Reservations for Murder - Tim Myers [38]
Mor knew when he was up against an unmovable force, so he went for his car as Emma had requested. Alex had known his friend too long not to recognize a storm on the horizon between the two of them.
After Tabby was safely loaded into the car and the two women had driven away, Mor followed Alex upstairs.
As Alex stripped Marilynn Baxter’s bed, Mor said, “Why do some women get so possessive, Alex? It’s not like Emma and I have anything exclusive going on. Sure, we have a great time together, she’s a wonderful woman, but my word, I can’t even talk to another woman without looking over my shoulder first. It’s worse than being married.”
Alex said, “If you’re asking for my advice about women, you’re talking to the wrong man. I don’t have a clue.”
Mor started laughing in agreement. “We’re a real pair, my friend. Have you heard from Elise today?”
“No, but that’s understandable. Her father’s undergoing surgery today, so I don’t expect to hear from her anytime soon.”
Mor, in a rare serious mood, said, “You really miss her, don’t you?”
“More than I probably should,” Alex said as he spread the new sheets out on the bed. Despite his earlier theatrical objections, Mor helped him tuck the corners in.
“So why don’t you get off your duff and do something about it?” Mor suggested.
“It’s not that simple. She’s got a fiance, remember? In fact, she’s with him right now.”
“They’re engaged, Alex, they’re not married. If you ask me, there’s a world of difference between the two.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said.
They were just finishing the room when Craig Monroe burst in. His face was white with shock. “Is it true? Is Marilynn dead?”
Alex said. “Craig, she’s still alive. In fact, she should be at the hospital by now. I looked for you at your booth to tell you I’d found her, but you weren’t there.”
Was there an instant of surprise on Craig’s face when Alex told him his wife was still alive? Alex wasn’t sure, it had flashed past so quickly.
“I was still out searching for her. I’ve got to get over there,” Craig said, rushing back out the door.
Alex called out, “Do you want one of us to drive you?” but Craig was already gone.
“Now what do you make of that?” Alex asked.
“He’s pretty upset, but he’s got every right to be, doesn’t he? It doesn’t speak well of his marriage when his wife tries to commit suicide.”
Alex said, “Did you see the look on his face the instant I told him she was still alive?”
“What are you getting at?” Mor asked.
“I could swear the only thing that surprised him was the fact that she wasn’t dead.”
Mor patted Alex’s shoulder. “My friend, your overactive imagination is at work again. The guy’s in shock. Give him a break.”
“I guess you’re right. I probably read it wrong.”
Mor sighed. “But you don’t think so for a second, do you?”
Alex didn’t answer. Had he truly seen what he thought he had, or was Mor right? One thing was certain. He’d feel a great deal better once Marilynn was conscious again and could tell them if she’d really tried to kill herself, or if someone had goaded her into it.
Chapter 15
The evening came at last, and the Golden Days Fair was officially history. Shantara stood on the steps leading into the lighthouse and used it as an impromptu stage as dusk started to fall. She had planned all along to announce the end of the festival by holding the giveaway drawings visitors had registered for when they’d bought their tickets at the gate, and Alex had convinced her that she needed to follow it through all the way to the end.
Alex walked out onto the front porch in an effort to block anyone from coming into the inn as much as to watch the prize drawings. He’d had his fill of walk-ins, and he didn’t care how much future business he might lose by turning people away.
Each of the crafters had donated one item from their wares for the drawings. On the first day of the fair, Alex had bought a ticket himself, though Shantara had scolded him for doing it. It was hard to believe now, looking at the crowd gathered there, but he’d actually been afraid Shantara wouldn’t even make back her expenses.