Mariah Stewart - Last Words

“And you said on the phone that was the Monday after the wedding, which would have been July second,” Beck reminded him.

“Right.”

“So we’d give her a few days to drive back from Colorado…” Beck paused, then turned to Mia. “We should check her credit cards, gas cards, ATM withdrawals…”

“And find out what route she was following, check with the state police, see if her car’s been found.” Mia nodded. “Mr. Sinclair, do you know what kind of car she was driving?”

“Holly drove a Ford Explorer. About four years old, I think. White, had some kind of tree-hugger bumper sticker on the back and a thing on the window from the University of Delaware, where she’s in grad school. Hotel and restaurant management. That’s why she was working here, she wanted the experience. Wanted to own her own bed-and-breakfast someday.”

“Was she friendly with anyone here, any of the other workers?”

“Beck, Holly was friendly with everyone, but no one in particular. I can give you a list of everyone who worked her shift, if that would help.”

“It would.” Beck nodded. “Do you know if anyone was bothering her? Or if she was seeing anyone?”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know anything about her private life. She was living in one of my cottages with one of the other girls, but I never really saw her socialize with anyone in particular outside of work. Holly didn’t seem much for partying. She might go out at night once in a while with a group, maybe to the movies, but if there was any partying going on, I didn’t know about it.”

“What was her job here?” asked Mia.

“Sort of an apprentice chef,” Sinclair told her. “She worked all three meals, wanted as much experience as she could get this summer. Up at the crack of dawn for breakfast, worked straight on through the day until dinner was over.”

“So she really had no time for much of a social life,” Mia said.

“That’s what I was saying. If she was seeing someone, I don’t know when that could have been. She worked her tail off. Sunup to sundown. Her choice, by the way. Like I said, she wanted as much experience as possible.” Daniel Sinclair’s voice dropped. “She used to tell me she’d be the first in line to try to buy this place, if I ever wanted to sell it. Which of course, I never would.”

“Dan, while we’re here, maybe we could take a look at the cottage where Holly was staying,” Beck said.

“Absolutely. It’s the third one from the end, down near the bay. I think her roommate, Elise Hawthorne, is off this afternoon, so let’s walk down and see if she’s in.” Sinclair motioned for Mia and Beck to follow him down a brick path that led in the general direction of the water.

“Maybe while we’re talking with the roommate, you can get to work on that list of employees,” Beck suggested.

“Sure. I’ll take a run up to the office and have it printed off the computer for you.”

“That’d be fine,” Beck told him.

“Mr. Sinclair, Chief Beck was telling me the property’s been in your family for over a hundred years,” Mia said as they walked toward the row of cottages.

“Almost two hundred years,” Sinclair corrected. “My ancestor, Harold Sinclair, built the house, pretty much the way you see it today. It’s been added to a bit here and there over the years, and we’ve kept up with modern conveniences, but I feel confident old Harold wouldn’t have much trouble recognizing his home.” Sinclair smiled. “Actually, there are some who say he’s never left.”

“Are you saying the place is haunted?” Mia asked.

“Depends on who you ask.” He shrugged. “Some claim to have seen a couple in nineteenth-century dress, dancing on the lawn. Could be Harold and his second wife, Felice, could be his son Daniel and his wife Cordelia. She was an English beauty, her portrait hangs in the Blue Room, if you’re interested in taking a look.”

“I’d love to. Maybe on my next trip out.” Mia smiled.

“Ah, all business.” Sinclair nodded. “I understand. And here we are.”

He pointed to a cottage directly ahead. It was small, clapboard painted white with dark green shutters to match the main house. A brass number three was nailed to the center of the door. Daniel Sinclair knocked several times before it was opened by a sleepy young woman who stifled a yawn.

“Oh. Mr. Sinclair. Sorry.” The girl appeared embarrassed. “Am I late?”

“No, no. Nothing like that, Elise.” He stepped back and introduced Beck and Mia.

“Chief Beck and Agent Shields would like to ask you a few questions about Holly.” He turned to Beck and said, “I’ll get that list for you now.”

“Thanks, Dan.”

“Did something happen to Holly?” Elise clutched both hands in front of her.

“We’re not sure,” Mia told her. “Have you heard from her over the past week?”

“No.” Elise shook her head, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “I haven’t, not since she left for Colorado.”

“Do you know what route she took?”

“I don’t, sorry. We roomed together, but we weren’t real close, if you know what I mean. We shared the space, not much else.”

“You wouldn’t have a picture of her, would you?” Beck asked.

“Actually, I do.” Elise looked over her shoulder into the room beyond, as if debating with herself whether or not to let them come inside. Finally, she shrugged and said, “Come on in. Sorry if the place is a little messy, but I’ve been putting in a lot of hours.”

“We understand Holly did, as well,” Mia said as she followed the girl into the small front room, which was fitted with a sofa and one armchair.

“Yeah, we all do. It’s great experience, you know? Mr. Sinclair is really good about letting us see how the place is run. He teases us about how he’s training his competition, but you know there’s no place around that can compete with this place.”

“Why’s that?” Mia asked.

“They have a great chef, they have activities for all ages here, they have boats, the bay. And the guest rooms are gorgeous. All original furniture, fireplaces, balconies overlooking the bay. Gorgeous views, a wildlife preserve right here on the property-I don’t know what else you’d look for at an inn.”

“I might have to book a room for a night,” Mia said.

“You’d have to talk to Mr. S. about that. I think he’s pretty much booked solid.” Elise headed for the door that opened off to the right. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll get that picture.”

She was back in an instant, the photo in hand.

“This is Holly.” She held the photo up and pointed to a tall, thin young woman with blond hair. The camera had caught her in a moment of laughter, her head tossed back. Holly Sheridan looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“She’s very pretty,” Mia said softly.

“She really is. And nice, too. She wasn’t stuck on herself the way some really pretty girls are.”

“Do you know if she was dating anyone? Here or maybe at school?” Mia asked.

“She mentioned a boyfriend, Eric. He’s working someplace out west for the summer. She kept pretty busy here. She was in her last year of school and took this opportunity very seriously. There aren’t too many places like this that offer paid internships, and she seemed to want to get everything she could out of the experience.”

“Do you know what she did on her time off?”

“Not really.” Elise shrugged. “She went into town a couple of times a week, but she really spent most of her time here.”

“What about her days off?”

“Mostly slept, did her laundry, read. Maybe take out one of the kayaks, swim, relax on the dock,” Elise told Mia. “That’s pretty much all any of us do. There’s no real nightlife in St. Dennis-not that you have a lot of energy left at the end of the day-so you just relax when you can.”