Chapter Twenty-Nine
Blake Rickert’s suite of offices was on the second floor over a loud Mexican restaurant, with music blasting over the speakers. It was carpeted to muffle the sound from below, and had formerly been a series of law offices, each with their own door and walled off from the rest.
Blake’s business had boomed when Simon founded the Faire, and the number of employees and tourists first doubled, then tripled, and then doubled again. The need for hotels and bed and breakfasts led to Blake’s business expanding, and it was a testament to his success that the agents who worked for him were rarely in the office during the day, when it was prime time to show prospective clients choice locations.
Blake, however, handled Simon’s and other private clients’ accounts personally, so he kept regular office hours, with rare visits outside. Not even Blake’s agents knew that Simon was a client. In the unlikely chance they were to see Simon dropping by, they would assume he was perhaps a potential client, or inquiring about property that Blake was handling for one of his private clients.
It was rare that they met face to face nowadays, so Simon was looking forward to catching up with the realtor who had helped him so much when he moved back to Gardendale.
“Is it always this empty?” Miller asked as they came up the flight of carpeted stairs.
“During this time of day, I think so.” Simon said, clinging to the railing. The stairwell was narrow, and he felt a little uncomfortable with it being a borderline confined space. Evenalmostwas enough to put his nerves on notice.
He concentrated on a spot between Miller’s shoulder blades ahead of him, and tapped his sternum with his free hand as they ascended. Finally, they made it to the landing with Blake’s offices, and relief washed over him.
“Why don’t you find the washroom, and run some cool water on your wrists?” Miller suggested. Simon knew that it didn’t escape Miller’s notice, even behind his back, of his claustrophobia starting to rear up. Splashing cold water on his face or the inside of his wrists would help reset him.
“Good idea.” Simon knew where the washroom was. It was the room helpfully labelled RESTROOM closest to the landing. “Why don’t you go ahead, and let Blake know we’re here?”
“Sure thing,” Miller went ahead into the farthest office, with Blake’s name on the door.
Simon went into the washroom, and immediately turned on the tap, letting the water run cool over his wrists one at a time, before cupping his hands to dip his face. He forgot to take off his glasses, so he did so now, in order to wipe them clean on the edge of his t-shirt.
The lock of hair that perpetually flopped over his forehead was now wet and spiked at the ends, but that couldn’t be helped. He pushed it back on his head. He had spent most of his boyhood with a brush cut, just like Miller’s, and sometimes he missed the ease of having his hair that short. On the other hand, he envied the flowing locks that some of the other boys had, although let’s be real. The hair wasn’t the main reason why the girls flocked to them atYe Olde Taverne.
Thinking of the boys, he hoped they were fine on their own at the Faire. At the very least, they knew to look for Katie, if Rika or Puma couldn’t help them. Katie had really turned out to be excellent for them.
Miller must be wondering what happened to him. He wiped his hands on one of the folded paper towels stacked in a tortoiseshell acrylic holder, turned the knob of the door and stepped out.
And saw Miller standing outside of Blake’s office, with his broad back towards the closed door. He was standing straight with his hands on his hips, his legs apart with his weight evenly distributed.
Something was off.
The expression on Miller’s face was grim.
“Isn’t Blake there?” Simon asked.
“He is.” The older man’s voice was flat.
“What’s going on?” Simon started to walk towards him—
“Stop right there, son.”
Simon froze at Miller’s order.
“Miller, what’s going on?”
Miller wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.
“Blake’s dead.”
Simon’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. Nothing came out, as he stood, rigid with shock. Before he could say anything, Miller spoke.
”I’ll take photos and send them to you before calling the police. I’ll stay behind and handle it with them. But you won’t need to be involved, if you turn around right now. You were here, used the bathroom, didn’t see anything, left. Youdon’tneed to see this for yourself and then end up having to answer questions about it. We clear?”
Simon swallowed. Whatever happened to Blake had to be bad. Really bad. Bad enough that if he were to see it, what had just happened in the stairwell would feel like a ride on a merry-go-round.
He trusted Miller’s protective instincts. Simon nodded, turned and ran down the stairs. He was eager to get out into the open air, to the blaring of salsa music promising a world where only good things happened.
