Room for Murder - Tim Myers [38]
“What’s going on, Alex?”
“I wish I knew,” he said.
“It sounds like we’re going to have to keep watch on everyone,” Elise said.
“We can just add that to the joys of innkeeping,” he replied.
Much to Alex’s relief, the night passed without further incident. Bright and early the next morning, after tearing through the breakfast line like a herd of wild dogs, the Rushes checked out and were on their way to their next stop. It took Alex and Elise both to clean the room after they were gone. It never ceased to amaze him just how much of a mess some folks could make in one night. Some of his fellow innkeepers had long ago instituted a “no children” rule, but Alex couldn’t bring himself to do it. There were too many well-behaved kids out there who loved lighthouses as much as he always had. If it meant suffering through a few stays like the one they’d had the night before, it was worth it.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself as he scraped modeling clay off the honey-toned hardwood floor.
Things were quiet around the inn over the next few days. Alex and Elise managed to slip back into some of their old routines, but there was no doubt something subtle had changed between them. Where there’d been light banter between them before, there was now a forced formality that Alex had tried in vain to ease. He seriously considered turning the lighthouse beacon on again, just to see one of Elise’s smiles.
The phone rang while Alex was dusting the front desk, and he answered before it had a chance to finish its first ring.
“The Hatteras West Inn,” he answered automatically.
“Alex, this is Doc Drake. Has the sheriff called you yet?”
Alex prepared himself for the worse. “No, what’s happened now?”
“Relax, this is about the Sturbridge case. The medical examiner in Raleigh finally figured out what happened to Emma’s ex-husband, but it took him some time. You’ll never guess what killed Sturbridge.”
Alex said, “I don’t have a clue.”
“A blow to the chest, plain and simple. Evidently Sturbridge was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. The medical examiner said it was amazing the man lived as long as he did, given the weakened condition of his heart. One shove put him over the edge.”
Alex asked, “Would it have had to be hard enough to leave a bruise?”
Drake sighed. “Not necessarily, but in this case it left a small one. I missed it, Alex. Sturbridge had a tattoo of a mermaid on his chest, and the tail obscured the bruise. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“So what happened?”
“The way it plays out, Sturbridge must have received a blow to the chest, hard enough to stop his heart in its weakened condition, and that was that. It’s a pretty clear case of heart failure.”
“It almost sounds like he died of natural causes,” Alex said.
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m not saying it was intentional, but whoever killed him might as well have put a gun to the man’s head. It’s still murder, no matter how you look at it. Alex, do me a favor, would you?”
“Anything,” Alex said.
“Have the decency to act surprised when Armstrong tells you all this later.”
Alex quickly agreed. “I promise. And Doc? Thanks for calling me.”
“I thought you’d like to know.” After Alex hung up, he couldn’t keep his mind off the way Toby Sturbridge had died. When he’d assumed it had been some exotic poison or even just natural causes, Alex had been certain Mor had nothing to do with it.
But a blow to the chest was something else entirely. He hated the idea, but Alex could easily see Mor giving Sturbridge a punch to the chest to make his point. As Drake had said, it wouldn’t even have had to be that hard, given the man’s condition. But it was still murder.
And it was looking more and more possible that his best friend in the world might have done it after all.
The next day Alex