Both Cindy and Mattheus got it. Cindy was eager to start.
“What about Clay?” Cindy asked quickly. “It’s important to talk to him right away, too.”
“We’ve got that covered. Talked to him plenty, but nothing so far. We’re holding him in his room for another day.”
“We need to talk to him, too,” Cindy continued. “We always start with the main person of interest.”
Spike shrugged, “Good idea. You never know what he’ll spill to a pretty lady.”
“I’ll go with Cindy for the interview,” Mattheus clarified. “We usually talk to main suspects together. If one of us misses something, the other picks it up.”
“Fine with us,” said Rod. “We’ll call the hotel police and let them know you’ll be going up to Clay’s room right away.”
CHAPTER 8
When Cindy and Mattheus entered Clay’s room, his back was to them. The morning had suddenly turned cloudy and he stood, looking out the window at the sky. Other than that the room was empty, except for a cop who sat who sat in the corner, guarding him.
“Hello, Clay,” Cindy started.
Clay spun around and stared at both of them without blinking. He looked just as he had that night in the dining room, tall, statuesque, regal, handsome. Cindy wondered if he remembered seeing her there?
“More interviews?” he asked, his face taut with pain.
Cindy and Mattheus walked closer slowly.
“We’re here to help you out,” said Cindy. “We’re private detectives, here to help find out what truly happened.”
It seemed as though Clay sighed briefly, although his face remained immoveable. As Cindy took another step closer she could see how swollen his eyes were, that he’d been crying and distraught.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she offered.
Clay closed his eyes slightly, looking away.
“It’s a terrible thing,” Cindy’s voice grew softer.
Suddenly, Clay seemed to yield. Something about Cindy calmed him.
“It is terrible,” he echoed, opening his eyes.
“Do you happen to remember me?” Cindy asked lightly. “Mattheus and I sat right next to your table in the dining room the other night?”
Clay registered nothing about it. He just looked over at a cop who’d been stationed in the corner of his room and seemed annoyed.
Cindy immediately understood what he was feeling.
“Would you like to talk to us privately?” Cindy continued, as if she were talking to a little child.
“Yes,” said Clay, suddenly eager to be free of the oppressive presence of the police officer.
Mattheus nodded over at the policeman, motioning for him to leave. “We’ll let you know when we’re finished here,” he said to him.
The cop got up grudgingly, and walked out of the room.
Clay seemed to get his strength back as soon as the policeman left.
“I can’t bear having him sit here with me,” Clay said. “He’s grim, he’s nasty, he barely looks at me. When I get upset, he taps his feet on the floor like he’s telling me to shut up.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Cindy.
“When my parents get here, they’ll get him tossed out,” he said.
“You’re expecting your parents soon?” asked Cindy.
“Any minute,” said Clay. “Their flight was delayed twice, for no apparent reason. But they’re on their way now, they’re horrified.”
Mattheus nodded. “You’re close to your parents?”
“Very,” Clay breathed. “My parents are best friends. They’ve always been. They’ll do anything in the world for me. I work for my father’s firm.”
“How lovely,” Cindy smiled gently. It wasn’t often that she heard that.
Clay spoke more forcefully then. “Lovely for them and for me. It tears me up to think how upset and hurt they are now.”
Mattheus moved closer and Clay looked at him oddly. “Are you two together?” he asked suddenly.
“We work together,” Mattheus informed him.
Clay looked back and forth between them. Mattheus’s answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. He wanted more.
“Are you engaged? Are you married?” Clay wanted the details urgently.
Cindy wasn’t sure what to make of it and Mattheus took over promptly.
“We’re not engaged or married,” said Mattheus, “why do you ask?”
Clay shrugged and motioned for them to sit down at the table that stood near the window.
“Would you like some tea?” Clay asked, as though he were suddenly inviting them to his apartment for refreshment.
“No thanks,” said Mattheus, sitting down, “not right now.”
Clay sat down with them and poured himself a cup of tea.
“Why did you want to know if we were engaged or married?” Mattheus didn’t want to let it go.
“You look like you are,” said Clay, casually. “I always like to guess which couples are married, which are engaged and which are just drifting around. It makes a difference to me. I prefer to be with couples who are married.”