I nod. “He’s, erm. gosh Roo, he took more medications than he should have done. He was livid that not only had he stolen his meds, but it just dragged up his addiction again. I don’t know how they’re going to work this out if we’re stuck in this place.”
Merle came across as the doting boyfriend, great brother and calm soul…But downstairs that behaviour didn’t seem new to Phin, who wasn't reacting.
“We need to get him out of this hotel. I know this is their shared business, but after this weekend I think he needs help.”
I agree, placing a palm on her knee that’s tucked under the covers. I’m surprised to see what I think is apprehension on her face, as she studies me like she’s trying to work something out. Gauge me for something.
“I need to tell you something about Merle,” She starts, lowering her arms and shifting closer to me on the bed. “I didn’t say anything because we didn’t get much time alone yesterday, apart from well—” her cheeks flush adorably. “Yeah, that. I found his secret hidden in his office.” She then proceeds to tell me about the debt, the numerous loans given from Corbin, how none of it has been paid back and how he was threatening to take the hotel as payment. All the renovations, the lakehouse, promised vendors and event space came under the money he'd lent Merle. The paperwork Robin found showed Phoenix's inheritance money had only stretched for the actual house refurbishments, everything guests would need, staff and mortgage.
I’m floored.
“The worst part, I'm certain Phin has no idea. The only possibility I can think of is he looked alone for the clues and found his secret.” How else could he have gotten away with none of us seeing it? “What if he did it?” she barely makes a sound, voice pained and I look down at her tiny hand clenching thehem of my t-shirt. I know what she means, because I'm also wondering if he could have murdered Corbin over this.
I meet her fear-stricken eyes, and I completely understand what she is going through right now because the same guilt is tearing me apart. Merle is one of our friends. Our best friend's boyfriend. My stomach churns, but if we’re to believe Detective Starling, one of us here is a murderer and this could be a strong motive.
“The detectives said it was one of us. I know we haven’t spoken to everyone yet about their whereabouts Friday or their secrets, but we already know that Merle lied to them. He’s up to his eyeballs in hidden debt that will destroy his relationship and potentially cost him the hotel.”
My fingers brush against her hand and I stroke her soft knuckles, my long fingers slipping through hers. Taking her hand, I bring it up to my chest, forcing her to move closer so I can tuck a messy curl behind her ear.
“If he got rid of Corbin, it could potentially stop him losing the hotel. If it had come out after his death, it may have even delayed it long enough for him to sort things with another lender or whoever his money went to next. I assume it would be Lily, but it may have been left to the next male heir—Phoenix.”
She nods, a small gesture weighed with the same gnawing feeling that twists my insides. “It could have also been a complete accident. A confrontation and Merle hit him in anger. I know how easy it was for him to get under someone’s skin.”
“This is the only solid lead we have. Mavis could have hit him out of jealousy, Bran out of rage, but I do think he only found out last night.” I needed to make a trip to his room to figure out what had happened in the aftermath, but also to check on him. When I’d gotten Robin into the bath last night, she had told me about Mavis’s affair. “I don’t think he’d be able to hide that big of a secret if he knew. The man can’t hide any emotion to save hislife.” You also can’t tell him anything because his lips do not seal; it’s a constant PR nightmare.
“Let’s go get my suspect list and we can write things down. I think it’s time to somehow start connecting some dots or at least a potential theory.”
Nodding in agreement, I rise quickly to make work on my coffee, whilst Robin makes her way to the bathroom. Before heading in, she pauses with her small fingers gripping the door frame, turning her head to me with her lips pressed tightly.
“I think the only way we can do this is if we stay objective. They’re our friends—family, but one of us murdered him and we need to figure out who.” The unspoken words are there; Someone in Nightingale House killed Corbin, and if we don’t stop this the blame would be thrown at her.
As she slips into the bathroom, I consider opening up fully to her. I want to do the right thing and tell her the real reason I’m here at the hotel, but maybe if I want her to keep me, I should let it sink to a watery grave like the man who forced me here.
I tease her relentlessly on the short walk to her room, at how adorable she looks in my Taylor Swift t-shirts and turned-up shorts. The difference in our heights may be one of the cutest things I like about us, in my totally biased brain.
Long curls cascaded around her heart-shaped face, tamed with a hairbrush but still wild. The memory of last night leaves my skin scorched; her taste addictingly sweet. The thought of my tongue dancing down her center and slipping inside makes mesemi-hard, but the feeling dies like a swift kick, as we turn the corner to see a splintered, open door. Her hotel room door.
“What the fuck?” She moves to storm forward but my hand snakes out, hauling her flat to my chest.
“I hope to heavens above that you weren't just about to go running in there.” I grit, adrenaline coursing through my body as I place both arms around her and tightly take a step back down the corridor. There's a light buzz in my ears as I dryly swallow, Robin's body tense in my arms but I feel the small tremble go through her. Keeping her flush to my body, I pull her around me, placing myself in front and keeping my hands on her waist as we both slowly step forward. Like hell would I let her walk in there first. How had none of us heard anything? When was this done?
As we enter I force us both to still, my ears waiting to pick up any sound, but it’s clear that no one is here. The room is entirely trashed.
Dull light spills in from the barely drawn curtains, twisting the still air into a grey nightmare. Pages torn from books, papers and clothes are scattered on every surface. You can’t see the floor. I realise all her clothes are torn and cut too. Scraps of fabric spilling from her suitcase and piled onto the bed.
Briefly letting go to bend down, I pick up one of the torn pages from a notebook and read drafting ideas for Robin’s novel. Looking around my feet, I see more edit notes, annotated pieces of novel pages; she must have brought her work with her here.
Crashing down onto her knees, her hands shake as they flutter over loose pages. “They’ve destroyed my entire work bag…” she whispers breathily, her head snapping back and forth from me to the mess.
Standing in a rush, she races across the room before I can reach out to stop her, hands diving into the suitcase she pulls the cut fabric apart in hunt of something. Straightening, she next moves to the bed, pulling a satchel from underneath more cutfabric and her pillows have also been slashed, leaving a dusting of feathers.
“I think we need to find Detective Starling,” I say with a rock lodged in my throat. “This isn’t safe.”
Ignoring me, she digs into the bag, throwing it on the bed with an expression of disbelief that is morphing into anger. “It’s empty. I only brought my beginning drafts and notes to help me start the second book. Why would someone do this?”
“Roo, we really should leave and find everyone. This is serious.”
“What were they looking for?” She knows I can’t give her an answer and her voice cracks. Moving back the mountain of cut pillows, she pulls up the side of the mattress, exhaling a sigh which is shaky as she pulls out a pile of papers. It’s the suspect list we made. “They didn’t find these.”
