The Venom in the Valentine by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: private investigator, holiday, traditional, who dunnit, small town, poison pen letter, crafts & hobbies
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2017-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Investigations

“I’M NOT SURE I CAN give you those.” Anna Kendrick wrapped a strand of blond hair around her finger. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face had a pinched look that came of too much stress and lack of sleep. A half empty coffee cup with a smudge of coral lip gloss sat next to her elbow. “I’ve got to think of the privacy of my guests.”

“Listen,” I said, propping my fists on my hips. “One of your guests is dead. Another one of them is sending nasty letters. I think privacy might be overrated here.”

“You’re not the police,” she said stiffly.

“No, I’m not. But the police don’t care, do they? They think Belle was just an unhinged lunatic who offed herself and that the letters are a joke. They’re not taking this seriously, but you and I? We know better, don’t we?”

She glanced down, picking at her cuticle. “Maybe...”

“Come on.”

She sighed and her shoulders fell. “Okay. I mean, yeah, something bad is going on. But shouldn’t we leave it to the police?”

“Until when? Another one of your guests dies? Do you know what will happen to your occupancy then?”

She blanched. “Oh, no.”

I managed to repress a gloat. “See, guests will stop coming. Occupancy will drop. Then where will you be?”

She buried her face in her hands. “Unemployed.”

“Exactly.” I hoped she was finally getting it.

She let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Give me a minute.” She disappeared into the office behind the desk. I could hear the rustle of papers and file folders. Then she reappeared with several papers in her hands. “These are all the registration forms for the guests. Nobody’s checked out since the letters started.”

Which meant whoever was sending them had to be staying at the hotel. Or near enough they could get to the hotel easily without anyone noticing. “Are there any other hotels nearby?”

She shook her head. “Nearest one’s in Newport.”

It was possible, but unlikely. That was quite a trip for someone to make. Plus, the first letter had been on hotel stationary. “What about houses?” With those websites these days, anyone could rent out a house or a room to complete strangers.

“There’s a condo, but it’s almost five miles away. I know there are a couple houses back up in the hills, but I wouldn’t think anyone there could be involved. We’re very remote. My staff would have noticed anyone who didn’t belong.”

“What about staff? Do you have samples of their handwriting?”

“I looked at the nasty letters and the handwriting isn’t familiar, but I do have notes and whatnot from staff. You can look at them.” She handed me a small stack of post its and notebook paper. Casual scribblings from the employees of the hotel.

I nodded and began shuffling through the papers. I’d brought my own letters for comparison. All three had clearly been written by the same person. I had no idea if the spidery handwriting was the person’s regular handwriting, or if it was some attempt at disguise.

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