Innkeeping with Murder - Tim Myers [60]
Alex pushed a little more. “So he wasn’t checking on any real estate deals?”
Nadine laughed. “Why heavens no. I happened to be eating lunch at Buck’s on his first day in town. He spotted me and offered to treat me to a meal. I thought he was cute, so I let him. Joel Grandy’s been over here like a love-sick puppy ever since.”
Alex thought that might explain why Grandy had made the offer on Hatteras West. It could have been just
his effort to stay close to Nadine. “Would you mind telling me something else?”
Nadine’s eyes lit up. “Anything.”
“Someone’s been trying to buy the inn for some time now, but Finster refused to tell me who the buyer was. I’d really like to know.”
Nadine Crowley raised her index finger and waved it in front of Alex’s face. “I’m not at all certain I have any right to tell you.”
“Who’s going to know? The name might be important in helping me find out who killed my guest and burned down part of my place.”
“I was so sorry to hear about that, Alex.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk, then said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter now, but I still want you to swear you won’t tell anyone I told you.”
Alex nodded solemnly. “I promise.”
Nadine went to the file cabinet and started searching through the Files. After a few minutes, she looked at Alex and said, “I don’t understand this. The file’s missing.”
“Are you sure? Maybe it’s somewhere else. Misfiled, maybe?”
Nadine said, “Come now, Alex, I don’t misplace or misfile anything. Let me look on his desk.”
She came back a full minute later. “It’s not there, either. He must have had it with him last night.”
So the murderer had taken the evidence after killing Finster. “And you don’t have any idea who was after Hatteras West?”
“If I knew, dear boy, I’d tell you. But Sam Finster played things close to the vest. He never even mentioned that someone was making an offer for your inn, though I’d heard plenty of rumors around town about it.”
Alex left, knowing he had just run into another dead end.
Walking from Finster’s office to the truck, Alex decided to detour one block and see if Mor Pendleton was in. He had a few questions for the man. The last person in the world Alex wanted to suspect was Mor, but too many things had been going on lately for him not to be aware of his friend’s ties to recent events.
Mor wasn’t in the shop, but Les was. Alex found him sitting at his workbench with his feet propped up. Seven years earlier, Les Williamson had been forced to retire at the age of sixty-five from his regular job as a maintenance man. It had galled Les that he’d been too old to work anywhere but in a business of his own. Taking the largest chunk of his retirement money, he opened the shop just hoping to keep busy until he died. No one had been more surprised than Les that so many of the townsfolk had personal possessions they would rather fix than throw away. Business had been so good that Les had hired Mor, and as the two men grew closer, they’d become partners in the operation.
The older man was reading the latest issue of Soldiers of the World, one of his numerous magazine subscriptions. Les had more magazines coming into the shop than the library and the newsstand put together, and he could often be found fighting to catch up with his issues in his free time.
“Is Mor around?”
Les looked up, the strong shop light glaring off his bald head. “Eh? Oh, hello, Alex. No, he’s over at the hospital with that Sturbridge woman. I’m telling you, it’s getting to be a regular thing, him being gone. It’s tough running this place all by myself.”
Alex gestured to the magazine and laughed. “I can see you’re swamped.”
“Just taking a break, boy. Man, some of the things people are fool enough to buy.”
“What do you mean?”
Les beckoned him closer, laying the magazine down on the cleared workbench.
“Like this stuff here. This whole page is full of gimmick merchandise. Lethal weapons that look like everyday things. Here’s a ring that dispenses poison, and