“I’VE GOT TO GET GOING.” JENNY HEADED FOR THE ELEVATOR INthe entry of Cain’s suite.
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Cain said from his seat on the sofa, his laptop on the coffee table in front of him so he could continue working on his list.
“I’ve got an appointment this afternoon. I won’t be over till later.”
Cain’s head came up. “What kind of appointment?”
Jenny smiled. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back.” She walked over and kissed his cheek, turned and started back toward the door. She could feel his eyes on her, feel the heat, remembered last night, and knew what he was thinking.
Exactly what she was thinking. She forced herself to keep walking.
Jenny picked up her pace as she made her way down the hill to Main Street. The sun was out, but it was chilly. Cleopatra was already there when Jenny arrived, a big woman, late sixties, close to three hundred pounds, with breasts the size of melons beneath a white sweater with flowers on the front.
No more than five feet tall, she wore a pair of baggy jeans that ended above her ankles. White sneakers covered her feet.
Cleo hoisted herself up off the burgundy horsehair settee in the lobby. Thankfully, it was a sturdy piece that had lasted for over a hundred years.
Jenny smiled and walked toward her. “Mrs. Swift. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s Cleo, and you’re late. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Jenny’s face colored as she glanced down at her watch. Two minutes after the appointed hour. “Sorry. I appreciate your time.”
“In that case, let’s get going.” Cleo hoisted her huge bulk off the settee and headed for the stairs. There was an old service elevator in the kitchen that had been there since the last remodel back in the 1990s. It was used to bring up sheets and towels, mops and buckets, vacuum cleaners and the like.
Jenny thought about asking Cleo if she wanted to use it, but one look at the stubborn way the woman attacked the stairs and she kept her mouth shut.
At the top of the stairs, Cleo stopped to study the recently opened hallway. “This is the new section,” the woman said, though Jenny hadn’t told her.
“That’s right.”
“Charlie kept it closed off.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Charlie Spencer wasn’t a fool. You should have paid attention.”
If only she had. “Uncle Charlie never told me why he closed it. It didn’t seem important at the time. I guess I should have asked.” Jenny felt a sweep of guilt. “Now it’s too late.”
Cleo grunted. “Well, maybe we can figure it out.” Turning, the heavyset woman headed down the hallway, pausing every now and then, cocking her head as if she were listening for something or trying to sense something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Jenny felt nothing. Maybe she was completely wrong. Maybe none of it was real.
Cleo paused outside the door to room 10. Everyone in Jerome knew about the murder, but the news hadn’t reported the room in which it had happened. Perhaps Nell had told her.
Cleo reached for the doorknob, turned it, and walked into the empty room. It was completely clean, the bedding replaced, carpet pulled up, hardwood floors polished to a sheen, no trace of the gruesome murder that had taken place in there.
Cleo stood in silence at the foot of the bed. She turned. “There’s . . . something.”
Jenny’s pulsed kicked up. “What is it? Is it in here now?”
“Not now. What’s here now is like a whiff of smoke in the air. It’s what’s left after, only a sign something’s been here.” Cleo’s gaze pinned her. “Is this the room where the murder happened?”
“Yes.”
Cleo nodded, moving her triple chins. “I need to come back tonight, try to make contact.”
“You can’t do it now?”
