She was sipping from a mug as she studied a record book in front of her.
“I’m debating whether to call the people I had to turn away,” she told Liam drily. “My bottom line could certainly use the help.”
“Don’t know how to help you there, I’m afraid,” Liam told her as he pulled out the chair to her right and helped himself to coffee.
“There’s quiche and croissants if you’d like,” she said. “Obviously I’m not serving a dozen guests this morning.”
“How sad. Your guests are gone,” Dallas snapped before he could stop himself.
She stared at him, obviously stung by his tone. “I found that poor man. I saw his face. It was...” She shuddered. “Anyway, think whatever you want of me, but we’re still here and so is the food, so help yourself if you’re hungry.”
He was hungry; the call from Liam had dragged him out of bed early in the morning, and he hadn’t had a break since. But he felt like an ass. No way in hell could he accept her food after he’d just been so rude to her.
“I’m pretty sure you both know I didn’t kill that man,” she said quietly. “But the clothes I was wearing are in that paper bag if you need them for anything.”
“The lab might want them,” Liam said.
“Interesting,” Dallas said. “That’s a good call, but it’s interesting that you thought ahead like that.”
She gave him a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “The techs outside asked me to bag up the clothing I was wearing in case they could find trace evidence from the killer on it.”
Dallas kept his mouth shut and took a drink of the coffee Liam had already poured for him, but inside he was thinking, You ass all over again.
“Hannah, by any chance did your guests tell you what direction the ‘ghost’ came from?” Liam asked her.
She shook her head. “I wish I could tell you more, Liam, but no, they didn’t say anything. I assume you’ll want to talk to them yourself, though. I arranged for them to stay at the Westin. None of the B and Bs would have had room, even if I’d been able to reach someone at that hour of the morning.”
“I’m assuming you have cell numbers for them so we can track them down if they’re out?” Dallas asked.
She nodded and reached for the guest register on the table. “Of course.”
Liam rose, pulling out a small pad and a pen. “What are their names?”
“Stuart Bell and Shelly Nicholson saw him and thought he was a ghost,” Hannah said, and gave him their numbers. “Their friends are Pete and Judy Atkinson, and Mark Riordan and Yerby Catalano. And then there were the Hardwickes. They’re regulars, and much too elderly to be your murderer, if that’s what you’re thinking. They woke up with all the screaming and came rushing down, just like I did. They were just as confused and disoriented as I was. Everyone but the Hardwickes was on my ghost tour earlier. I start off here, and I always end at the Hard Rock—part of their ticket price gets them a drink. I left them there, came home and went to sleep. I didn’t hear them come in. I didn’t hear anything until the screaming started. Just call over to the hotel. I’m sure you’ll reach them there.”
“Thanks,” Liam told her, then got up and walked away from the table as he started making his calls.
“They really thought a dying man was a ghost?” Dallas asked, shaking his head.
“I guess you don’t really understand this island,” Hannah said.
He smiled grimly. “Oh, I think I do.”
“You’re new here, right?”
“I haven’t been assigned here long, no. But I know the island. I was born here, Miss O’Brien.”
“Ah,” she said, studying him. “Really? I’m going to guess that you’ve been away awhile. Because you should know that people like to come here and steep themselves in ghost stories, then party at the bars on Duval Street.”
“They were drunk?” he asked.
That seemed to give her pause. She shook her head. “No, actually, I don’t think they were.”
“There’s a big difference between a supposed ghost and a dying man,” Dallas said. He took another drink of his coffee. It was good. Strong. Exactly what he liked and needed.
“I might remind you, Mr. Samson, that I’m not the one who saw him. My guests told me that they’d seen a ghost, and since they were clearly terrified I did what I thought was the right thing—I gave them their money back and sent them where they’d feel safe.”
He leaned forward, looking at her. “It’s Agent Samson, Ms. O’Brien. And while you were busy doing the right thing, weren’t you afraid yourself?”
“Of a ghost? A supposed ghost? No.”
He leaned closer to her. “What about the knife?”