Nightmare-by-the-Sea (Jim Knighthorse Book 6) by J.R. Rain

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2025-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Cindy and I commandeer the corner table in the dining room, for coffee and for strategy. We bring out the big guns: my notebook, her sharp eyes, and a pot of strong brew.

“Let’s go through them,” I say to her. “One at a time.”

She nods. We start with Graham, the chatty British yoga instructor with the sneakers and stress-fracture. “He claims he read until one and slept through the night. No one can confirm it. A little too friendly, if you ask me.” I say.

“He smells of essential oils,” adds Cindy, making a face.

“Probably not our killer,” I add. “Next is David and Leah Russo, the fighting couple from Room Three. They said they were asleep. Except I heard them arguing past midnight.”

“Maybe they’re hiding something,” suggests Cindy.

“Probably hiding from each other.”

Cindy laughs. “Then there’s Marjorie Day...”

“The retired actress with a flair for dramatics,” I say.

“I think she’s too self-absorbed to kill anyone.”

“Or notice one.”

Cindy nods. “That leaves...”

“Eddie Owens, the handyman. He claims to have been in the boiler room when Claire died. But no one saw him. His limp is likely real. Takes one to know one,” I say, raising my hands.

“Hey, you haven’t limped in years.”

“Hashtag-truth.”

“Oh my God,” says Cindy. She hates when I hashtag my words.

“You mean O-M-G,” I say.

“I mean, let’s get through this list.”

“Almost done. We’re going to need to speak to Dorian.”

“And maybe even his kid.”

“About that...” I fill her in on Dorian likely not having a daughter.

“What the fu—”

“Or W-T-F,” I say.

“No, I mean what the fuck? What’s a grown man doing here with a child?”

“Allegedly here. No one’s seen them since. In fact, the only one who had seen them was...”

“Harold.”

I nod. “We probably need to speak to Harold again.”

“We’re circling the drain, Jim. When everything points to poison. And you yourself said you saw Fran switch up the wine bottle on Claire. And Jack himself said something about poison being the perfect weapon of choice.”

“Hashtag...”

“Don’t say it.”

“Forget what I was going to say, but I think we need to look for that wine bottle.”

“I think so, too. You remember what it looks like?”

“Dark bottle, yellow label. Likely in the kitchen. At least, that’s where she was headed with it.”

“Look for the bottle, then talk to Fran?”

“A good plan.”

“I’ll act as a distraction.”

“Also, a good plan. Doing what?”

“I took some acting of my own back in Berkeley. I was in The Screwtape Letters, you know.”

“The C.S. Lewis book?”

“None other.”

“About a demon?”

“That would be the one.”

***

We finish our coffee, and Cindy leans back in her chair with that look that says she’s already running lines in her head.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

“Piece of cake,” she says.

Her confidence both terrifies and impresses me.

We push back from the table. Cindy heads toward the buffet sideboard while I drift toward the far wall, pretending to examine the framed picture of a lighthouse I’ve already stared at three times today.

And then it happens.

A small gasp, followed by the clatter of silverware. Cindy’s body pitches forward, arms flailing in a perfect parody of helplessness.

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