Elizabeth Harbison - Midnight Cravings

“That seems obvious now.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around?” Myrtle asked, kneading her crepey hands.

“I’ll get the details,” Dan said, patting the older woman’s thin shoulder. “It looks like Lily Rose needs some help at the counter now.” He gestured toward the girl at the check-in counter, who was now looking fretful and fluttering her hands like birds in front of her as she tried to help an increasingly long line of impatient guests.

Myrtle gave an exclamation and bustled over to help poor Lily Rose, muttering about beer drinkers.

Dan Duvall smiled after her, then turned back to Josie, his smile disappearing, and asked for a description of the missing items.

She gave it to him, noticing that he didn’t bother to write any of it down. “There was an envelope in the side pocket that was clearly marked with the name Beatrice Beaujold,” she explained. “It occurred to me that maybe someone at the hotel had taken it up to Beatrice’s room, thinking it was hers, but it wasn’t there when I looked.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“Nothing very interesting to anyone but me. Beatrice’s bio and picture, and some flyers and information about this contest. My own notes.” She took a short breath. “A check for Beatrice. Her appearance fee from the brewery.”

“Well, it’s not like someone else could endorse it and cash it.”

“Maybe not, but she’s expecting to pick it up when she gets here.”

“I understand. You didn’t lose any cash?”

“No.” She tried to sound calm.

“Well, that’s good. I’m afraid I’m not sure how much we can do to help you,” he said, looking as if he didn’t want to do anything at all to help. “But we’ll certainly be on the lookout.”

There was the sound of smashing glass in the corner and Dan Duvall’s eyes jerked to the scene. His mouth went tight.

“’S’all right,” someone called, waving a feeble hand. “’N’accident.”

A muscle ticked in Dan’s jaw.

Josie tried to get his attention back. “Do you want me to write the description down?” she asked, trying to sound helpful although she was annoyed at how little concern he was showing for her loss. “So you don’t forget?”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll let you know if it turns up.” He gave a short nod and turned to go.

“Wait a minute.”

He turned back, his face a mask of patience. “Ma’am?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for her to elaborate.

“I mean, that stuff is really important to me, even though it isn’t particularly interesting to anyone else. I need it back.” She thought of the letter Beatrice’s editor, Susan Pringle, had written. She’d barely had a moment to glance at it, but the first paragraph had mentioned there were some “special challenges” when handling Beatrice in public. It had also said that there was some “confidential material” in the letter and that Josie should be careful not to let it go astray, but before Josie had been able to read further, her flight had been announced and she’d put the letter away.

She’d intended to read it on the plane, but the flight had been turbulent, and as soon as she’d gotten off the plane, she’d had to drive a car, and…well, she just hadn’t gotten to read the note.

At the time it had seemed so offhand it hadn’t occurred to Josie that it was any more important or confidential than any personnel file. Now her mind reeled with imagined possibilities.

“I really need my briefcase back,” she emphasized. “Should I go to the police station and fill out an official report?”

“You could,” he said, a hint of slow molasses in his accent. “But there’s really no point.”

“It would make me feel better to know it was properly reported.”

“You’re reporting it now.”

“I am,” she said, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “But are you?”

He gave a maddeningly lazy smile. “Why, yes, ma’am. I am. I don’t have time to go into the station to take your report right this minute, but I’ll file it as soon as I can.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting he was patronizing her. “Look, there were some really important papers in that envelope. I’d feel better seeing someone commit this report to black and white right now.” Though she thought better of it an instant later, she couldn’t resist adding, “The way most police would.”

“I see.”

“So where is the station house?”

“Corner of Elm and Magnolia. But we’re really shorthanded. If you go in they’ll just have you wait until the chief of police gets in and that’s—”

“Good,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m eager to speak with him.”

He smiled again. Not a friendly smile, but an amused one. On a different person, under different circumstances, it might have been boyish, mischievous. “I’ve got a feeling you may change your mind about that,” he said.

“I won’t.” She gave a polite smile and turned to leave the room. A minute later, she stepped into the muggy sunshine and walked purposefully out to the street. God knew where she was going to go once she got there, but she had the feeling that Dan might be watching her, smugly assuming she’d get lost, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her standing on the sidewalk wringing her hands and trying to figure out which way to go.

Luck was on her side. As soon as she reached the sidewalk she saw that the sign on the nearest cross street indicated it was Elm. So she kept on walking, as if she’d lived here all her life and knew just where to go.

When she was safely out of sight of the inn, she slowed her pace and looked around. The street was about twice as wide as the little suburban street she’d grown up on, and it was lined with tall, shady oaks. Enormous Victorian mansions faced out, looking for all the world as if they had been drawn by Walt Disney. As a matter of fact, the people looked like that, too. A couple of older women stood on either side of a garden fence, each wearing floppy hats and gardening gloves, talking and smiling and nodding to Josie as she passed.

It was hard to reconcile the fact that she’d been robbed, since she felt so completely safe walking through the streets alone. It was a feeling she wasn’t entirely familiar with, since part of her was always on alert when she walked in the city.

By contrast, the pace was so leisurely in this town that Josie actually felt as if her own heart rate had slowed to about half its usual pace, despite the urgency of getting her things back. Why bother to pound any faster? it probably thought. There’s nothing in Beldon to get excited about.

Where the houses stopped, a large, verdant stretch of woods started. In Manhattan, this kind of change signaled dangerous isolation, but in Beldon it was just a pleasant break before a lovely little row of storefronts with apartments over them. The shops all had elaborate colonial facades and were painted in vivid colors. The quaintness was so uniform that Josie wondered if there was a penalty for having a plain building.

That question was answered, though, when she got to the police station. It was a redbrick box, with nothing to distinguish it except a cement sign over the door that read, in block letters, Police Station.

Josie took a short, bolstering breath and opened the creaking wooden door to go inside. There were three empty desks, a single bookshelf with volumes with titles such as Beldon Police Report, April ’72—August ’73, and a plain, round clock with black hands that told her it had taken approximately seven minutes for her to walk there from the inn.

This was one small town.

“Hello?” Josie called out. “Is anyone here?”