessa waved her hand, dismissing Megan’s protest. “Oh go on. You know I want this solved, too. I can’t believe how they’re all carrying on like nothing happened. Don’t tell anyone I gave you any information, though,” she winked, as she tapped the computer keyboard. “If they ask, tell them Max told you. Now, let’s see … all right. I don’t think any of them came in Tuesday. We had a hotel special for the group starting Wednesday, so let’s look at that … yes. Patrick Bates arrived Wednesday, and … well, here. You look. You’ll know the names you’re looking for.” She turned the screen a bit toward Megan so she could read for herself.
Megan craned her neck to better see the computer, and looked at the list of Wednesday arrivals. There were some names she’d seen on the rosters she’d received from Ginny, as well as some she knew. “Isabelle,” she read out loud, “and Patrick, and Topher and Petra …” she read the rest of the names silently. “I don’t suppose you can print that off for me?” she said quietly.
Vanessa looked around quickly. “I’d better not,” she said. “But if you happened to take a picture of it with your phone …” she left the sentence unfinished.
Megan smiled. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a picture of the screen, and then Vanessa discreetly scrolled down so Megan could capture the last part of the list. “You are fantastic,” said Megan. “Thank you.”
“If it’s one of them that did it,” Vanessa said, “get them quick. I don’t want a killer loose in my hotel,” she scowled.
“We’ll get them,” Megan said. “I haven’t failed a case yet.” Well, she thought, it was true. One out of one wasn’t bad.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DRIVING AWAY FROM the hotel, Megan’s mind wandered back to Vanessa’s revelation that Gary had been the one to write on the mirror. Hired to do so by Sidney, no less. Why would Sidney ask Gary to do that? But even as the question rose in Megan’s mind, she suspected she knew the answer. Marketing. As Vanessa had said, the visitors had been thrilled by the act. As they’d gazed on the mirror in shock and delight, Megan had thought she could almost see them writing their blog posts in their minds. Creating headlines. Making up supporting details that may or may not have been completely true. Insinuating. Who wrote this? Was it a ghost? Did the beheaded nurse return with a message for the murderous doctor?
Whatever amount Sidney had paid Gary, undoubtedly he would make it back exponentially. If he opened up reservations today for a hotel that wasn’t even built yet, he’d probably be putting people on a waiting list by tomorrow, Megan thought with a sigh.
As Megan turned off Highway 20 and into town, she decided to make a quick detour to Rae’s. It was well past lunch rush, so Megan thought there was a chance Rae wouldn’t be as slammed as she had been much of the last few days.
Sure enough, when Megan walked into the pub’s dimly lit interior, she found herself to be one of only a handful of patrons, most of them local. Megan gave light waves and smiles to people she knew, then went to sit at the bar, where Rae was wiping down the counter.
“Rae!” she said, pouring herself a glass of water from a pitcher in front of her.
“Megan!” Rae said back, flipping a towel over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Burger?”
“You got your meat order in?” Megan asked.
“I did indeed. My meat man always comes through,” Rae winked.
Megan suddenly remembered her conversation with Max about what Rae might be doing to get information out of her secret informant, and it was all she could do to stifle a laugh. “Say,” she said. “I have a question. I need a favor. You and your connections. I could do this online, but it would take longer and cost me money,” she said.
Rae raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” she said. “What do you want?”
Megan looked around the room and leaned in conspiratorially toward Rae. “I want to know if Max has been married before.”
Rae leaned back and laughed. “Max?” she said, a little louder than Megan would have liked. “You want to know if Max has been married? You know, you can ask him,” she said, looking at Megan like she was being an idiot.
“I know. Obviously. But he has a secret he’s not telling me, and I’m trying to find out what it is,” Megan explained.
“Is this some kind of courting ritual you two have going on?” Rae said, shaking her head.
“What? Why? Is he asking questions about me, too?” Megan felt the flush of heat in her neck again. Why was Max asking questions about her? Was he interested?
“No, no,” Rae said. “Just sort of unusual, you have to admit.”
Megan found herself both disappointed and relieved. “Well, it’s a trust thing, I guess. I’m not quite sure how to explain it.”
“You want him to trust you so you’re trying to find out his secrets?” Rae said. She nodded and waved at a patron who was leaving.
“No,” Megan said. “I guess … I want him to believe in me.” The more she tried to explain, the weirder it sounded in her own head.
Rae stared at her for a few seconds, then shrugged. “All right, I’ll see what I can find out. But you owe me.”
Megan brightened. “Any book you want to check out from the library, you can check out for free. It’s on me.” She grinned broadly at her own joke, and Rae groaned.
“Yeah, about that …” Rae said. The front door opened and she looked up to see who had come in. “Ah,” she said, lowering her voice. “There’s your woman.” She smiled as Ginny walked over to the counter. “I’ve got your order in the back, just a moment,” Rae said to Ginny, and she turned headed to the kitchen.
Ginny smiled weakly at Megan. “Haven’t even had breakfast yet,” she said, “and it’s what, almost two?” She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t want to complain about the convention going so well, but I’m tired.” In her purse, her phone started to ring. She pulled it out and looked at the screen, then dismissed the call. “He can wait,” she said. “Megan, thank you so much for taking on the haunted hospital trips. I was a bit short with you the other day. I want you to know I appreciate the help.”
Rae came back out of the kitchen carrying a paper bag and a receipt.
“Here you go,” Rae said. “Turkey club and a side of coleslaw. Anything else I can get for you?”
“Oh you’re amazing,” Ginny said. “Everyone is talking, you know, about your place. They love that there’s no actual menu. They think it’s quirky.”
Megan looked quickly at Rae. Rae hated being called quirky. Not that she wasn’t quirky; she just didn’t believe she was and hated the word. Rae was not quirky, the pub owner was usually quick to explain. Rae was just Rae.
But, Rae simply smiled. “That’s lovely to hear. I’m glad they enjoy the ambience.” She pushed the paper bag across the counter. “I hope you, and they, will all come back.”
Ginny opened the bag and checked its contents, then handed Rae a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” she said. “I’m in a rush. Thanks again, Megan.” With a nod, she was back out the door before they could reply.
“Well that was magnanimous of you,” Megan said. “You hate being called quirky.”
Rae rolled her eyes. “Business is business,” she said, “and I’ve already got a hundred new ‘likes’ on my Facebook page from everything these people have said about me in the last three days.” She put her hands up and out at her sides: What can you do?
Megan nodded. Her mind went back to Patrick, supposedly arguing at the hospital with Sidney, trying, perhaps, to convince him not to renovate the haunted building, or to build elsewhere, or not to build at all. Sidney’s words rang through her head. Who was she to want to stop progress? Was Patrick right to want to preserve history, or wrong for valuing the past over the present and the future? And was that even what had happened, or was Sidney lying, knowing that dead men don’t tell tales?
She checked the clock on the wall, a giant old wagon wheel that had been converted into a timepiece. “I’d better get back to the library,” Megan said. “I need to at least pretend to get some work done today before I go to the hospital again tonight, and I’m hoping to talk to Kendall. Although it sounds like they’re all off on various excursions today. Maybe we’ll have some peace in town while they’re all off cavorting and gallivanting.”
Rae laughed. “See you later. I will find out about Max and I will let you know, you love bug,” she said, her eyes bright with amusement.
“Don’t start with me,” Megan grumbled, but she smiled at Rae as she jumped off the bar stool and headed home.
At her desk in the vast library, Megan found herself struggling not to get distracted. A good amount of basic paperwork had backed up over the last few days, and it needed to be done in a timely manner. Normally she was good at that sort of thing, but now she found her mind wandering. Who had Patrick met up with at the hospital? Megan’s mind flew to Petra. Petra and Topher. Topher seemed like the kind of guy who could give Bear Grylls a run for his money out in the wild, in survival mode. The kind of guy who could rip the head off of a chicken without even stopping to think whether he was the kind of guy who could rip the head off of a chicken. A little cold. A lot strong.
Was he protective? Was he vindictive? Was there more to the story of Petra and Patrick than anyone knew? And what had broken them up, anyway? Had it been an indiscretion? An affair? A waning of affection? Had their paths diverged too far, so far they couldn’t find their way back? Megan was under the impression that Patrick had been the one to instigate the divorce. But was that true? Or was that just a story someone was telling to cover up a sinister truth?
Not for the first time, Megan wished Patrick were around so she could ask him some questions. “I suppose that’s not possible,” she said under her breath, “unless one of the ghosts at the hospital is willing to talk.” She tilted her head. If only that were possible. If only.
But for now, she had to deal with the resources she actually had available to her as a mere human. “YouTube again,” Megan said to herself.
As a librarian, she knew that the beginning of the alphabet and the end got more traffic than the middle. When randomly looking for things, people were more likely to start at the beginning and move forward, or start at the end and go backward. The middle could be sorely neglected, and that had been the case in Megan’s earlier search. She decided to be a bit more systematic this time in going through Patrick’s videos.
“Where to start…” she said, staring at her computer screen. After a few minutes of thought, she decided to go by country. Thinking of Kendall’s new book, which read suspiciously like Patrick’s writing, she started with New Zealand.
A handful of videos came up. The oldest were from more than a dozen years prior, and then there was a large gap of years before the most recent videos, all within the past two years. Megan clicked through them, looking up occasionally to see whether any of the library patrons needed her. She rubbed her eyes and wished that there were elves somewhere indexing all the YouTube videos, so she wouldn’t feel remiss if she didn’t watch every one. It would need to be elves, or perhaps time travelers from the future, who could go back and tag each video with the things she needed. Things like “this video contains a future murderer.” If the elves or time travelers were truly helpful, they’d include a time stamp.
“Hmmm,” murmured Megan as she watched one of the New Zealand videos. “Gorgeous.” She sighed deeply and started to daydream about a vacation. It didn’t have to be to another country. There were people right here who could help guide her to a great location in the US. Like Devin—
“Focus,” Megan said, shaking her head. She clicked ahead in the video. While the scenery was spectacular, there were no people in it other than Patrick.
She moved on to another video labeled “Ohakune Old Coach Road New Zealand,” filmed a couple of years prior. The thumbnail showed many tiny heads, so she knew this one would at least have people in it. The video opened with scenes of a group of people bicycling along bumpy dirt lanes in tropical forests, through dark tunnels, and over a high viaduct that the narrator—Megan assumed this was Patrick—said had been originally built for trains, but the curves had proven to be too tight. Megan skipped forward through several minutes of the biking until a segment at the end after the bike trip where the cyclists had all gathered at a bar. Patrick was there raising a glass of beer in toast to a great day.
Megan paused the video and scanned the faces. She wasn’t at all surprised to see Kendall in the crowd. Kendall was laughing and smiling and gazing on Patrick with a somewhat flirtatious look. Megan moved the video forward a few frames to look on a new set of people. A tiny involuntary gasp escaped her lips: was that Petra in the group? She looked more closely. It was. The hair was shorter, but just as curly. Her face did not have the playful look that Kendall’s had. Instead, Petra looked annoyed.
“What is the date on this?” Megan asked herself, scrolling on the page to find when it was uploaded. As she’d thought, it was filmed a couple of years ago. She wracked her brain to remember the timing of Petra’s marriage to Patrick. What had Kendall said? Three years ago, and it had lasted a year. Wasn’t that it?”
“So was this before or after?” Megan said, pursing her lips. She looked through the rest of the crowd, wondering if any more familiar faces would turn up. There was a woman in the back, looking away distractedly, that might have been Isabelle, but it was too dark to tell for sure. Megan scanned all of the male faces to see if Topher might be among them, but as far as she could tell, he was not.
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” she said. Of course Topher, or anyone else, could have been at the gathering but not in this particular clip. “Hmmm,” Megan said. “Hmmm indeed.”
Megan’s mind buzzed at finding a video of Patrick, Kendall, and Petra all together in New Zealand. Even so, Devin had said Patrick was a Europe guy. She remembered Ginny had mentioned Italy. Could Ginny have known Patrick? Megan found the group of Italy videos and almost gave up before she even began. For just Italy alone there were dozens of videos. Wishing once again for indexing elves, Megan started watching the videos, again trying to guess, based on the thumbnails, which clips might include more people than scenery. She started to notice many of the same faces. In larger groups, Isabelle showed up occasionally, usually sitting or standing off by herself. Kendall was present in some. For a short span of time, Petra made appearances. Megan thought she could almost sort the Petra videos by how sour Petra’s face looked: in early videos, she was happy and ebullient. In later videos, she seemed downright petulant.
Finally Megan found a video where she thought one of the people might be Ginny. This particular trip to Italy had been more than a decade before, and the person Megan thought might be the travel coordinator had much longer hair than Ginny had now. What’s more, Megan was not entirely sure that the blonde on this person’s head or the blonde on Ginny’s head was completely natural. But something about the face was the same. Like Isabelle, though, the person was standing off by herself.
Just then, Owen was walking near Megan’s desk, carrying a laptop and a long cable cord. “Owen!” Megan called out in a loud whisper, and the young man veered course to stop at Megan’s desk.
“Hey!” Megan said. “All good?” She nodded at the laptop.
“Yeah,” Owen said, placing the computer and cord on the counter. “Someone forgot their own laptop so I’ve got to get their PowerPoint set up on this one. No problem. Before I forget: Ginny said there’s overflow for the hospital tonight. She said some people might be driving themselves. Didn’t want to turn people away. Anyway, what’s up?”
This was one of Owen’s strengths: getting the right technology running in the conference rooms. Megan knew A/V issues could destroy a presentation, and she was grateful that Owen was so knowledgeable. “I won’t keep you,” she said. “Quick question, though. Do you know if Ginny herself was ever a traveler?” She pointed to the screen. “I’m trying to figure out if this could be her.”
Owen’s face lit up. He snapped his fingers and smiled. “Yes! I meant to tell you. I remembered. When I worked in Seattle at the Convention Center, we had travel conventions all the time. She was there once or twice representing some city or region. I can’t remember exactly. But I do remember someone telling me she was a failed travel writer. Tried to make it but couldn’t build up an audience. That came to me in the middle of the night. Funny what things the brain stores,” he said, shaking his head. “That was years ago.”
