With Baited Breath (4 page)

“I wasn’t sure. But you were with me when we came back from the funeral. The door to the shop was locked. I didn’t see any signs of a break-in, and with all that’s happened in the past week, I couldn’t tell if anything had been taken.”

“Did they believe you?”

“Probably not.”

“What else did they want to know?” Tori asked.

“They just kept asking the same questions over and over until I got mad.”

“Oh, Gramps. If you changed your version of the events in any way, shape, or form, they might think you had something to do with Mr. Jackson’s death.”

“There are plenty of witnesses who can say I was at your grandma’s funeral when Jackson died,” Herb said flatly.

“Was
killed
,” Tori emphasized.

“How did he die?” Kathy asked.

“Strangled,” Herb said. “They want to talk to you again, too, Tori.”

“I suppose that means they’ll be back again tomorrow.”

“We’d better start work on the bait shop early,” Kathy suggested.

“You’re gonna have to wash the walls before you can paint,” Herb advised.

“Do you have a power washer?” Tori asked, predicting the answer.

“Nope.”

“We’ll just have to use scrub brushes and soapy water, then,” Kathy said. “What time does the shop open?”

“Six,” Herb said.

“We don’t have to start that early,” Tori hurriedly said.

“I’ll set my phone alarm for seven. Can I bum breakfast off of you?” Kathy asked.

“Of course,” Tori said, and wondered what she could offer her friend besides toast.

“Great.”

Herb ate the last of his sandwich before he, too, pushed his plate away. “I’m gonna watch me some news,” he announced and got up, heading for the living room and leaving the supper dishes for Tori. She didn’t mind, got up, and started clearing things away.

Kathy watched. “Where do you want to start? In the kitchen, the living room, or your bedroom?”

“My bedroom?” Tori let out a ragged breath and returned the pickle jar to the door of the fridge. “That’s going to take some getting used to. But once I clear some space, I think I could get a double bed in there. Sleeping in a twin makes me feel like a ten year old.” She shook her head ruefully. “I guess we may as well start in here.”

Kathy helped her finish clearing the table. Tori rinsed the dishes and Kathy loaded them into the dishwasher.

Tori stood in the middle of the kitchen. “Well, where do we start?”

“How about the magnets on the fridge?” Kathy suggested. You could barely see the refrigerator door for all the magnets. Many of them were from tourist spots, with another bunch from local businesses. Five silent minutes later, the fridge was revealed to be white, matching the stove and dishwasher. “I’ll wipe it down while you start on one of the counters,” Kathy said.

Tori opened the box of garbage bags, taking one out and shaking it open. “I wish you hadn’t told Gramps about my job situation,” she said tersely.

“It’s better to get everything out into the open. Now he knows you don’t have some kind of ulterior motive for helping him spruce up the place.”

“Except now he thinks I’m here to sponge off of him.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Kathy said, “and neither does he.”

Tori looked at the counter. Most of what cluttered it was paper—in the form of old magazines. “We can recycle all this. I’m going out to the lodge to get a box.”

“I’ll come with you. It’s still light. We should take a look at it to see what kind of shape it’s really in before you can make a decision about investing in it.”

Tori nodded and grabbed a set of keys from a little teapot-shaped rack on the wall and grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight from the counter, checking it first to make sure it worked, then led the way.

The northern sky over Lake Ontario was beginning to glow pink as they walked across the lawn toward the shuttered motel. “I know the bottom units are stuffed full of boxes, but I have no idea about the second floor,” Tori said. They looked up. Closed curtains blocked the windows. Tori started for the stairs, but Kathy hung back. “Where did they find the dead man?”

Tori paused and pointed. “This unit.” The crime tape was gone. Perhaps Gramps had torn it off to avoid awkward questions from customers. “Do you want to look?”

“Is there anything to see?” Kathy asked.

Tori shook her head.

“What was he like?”

“Mr. Jackson?” Tori shrugged. “A quiet man. I don’t remember him ever saying very much.”

“I assume he lived alone.”

“Years ago he had a family; a wife and two kids. I used to play with the daughter, Anissa. One summer I came back to the bay and she and her mom and brother were gone. I never heard why.”

They headed up the stairs. Once on the balcony, Tori sorted through the keys until she came to one marked #7. She inserted it in the lock and turned the handle. The door opened inward. The air was hot and smelled musty, and except for several pieces of furniture, the unit was empty.

“Wow. It looks like it’s frozen in time,” Kathy said, taking in a dresser, a double bed stripped of sheets, two nightstands, and an old TV on a rolling stand. “But if the other three units up here are like this, it won’t take much to get them up and running again.”

“I don’t know,” Tori said doubtfully. “Right off the bat we’d have to get new mattresses, carpets, sheets, curtains, and towels, not to mention check the plumbing and the heater and AC units.”

“You’ve been thinking about this—a lot,” Kathy commented.

“Yeah,” Tori admitted.

Kathy entered the unit and crossed the shag carpet to the bathroom. It was not a thing of beauty. Pale green tile ran half way up three of the walls and enclosed the tub. The fixtures were plain white. The bathtub’s bottom housed a collection of dead flies and spiders.

“Any ideas on how to make a nightmare from the 1970s look like a dream?” Tori asked.

Kathy sighed. “New mirrors, or at least dressing these up, a coat of paint, a piece of art, and a shelf for guests to put their toiletries.”

“And in the rooms?”

“New curtains, bedspreads, paint, and a few pictures. You’ll also need new TVs and Wi-Fi.”

“
I
don’t even have Wi-Fi. I’ve been checking my email on my phone, and it’s a royal pain. I meant to call the cable company today. Something else to do tomorrow.” She shook her head, her mouth drooping. “It all seems insurmountable.”

“It’s a challenge,” Kathy admitted, “but, man, would I love to get my hands dirty working on it.”

“You must be out of your mind.”

“It would be great practice for when I buy my own place.”

“I wish I could afford to hire you to run it.”

Kathy’s eyes widened. “You’re tempting me.”

“Even with seven units, Gramps and Grandma could never make the place pay for itself. The season is just too short.”

“Fish bite in the spring and fall, too, don’t they?”

“Technically, they also bite in winter. Once the bay ices over, there are fishing shacks all along the shore.”

“Are they just locals, or do people come in from out of town and need lodging?”

Tori shrugged. “Gramps might know.” She made a mental note to ask him.

“Did your grandparents ever advertise the lodge?”

“I don’t know. They used to have business cards and matchbooks, but that may have been the extent of their promo. They used to be listed in the Triple A guide, but I don’t think they ever got more than two diamonds.”

“Did the other units have more than one bed?”

“They must have. I remember lots of families staying here. Maybe they had rollaway cots. We’d have to ask Gramps.”

“What’s the audience you want to attract?” Fishermen and families, too?” Kathy asked.

“Anybody with a credit card. Oh, damn,” Tori said. “I don’t even know if Gramps takes credit cards in the shop. What if he only does cash?”

“There are lots of options. Don’t talk yourself out of all this before you even start,” Kathy warned.

“Can I hope to attract any customers when there’s been a murder on the premises?” Tori asked.

“Who’s going to tell them upfront?”

“Nobody, I guess, but what about after they get here?”

“Establish a cancellation policy. Every other motel chain in the world has one.”

“And won’t we need a software program to go with that? And to be tied to a bigger reservations network?”

“You’re talking yourself out of it again. Why don’t you just start by thinking big-picture before you get to the nitty-gritty?”

“It’s the nitty-gritty that scares the hell out of me,” Tori said. Her eyes filled with tears. “How did Grandma handle all this?”

“Oh, Tor, don’t cry,” Kathy said, and captured her friend in a hug.

“My Grandma’s gone. I loved her so much and she’s gone,” Tori managed and broke into heaving sobs.

Kathy embraced her, patting her back. “You go ahead and cry,” she soothed.

“Nobody in my family seems to care what happens to Gramps. Since he’s not sick, they just left the area. They’re all selfish and self-absorbed. This is my
family
—Gramps’s
children
—and they just left him!”

“
You’re
here.
You’re
helping him. That’s all that matters. Screw the rest of them,” Kathy said. “But you know your Gramps is in good health. They probably think he’ll last another twenty years. And there’s a good possibility he might do just that.”

“I hope he does.” Tori pulled back and wiped her eyes. “We’d better look at the other units and then get back to clearing out the kitchen.”

Kathy gave Tori’s back one last pat and turned for the door. Tori looked around the room and gave a heavy sigh, depression weighing on her, and then she, too, left the room, locking it.

Except for the bathroom tile—in blue, yellow, and pink—the other rooms were a mirror of the first they viewed. “This is encouraging,” Kathy said, her voice filled with optimism.

“If you say so,” Tori muttered. All she saw were problems, knowing only an infusion of cash could solve them.

They went back down the stairs and Tori unlocked the door to first unit. She had to shove hard against the boxes that blocked the room; still, they weren’t heavy. “I was hoping I’d find an empty one; I didn’t realize there were so many of them,” she said. “We’ll have to collapse a few of them just to get one out of here.”

“Why don’t we collapse enough of them so that you can get in and out of here without a struggle?” Kathy suggested. Tori agreed, set the lit flashlight on one of the stacks, and the two of them spent the next ten minutes peeling off wide ribbons of sealing tape and setting the cardboard aside.

“Why on earth did your grandmother collect so many empty boxes?” Kathy asked.

“Who knows? But we can use them to pack up stuff to take to the thrift shop. There’s one about ten minutes from here in North Erie.”

A bed and dresser appeared from under the boxes, and they stacked the cardboard on the bed’s damp mattress. Years of lack of air circulation had encouraged mold growth. “Looks like we’ll have to strip this room back to the studs to bring it up to an acceptable level,” Tori said, what little hope she had plummeting even further. “I don’t think there’s anyone local who does that kind of work. It’ll probably cost more if they have to add in travel time for a contractor to come in from Rochester.”

“You’re doing it again; looking for ways to fail instead of succeed,” Kathy warned.

“It all feels hopeless right now.”

“Well, that’s because you’re in mourning. You are
not
going to get over your grandmother’s death in just a day, a week, a month, or even a year. But from what you’ve told me, she loved this little motel. What a wonderful tribute it would be for you to get it back on its feet and make a success of it.”

Tori nodded. “I’d love to do that.”

“Then make that your goal.”

The corners of Tori’s mouth quirked into a modest smile. “Thanks, Kath. You always know what to say—how to make me look at alternatives.”

“And you do the same for me.” Kathy squinted in the nearly dark room. “Grab a box and let’s get out of here. We have to find treasure in your grandma’s collections to pay for this reno.”

Tori’s smile broadened. “You almost make me believe it can happen.”

“That’s because I honestly do believe it
can
happen. Now, come on. We’ve got a lot to do in the next couple of hours, and even more to do in the next two days.” Kathy grabbed a box and strode out the door. Tori followed, a tiny kernel of hope growing within her.

CHAPTER 4

The Bay Bar wasn’t exactly hopping when Kathy entered its front door later that evening, but for a dive in the middle of nowhere on a Wednesday evening, it seemed to have a fairly decent amount of patrons.

“What can I get you?” asked Paul, the bartender, who had also checked her into her rental room hours earlier.

“A gin and tonic.”

“Coming right up.”

Kathy watched as he filled a glass with ice, poured a shot into it, and squirted a dose of tonic water in before putting a slice of lime on the rim of the glass as garnish. He set it before her on a thin paper cocktail napkin. “Thanks,” she said.

He told her the cost and she dug into her pocket for the ten she’d put there after settling into her tiny room. If what they had to offer was the best available at this end of Lotus Bay, then Tori would make out like a bandit when she reopened the Lotus Lodge. Kathy’s room boasted two single (and very lumpy) beds, an analog TV, and a tiny bathroom with a three-quarter shower. The best thing that could be said about it was that it
was
clean. But welcoming? No. No. NO! Then again, they catered to fishermen. Did their usual clientele get bombed at the bar after a day of fishing and then fall asleep in a drunken stupor before rising at dawn or shortly after to repeat the process?

“Let me know if you need anything,” Paul said without real sincerity, giving her the change before moving back down the bar to a group of bikers who were watching a Mets game on one of the three flat-screen TVs bolted to the walls. A guy with a crew-cut sat alone at one of the tables nursing a beer, his lightweight beige jacket a stark contrast to the bikers’ black leather.

Kathy took a sip of her drink and let it rest on her tongue for a few long moments before she swallowed.
Ahhhhhh!

Tori had looked and sounded exhausted half an hour earlier when Kathy had insisted they quit cleaning house for the night. They had made substantial progress. Herb’s kitchen was sparkling clean and totally uncluttered. They’d found some interesting items that could be sold, and filled two boxes for the thrift store, as well as four bags for the Dumpster when it arrived. Tori had shed more than a few tears during the process. She’d held onto items she remembered with great fondness from her childhood, items that would have brought her—and her grandfather—real money if sold, but there was no way Kathy was going to even mention that.

Kathy had never seen her friend in such distress, and her admiration for Tori—that had already been high—had soared when she saw her depth of commitment to help her remaining grandparent.

The swinging doors that separated the bar from the kitchen burst open and a lithe, bleached blonde woman of about fifty, with substantial bags under her eyes, clad in a pink tank top with a stained white bib apron over it, entered the area behind the bar. She stopped a foot or so away from Kathy, filled a glass with ice, and squirted what looked like ginger ale from the well trigger, then took a long drag on it before she sagged against the bar.

“Long day?” Kathy asked. She’d dealt with Paul when registering for her room. Was this woman his wife, or just the short-order cook?

“Oh, yeah.”

“I’m Kathy Grant. I’m staying here for the next day or two.”

“Noreen Darby. Glad to know you. Enjoy your stay.”

“I’m taking a short working vacation. My friend, Tori, is staying with her grandfather across the road. We’re helping him sort things out.”

“Yeah, I heard Herb’s wife died. So sad.”

“Did you know her?”

Noreen shook her head. “Never met her. But Herb is kind of a regular here. More so in the winter when it gets pretty dead in these parts.”

Kathy nodded. “They’re kind of reeling since Mrs. Cannon’s death and the discovery of that body on their property.”

Noreen shook her head. “Poor Michael.”

“Did you know him?”

“Oh, sure. He was a gifted carpenter. He did odd jobs for us on a regular basis.”

“Was he a customer, too?”

“No,” Noreen said succinctly.

Kathy decided to play dumb. “Oh?”

“Michael was a great guy, but….”

And then Kathy understood. Racism was alive and well in rural New York, but she got the idea that Noreen didn’t hold such views. She turned to eye the guy with the crew-cut. He looked the kind who might not welcome someone several shades darker.

“Tori—Mr. Cannon’s granddaughter—remembers Mr. Jackson’s daughter, but not why she was no longer in her father’s life.”

Noreen shook her head. “Don’t look to me for answers. I’ve only been a part of The Bay Bar for the last five years when I married Paul.”

“How did you meet?” Kathy asked.

Noreen sighed wistfully. “I used to ride a Harley and came out here on a poker run.”

“Poker run?”

“Yeah, a charity motorcycle ride event. You check in at several destination points, play a round of cards, and end up at a bar for a barbeque. They’re loads of fun. I came here, met Paul and—” She looked down the bar at her husband, a quirky smile forming on her lips. “It was love at first sight.” She looked back at Kathy. “Of course I didn’t know then that I’d be giving up a life in an office to stand behind a stove ten hours a day.”

“Would you go back to that life?” Kathy asked.

Noreen positively grinned. “Not on your life. I gripe about the hours, but I love being my own boss. How long does your friend plan to stay with Herb?”

“Indefinitely. She lost her job. She wants to help him get his business back in the black.”

“Would she reopen the Lotus Lodge?” Noreen asked.

“It would take some work. How would you feel about having direct competition?”

“Ecstatic. Our rooms have a ninety percent occupancy rate in July and August. It wouldn’t hurt our bar business if five or six of the rooms across the way were filled every night, too.”

“How do you do during the winter?”

“Ice fishing fills our rooms on weekends, which helps the bottom line. But the real money comes from snowmobilers. They get hungry—and thirsty—after hours out in the cold.”

“That’s good to know. I work in the hotel industry, myself. I’m an assistant manager at a motel in Batavia, but my goal is to someday open my own bed and breakfast.”

Noreen shook her head. “It’s a tough life. Not only do I cook, but I keep the rooms clean, too. And let me tell you, some of our guests are real pigs—and they’re not all men.”

“I hear you,” Kathy said, taking a sip of her neglected drink. The ice had melted, leaving it watery. “We’re starting with the bait shop. We’ll scrub the outside walls and start painting it tomorrow.”

“We’ve got a power washer. We’d be glad to loan it to you guys.”

“That’s very generous of you. I’ll take you up on it. Thanks.”

“Anything to help out Herb,” Noreen said. “I’ll be back in the kitchen about eight in the morning. Knock on the door and you can pick it up then.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Noreen downed the last of her ginger ale. “Time for me to call it quits for the day.”

“Do you live above the bar?”

She shook her head. “Too noisy. We own the house next door.”

“The one that’s for sale?” Kathy asked. She’d noticed the wreck of a house that had probably once been a very nice home.

“No!” Noreen declared and laughed. “For years that place was a rental. It was split into a bunch of apartments, but the last tenants moved out in the spring. They really trashed it. I suggested the local fire department burn it down to the ground as a training exercise, but the owner is convinced he can get at least ten grand for it.”

“Why so cheap?” Kathy asked.

“As I said, it’s been trashed. It needs an electrical upgrade and a new roof, too. Nobody in their right mind would plow that kind of money into that old hulk.”

But what if someone was expecting to come into a substantial inheritance in the not-too-distant future? Someone who wanted to convert an old house into a charming, upscale B and B? Kathy had been thinking of converting an old Victorian home. The house next door looked like a plain box with peeling blue paint. There may have been a covered porch on the front, but it was long gone.

Kathy took another sip of her now very watery drink.
I must be out of my mind to even consider it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Noreen said as she untied her apron, screwed it into a ball, and tossed it under the bar.

“Good night,” Kathy called, watching as the short order cook moved to stand with her husband. She spoke to him for a moment before she left the building via the front door.

Kathy turned back to her drink.

She couldn’t buy that old wreck of a building. It was positively ludicrous to even think about it.

She shook away the mental cobwebs clouding her thoughts and glanced down at the bar.

“I came down at the weekend to fish. Some old black guy told me strange things were happening around here,” one of the bikers told the bartender.

“Nothing strange
ever
happens around here.
Nothing
ever happens around here,” said his companion, who laughed.

Kathy toyed with the stir stick that had come with her drink. Strange happenings. Had Mr. Jackson seen a UFO?

“What else did he say?” the bartender asked.

“Just that he wasn’t going to take his boat out on the bay at night anymore.”

“Makes sense if he docked at Cannon’s. They haven’t had a light on at night for a couple of years.”

Kathy tuned out the conversation and glanced at the neon clock next to a lighted Coors beer sign on the wall. It was always five o’clock in this bar—but the time was actually about nine-forty. Again she wondered about the house next door. The price was right, but if what Noreen said about its shortcomings were true, it would be a money pit to try to restore it. And what would Tori say about the possibility of Kathy opening a B and B directly across the street from the Lotus Lodge? They’d be in direct competition. Well, not really. The Lotus Lodge was a glorified fish camp, and it catered to fishermen. Kathy wanted to attract honeymooning couples, serve afternoon tea, and with a decidedly higher per-night price tag than the Lotus Lodge.

Still, what could it hurt to make a call to the listing real estate agent? A walk-through might be enough to deter her. A discussion with a general contractor was sure to discourage her.

But what if …?

#

The weatherman from Channel 10 news in Rochester had promised sunny skies, but the air was cool and damp when Kathy arrived at the Cannon compound the next morning just after 7:30. Of course, she’d gotten up early, dressed in work clothes, and hiked across the way through the knee-high grass to inspect the butt-ugly house that was for sale next to The Bay Bar. As Noreen had said, it was trashed. Kathy could see that just by looking in through the grimy windows that probably hadn’t been washed in a decade or more.

From what she could see of the damage near the foundation, there had once been a substantial porch on the front of the house. She wondered if there was a historical society nearby that might have pictures of the house from the previous century. The windows had been replaced, probably in the 1970s or 1980s for what someone had mistakenly thought were more energy efficient models, but they hadn’t weathered well and she could see signs that at least the ones in front had leaked at some point. Add all new windows to the restoration, which would be a small fortune in and of itself.

The more she thought about it, the worse the idea of restoring this ugly duckling into a swan became. With a heavy heart, she’d trucked across the road.

Tori opened the door in her PJs, looking sleepy.

“Have you got coffee?” Kathy asked.

“Yes. That—and iced tea—is all Gramps seems to drink.”

Kathy entered the neat and now-inviting kitchen. Daisy sat in the corner eating from a pink bowl decorated with paw prints. “Where’s your grandfather?”

“In the shop. He was there before I got up.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Not good. I had a nightmare about finding Mr. Jackson, and then I didn’t get back to sleep until almost six. How about you?”

“I didn’t sleep well, either,” Kathy admitted, but it was thoughts of the derelict house across the road that had preoccupied her thoughts.

Tori retrieved a bag of bread from the top of the fridge and stuck two pieces in the toaster, then poured a mug of coffee for Kathy. The words LOTUS LODGE were emblazoned in green with a drawing of a white lotus below.

“That’s cute,” she said, accepting the mug.

“Grandma had a case of them made way back when. I guess she thought people might buy them, but I don’t think it worked out too well. There must be ten of them in the cupboard.”

“It’s a great idea, but she didn’t have the address printed on the backside.”

“I never even noticed.”

“You could do the same thing and add a web URL.”

“Gramps doesn’t have a website for the bait shop. Hell, he doesn’t even own a cell phone.”