“Vi has certainly done well for herself as a pet psychic,” Linda said. “Do you really think she can communicate with animals?” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand.
That was a tough question. I wasn’t sure how much of Vi’s success had to do with her treat bag and animal-training knowledge and how much had to do with another kind of connection to the animals. I believed Seth could communicate with them—Tuffy and Baxter listened to him and he could get them to do just about anything. But, I didn’t want to betray Vi by questioning her abilities to strangers.
“She seems to be very successful in her pet interventions,” I hedged. “She must be doing something right.”
Linda watched me sip my drink. “Well, I better get back up to bed. It seems we’ll have a full house again tomorrow night. I hope Wallace managed to cancel our Sunday-night reservations.” She rinsed her mug in the sink and I pushed my chair back as well. Suddenly I was bone tired.
I followed Linda up the main staircase to the second floor. She turned toward the hallway that led to her rooms and stopped.
“Ms. Fortune . . . ,” she said. She slowly turned toward me and covered the distance between us. “I didn’t want to say anything before . . .”
“Yes?” I said.
“I heard something that night. The night Clarissa died.” She stopped and looked away from me. “I didn’t say anything before because I wanted to protect my daughter.”
“You heard Jessica?”
Linda shook her head. “No, no. I heard René.” She hesitated again, and studied the floor. I had the sense she was trying to make me believe she was crafting this story right on the spot.
“You heard René? Where?”
“I went up to talk to Clarissa earlier, before the lights went out.” Linda looked up and down the dark and silent hallway and lowered her voice. “We’d had that staff meeting on Wednesday and there were some disagreements about the management of the inn. Anyway, I wanted to talk to her and maybe calm things down a bit, but before I knocked, I heard loud voices in her room and decided not to interrupt.”
“You’re sure it was René?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. Frown lines appeared on her forehead as she wavered.
“His accent is . . . distinctive,” she said.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “You should have told us before.”
“I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Jessica. She can get so jealous of Clarissa. Ever since they were little, Clarissa has always wanted everything Jessica had. If Jess had a new doll, Clarissa had to have one. When they got older, Clarissa went after any boy that Jess was foolish enough to show interest in.”
“Do you think there was something going on between René and Clarissa?” I was whispering now as well, even though the whole place was likely asleep.
“Something was up with them, but I don’t know what and I don’t like to think that René would betray Jessica like that. Truly, I don’t know what to think. I just thought you should know.”
She patted my arm and turned toward her hallway. I stood for a moment watching her and wondering if she was telling the truth.
32
Sunday morning Mac’s four-beat knock sounded on our door at seven thirty. Vi grumbled and pulled the covers over her head. I staggered to the door, pulling on a robe, and stepped into the hall.
I rubbed my eyes and tried not to glare at him for waking me up.
He grinned and pushed my hair out of my eyes. “I have news, are you awake enough to hear it?”
I yawned and nodded.
“I called the police department this morning to see if they got any information back about René Sartin.” Mac glanced up and down the hall and lowered his voice. “He’s dead.”
My stomach dropped and I felt a bit dizzy.
“What? Another murder?” I moved away from the door so Vi wouldn’t hear us. “How can he be dead?”
“The only René Sartin they were able to find in their database was from the Upper Peninsula, went to Paris to attend the Cordon Bleu school, and then died in a car accident when he returned home to Michigan. Eight years ago.”
“So, who has been cooking all our meals?”
Mac shrugged. “The backstory is all just as our René claimed it would be, except for the fact that the real René is dead. He did, however, have a younger brother.”
I met Mac’s eyes. “Do you think the younger brother took over René’s identity? Why would he do that?”
“He could use his brother’s credentials to get a job as a chef.” Mac leaned against the wall. “I’ve asked them to look further into the Sartin family and see what they can dig up. But, it probably has no bearing on the case.”
I crossed my arms and burrowed further into the thick terry robe I had taken from the closet. It was one of the things that I disliked about investigating. When a murder occurred, everyone with even the slightest connection to the victim would have their lives and their secrets exposed.