The Inn at Holiday Bay Books 10 - 12 Page 8

  Colt decided to speak to other men and women who would be in a position to know if the diary and bowl had ever been on display at the museum. He obtained a list of volunteers and regular visitors and planned to speak to each of them. The idea that Patrick might never have had either item created an interesting question since, at this point, someone wanting the diary in Patrick’s possession and the gold supposedly linked to the diary, was the main motive Colt was using to track down the killer.

  The fact that Patrick met with an English gentleman in a bar the afternoon before his death had been on my mind as well. It occurred to me that if Patrick had planned to sell the items he’d stolen, perhaps he wanted to be certain he had a buyer lined up beforehand. That could account for the photos Patrick shared with this man. I asked Colt if he’d managed to talk to his FBI buddy, to which he replied that he’d left a message, but hadn’t heard back, and wasn’t certain when he would since his friend was in the middle of an investigation into an eleven state killing spree.

  On another side note, Colt had shared that he’d found a possible motive for Patrick’s death that had nothing to do with the items he’d taken from the museum. It seemed that Patrick had initiated a lawsuit against the university where he’d worked and been forced into retirement from for age discrimination. His contract spelled out the mandatory retirement age, which in Colt’s opinion meant he probably didn’t have much of a case. Still, Colt did some digging and found emails between Patrick and the president of the university that seemed to indicate that Patrick held onto a secret relating to the president and that he was inclined to make that secret public if an exception to the rule wasn’t made which would allow him to be rehired. Colt didn’t have any other information relating to the emails as of the time I spoke to him, but he did plan to follow up and see if there was actually something there.

  In terms of the inn and the guests at the inn, Rena was still with us. Her fingerprints weren’t in the system, and the facial recognition program hadn’t turned up anything. Colt had checked the missing persons reports and had been asking around at other lodging properties in the area, but so far, he hadn’t turned up anything. Rena was fine staying with us for now. We had the open suite for another week and a half, and Rena seemed content and happy. She had never provided her last name, and she rambled on about Michael from time to time, but otherwise, she seemed alert and present in current conversations. She’d latched onto Mylie the way a pup latches onto her mama. Mylie had a natural way with Rena, which probably came from a decade of caring for her own elderly grandmother. Most of the time, if Rena wasn’t resting in her suite, she was following Mylie around, sitting in the shade on the deck as Mylie worked with Jeremy on the lawn, or sitting comfortably in the easy chair in the main living area of the inn if Mylie was inside for one reason or another.

  I’d spoken to Austin at breakfast this morning, and he’d indicated that his interview had gone well, and he was expecting a formal offer next week. He planned to spend the day looking at rentals, so he would have an idea of the amount of rent he’d need to pay each month. I suggested a nice condo development near the school where he’d applied. I wasn’t sure if it was in his price range or if they had any vacancies, but he liked what I had to say about the place and was going to check it out.

  David and Barbara had also been at breakfast. It seemed they were enjoying their visit with family and, like me, they wouldn’t be around for dinner. Hannah’s birthday party was this afternoon, so the couple planned to spend the entire day with their family.

  Lacy had spoken to Baron to confirm the existence of the secret room. He was intrigued by the stories it could tell if only the walls could speak, but happy that we hadn’t found something more disturbing than Patrick’s duffle bag inside. At one point, after we’d begun to speculate about the extra space, Baron shared that he’d suffered a nightmare in which hundreds of skeletons had been discovered in the secret room, suggesting that at least one of his ancestors had been a mass killer. He also shared that he really didn’t have a reason to think anyone in his family actually was a killer of any degree, but there was the idea that Conway had killed Will fluttering about in the back of his mind, and he assumed this idea had been messing with his subconscious.

  “Amy and I are heading to the farmers market,” Georgia interrupted my musings. “Do you want to come along?”

  “Thanks, but I have an outline to finish up for my publisher. I should have been done hours ago, but my mind keeps hopping from one topic to another, making the need to write bothersome.”

  “It’s Saturday. When is the outline due?”

  “Yesterday,” I admitted. “I told my publisher I’d try to get it done today, so it will be waiting in her in-box when she arrives at work on Monday.”

  “Can we bring you anything?” Georgia asked.

  “Peaches if they have good ones. Not mushy or overly ripe but juicy and not hard or green.”

  “Peaches. Got it. Anything else?”

  “Maybe strawberries. Are you still planning to grill for dinner?”

  She nodded. “We plan to pick up veggies for kabobs.”

  “As good as that sounds, Colt’s niece and nephew are going home today, and he invited me to dinner.”

  She smiled. “Well, then you should definitely do that. With everything that has been going on this summer, the two of you haven’t had any alone time. A night to relax and catch up will be good for both of you.”

  I really did try to get back to my outline after Georgia left, but I found myself unable to focus. Between the mystery woman in suite one, the upcoming Lobsterfest, Patrick’s murder, the ongoing mystery relating to the Chadwick house, and the strange circumstances surrounding the items stolen from the museum, I guess it wasn’t hard to see why I might have things other than a fiction proposal on my mind.

  After half an hour of trying to make progress, I finally gave up. What I really wanted to do was track Colt down and get an update, but I knew he was busy, so I settled for a trip to the library. If Patrick had been busily buying books from Vanessa, it stood to reason that he’d been borrowing books from the library as well. Perhaps I could pick up a clue if I was able to determine what sort of books he’d checked out most recently.

  As I drove toward the library, I thought about the phone conversation I’d had with Colt earlier in the day. The more I thought about it, the less certain I was that he’d actually uncovered a viable motive for murder. I hadn’t asked Patrick any of the specifics of his job at the university, but if his teaching contract had included a mandatory date of retirement, then chances were it was a private university rather than a public school receiving public funding. If that were the case, it seems the decision to make an exception to the rule for Patrick would fall with a board of some sort and not with an individual person. Patrick seemed like a smart guy, so it seems to me he would have known that. Emails that appeared to contain threats from Patrick to the president of the university really made about as much sense as a burglar inviting a stranger in off the street to watch as they looted the place. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but it seemed more and more as if things simply weren’t as cut and dried as they seemed.

  When I arrived at the library, I found a volunteer named Sasha behind the desk. I came in often enough that Sasha and I knew each other on a casual basis.

  “Hey, Abby. Are you here to check out the new releases?” Sasha asked.

  “Actually, not today,” I answered. “I’m really just after some information.”

  “I’ll help if I can.”

  “I was wondering if you knew a man named Patrick Montoya.”

  “Sure, I knew Patrick. He was one of our weekly regulars. I heard what happened to him. It’s hard to believe that someone would do that to anyone but especially to Patrick. He was always such a sweetie, offering a kind word whenever he came in.”

  “I only met him once, but I came away with that same impression. I’m wondering, however, if you can think of anyone who migh
t have had a beef with the man.”

  She shook her head. “No one. Like I said, the guy was really friendly. All the library volunteers loved him. Sometimes when he came in to pick up the books he’d put on hold, he’d bring cupcakes or fruit from the trees in his yard.”

  “Can you tell me what sort of books he was interested in?”

  “All sorts,” Sasha answered. “He mostly checked out stuff having to do with history, but he read fiction as well.”

  “Can you tell me what he’d checked out most recently? Maybe during the past month.”

  She hesitated.

  “I know that is a strange request, but as it turns out, I’m the last known person to have seen him alive, so I’m doing a bit of investigation on my own.”

  “Does Police Chief Wilder know about this?” she asked.

  “He does,” I said, bending the truth.

  “Okay. Give me a minute, and I’ll run a summary of everything he’d checked out in the past month.”

  The list contained books relating to the geology of the area, as well as the history of the area in terms of colonization and population growth. Nothing surprising there. There were books on native populations, founding families, and their influence on the development of towns and settlements in the area, as well as the impact of colonization on culture, commerce, and the trade industry.

  “Do you think it matters what books Patrick checked out?” Sasha asked. “I mean, in terms of identifying his killer.”

  “Not necessarily. I guess I was just curious. Do you have reference material that can’t be checked out?”

  “Sure. There is a reference section in the back. You can request materials from this area, but you have to sit right there near the request desk and look at it.”

  “Did Patrick spend time in the reference section?”

  “From time to time. Most recently, he was looking at the collection of old maps that were donated to the library back before I was even born.”

  “So the maps are old. How old?”

  “Very old. Most of the towns along this stretch of coastline weren’t even there when those maps were drawn.”

  Since I didn’t know what Patrick had been looking for, I supposed it wouldn’t do me any good to look at the maps, but I did store this piece of information in the back of my mind should the subject come up again.

  “You know,” Sasha said. “If you are interested in what Patrick was researching, you might want to talk to Buck Owens over at the hardware store. Buck was almost as interested in history as Patrick was. I know the two men were friends.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I held up the print out. “And thanks for the information. If anything else comes to mind, please call me.”

  “Okay, I will. Happy to help.”

  The hardware store wasn’t all that far from the library, so I headed in that direction. I won’t say that Buck and I were close, but he was one of the very first people I’d met when arriving at Holiday Bay. In fact, he was the one who referred Lonnie Parker to me when he heard about my plans to renovate the old house on the bluff, so I tried to stop by his place every now and again to say hi.

  “Hey, Buck,” I said after entering the store through the front door.

  “Abby. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m not actually here to buy anything today. I wanted to ask you about Patrick Montoya. I guess you heard what happened.”

  He bowed his head. “I did. Such a damn shame. No reason I can see for anyone to do what was done to the man.”

  “I spoke to Sasha at the library, and she said you and Patrick were friends.”

  “Yup. We were. Patrick was good folk. I enjoyed spending time with him.”

  “I don’t suppose you know of any reason someone might want him dead?”

  He shook his head. “No. No, I don’t. Colt asked me that same question, and I told him the same thing I’m telling you now. Patrick was a good man with a good heart. There isn’t a reason in the world that I can think of for anyone to want to hurt him.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  He paused before answering. “Guess it must have been about two weeks ago. He stopped by to buy some white spray paint.”

  “Spray paint? Do you know what he wanted the spray paint for?”

  “He said he was heading north to check out a cave system. He wanted to mark his way, so he could find his way back out.”

  “Do you know where up north he was heading?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “He just said up north.”

  “Did he happen to say why he wanted to explore the caves?”

  “He didn’t say, but I imagine he wanted to explore for the same reason anyone else does. Curiosity. Patrick was the adventurous sort. He was always going off, looking for one thing or another.”

  He did seem to be an adventurous sort of fellow. “Did Patrick ever mention a diary to you?” I asked.

  “Sure. About a year ago, he bought a diary from an auction. I thought he was crazy to pay what he had for it, but he told me that the book was supposed to contain clues to a long lost treasure.”

  “You said he bought this book a year ago?”

  He nodded. “About that. I don’t remember the exact date. I just know he’d outbid the others who were likewise interested.”

  So perhaps the reason the diary hadn’t been with the other stolen items was because it hadn’t been stolen. Of course, even if that were true, all that had been accomplished was to bring about a bunch more questions. “Do you think it is possible that Patrick went up north to the cave in search of this treasure?”

  Buck’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess that might be what was going on. Patrick didn’t say as much, but he’d been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing since he’d purchased the diary. The only reason he even told me about the diary is because the two of us had gone out drinking shortly after he’d returned to town from the auction, and his inhibitions were down.”

  If Patrick had found the cave where he believed Ademar Delgado had hidden the treasure, maybe he had marked the cave on a map. I definitely needed to tell Colt about this.

  Chapter 9

  Colt took me to a cliffside restaurant about twenty minutes south of Holiday Bay. It was a gorgeous building positioned strategically along one of the prettiest parts of the coastline. He must have called ahead and made a reservation since once he provided his name, we were seated immediately. The dining room was upscale and elegant, which left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable since I suddenly felt underdressed. At least, I thought to myself, I’d opted for the sundress over the shorts and blouse I’d almost worn.

  After being led through the restaurant, we were seated on the outdoor deck, which was still very nice, but not nearly as fancy. The table that had been reserved for us was on the railing, affording us the best view of the water. Colt gave the waiter our wine order after he’d filled the crystal water glasses that complemented the dark blue tablecloth.

  “Wow,” I said as I unfolded one of the sapphire blue linen napkins and laid it in my lap. “This is really lovely. I was expecting burgers or pizza.”

  “I wanted to get out of Holiday Bay,” he said once the waiter left us with our menus. “I considered our favorite haunts but decided I wanted to try something new. I’ve been told the food is exceptional. Personally, I think I’m going to go for the steak and lobster, but feel free to try whatever sounds good to you.”

  “This crab alfredo sounds good, although the poached halibut sounds wonderful as well.”

  The conversation paused when the waiter brought our bottle of wine, which was followed quickly after by salads with crisp greens and plump shrimp. The salads seemed to automatically come with the meal since, in addition to the hot bread and real butter, neither had specifically been ordered. The fact that not everyone liked shrimp, and, in fact, there were those who were allergic, had me wondering how often the food went uneaten and ended up being wasted, but after one bite, I found I no longer cared.
The food, as Colt had indicated it would be, was delicious.

  I began to relax as I glanced out over the horizon. The moon had just begun to rise, causing a reflection on the water, which, combined with the soft piano music in the background, made for a very romantic setting. I’d actually planned to talk to Colt about the information I’d gathered that day relating to Patrick’s movements before his death, but somehow the mood felt all wrong for talk of maps, spray paint, and senseless murder. I supposed I could wait to jump right into talk of murder until after we’d enjoyed our meal.

  “So did the kids get off okay?” I asked as I speared a leaf of crisp lettuce.

  “They did. My mom and dad seemed genuinely happy to see them. I’ve shared with you before how much I’ve struggled with my decision to have them live with my parents rather than taking responsibility for their daily care as my sister seemed to have wanted, but at this point, it seems everyone is happy with the way things are. My mom and dad have settled into a new routine that fits with the kid’s school schedule, and both my niece and my nephew have made friends. And when the kids are on break, I get to be cool Uncle Colt, who takes them camping and to Disney World.”

  “It may be that your sister named you as guardian rather than your parents because she didn’t want to burden them. Plus, she couldn’t have known she’d die so soon after making the will, so maybe when she made her decisions, she was thinking of the teenage years and who would be best equipped to raise them at that point. She may have even figured you’d be married with children of your own if and when her last wishes came into play.”

  He took a sip of his water. “I suppose that could be true. And it may very well be that by the time the kids are teenagers, it will make more sense for them to live with me. My parents are getting on in years, and raising teens can be demanding, both physically and emotionally. As for me getting married and having a family of my own, the more time that passes without having made the leap, the less likely I feel a family of my own is practical.”