Chapter 3 #2
"That tub was heaven," Tessa said, following my gaze. "I stayed in there for an hour. Best bath of my life. Sorry I didn't answer your text. I crashed as soon as I got into bed.
"Lucky you."
She frowned. "Did something happen?"
I sat on the edge of her bed, and everything came tumbling out—the startling crash, the sound of crying, the voice telling someone to be quiet, my encounter with the man on the beach, ending with Ray and the broken window.
Tessa's expression shifted from curious to concerned to excited. When I finished, she was practically vibrating with energy.
"Holy shit, Cassidy. This is crazy. Multiple disappearances? How did we not know that?"
"Because it's not out there. Maybe someone covered something up, or maybe this guy was just blowing smoke."
"What if there are other women who left here and were never heard from again, but no one filed a missing persons report? Or what if they were filed in different jurisdictions, so no one connected them?"
"That's a lot of assumptions."
"But it's possible. And what about the broken window? It wasn't my room or yours. Do you think it was the room at the end of the hall where we saw that woman go inside?"
"I think that's exactly whose window it was. And maybe she was the one crying."
"How did she break the window?"
"No idea. Ray said it was an accident. It's hard to believe she threw something through the window. She looked so frail, like a gust of wind would knock her over."
"Maybe she was trying to escape," Tessa suggested.
"From the third floor?"
"Who knows what someone will do when they're trapped?"
"I don't think she was trapped. Why wouldn't she scream if she was? Why just cry? It sounded more like she was really sad, not terrified."
"We need to talk to her."
"She looked like she wanted to disappear into the walls, Tessa. I don't think she's going to talk to us."
"We have to try. We'll be friendly. Non-threatening." She stood up. "Maybe she's downstairs. Let's get breakfast and see who's around."
"Okay."
"By the way, did you tell that guy on the beach—Tyler—about our podcast?"
"No. I didn't tell him anything except my first name."
"Good. If he or anyone else asks, we stick to our cover story—we're researching historic inns for a book. We're writers doing background research. That's why we're so nosy."
I nodded, even though anxiety was pooling in my stomach. "Got it. But I think we need to be careful, Tessa."
"Of course, but we have to take some risks, too. Otherwise, we'll never find out anything."
Seeing the gleam in her eyes, I wondered if I was taking everything too seriously or if she wasn't taking it seriously enough.
I had a feeling we were going to find out.
The dining room was busy. The same young couple who had been kissing over wine and cheese was doing the same over bacon and eggs.
Their oblivious happiness screamed honeymoon.
The woman who'd been knitting in the living room had a table by the window, and her knitting needles clicked rhythmically as she worked on what looked like a scarf.
A middle-aged couple occupied one of the other tables, consulting a guidebook as they ate.
And in the far corner at a table by herself was the woman I'd seen entering the room next to mine.
She was hunched over a plate of food she wasn't eating, her fork moving listlessly through her scrambled eggs. In the morning light, she looked even paler than she had last night, almost translucent.
Ellen appeared from what I assumed was the kitchen, carrying a coffeepot. She wore the same neutral expression she'd had last night—polite but distant, the smile never quite reaching her eyes.
"Good morning," she said, gesturing to an empty table near the center of the room. "Please, sit anywhere you'd like. Coffee?"
"Yes, please," Tessa said with a warm smile as we sat down at the table. "This room is beautiful, and the buffet looks amazing."
"Thank you." Ellen poured coffee into our cups with practiced efficiency. "We have scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fresh fruit, yogurt, and pastries. Help yourselves."
"Wonderful," Tessa said. "Do you do all the cooking?"
"I have help," Ellen said, her tone making it clear she wasn't interested in elaborating. "Enjoy your breakfast."
As Ellen moved away, Tessa caught my eye and mouthed, "Warm."
I couldn't help but smile. In that regard, Ellen reminded me of my father. But that wasn't something I was going to think about now.
We got up and filled our plates at the buffet before taking our seats. The older woman gave me a smile as I pulled out my chair.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "I'm Dorothy Winters. Did you just arrive?"
"Last night," I said. "I'm Cassidy, and this is Tessa."
"Where are you from?"
"New York."
"What brings you to Stonecross? Or do I need to ask? More and more women are coming for Ellen's wellness classes."
"We're interested in that, too," I said. "But we're also researching old inns for a book we're writing."
"How lovely!" Dorothy's needles never stopped moving.
"And you've picked the perfect inn. I've been coming here for years, and it's my favorite spot.
My husband passed away two years ago, and since then, this inn has been my second home.
I meet so many interesting people." She gestured at the honeymoon couple with her needles.
"That young couple looks like they're in their own little world.
Blissfully happy. They remind me of me and my husband a very long time ago.
And then there's that poor girl." She lowered her voice, tipping her head toward my wispy neighbor.
"She reminds me of how I felt after my husband died.
Sad and lost. She's been here three days, barely eats, barely speaks.
I tried to chat with her yesterday, but she practically ran away from me. "
Before I could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and a young woman backed through it, carrying a tray laden with fresh pastries and a pitcher of juice.
As she approached the buffet table, her foot caught on the edge of a rug and she stumbled.
The tray tilted dangerously, and she overcorrected, sending a glass pitcher of orange juice sliding toward the edge of her tray.
"No, no, no!" she gasped, lunging for it, but she was too late.
The pitcher hit the floor with a spectacular crash, glass shattering everywhere, orange juice spraying across the hardwood in a sunburst pattern that somehow managed to reach our table, the honeymoon couple's table, and splattered across Dorothy's sensible shoes.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" the young woman cried, her face flushing crimson. "I'm so, so sorry!"
Ellen appeared almost instantly, her expression thunderous. "Sophie."
The single word carried enough weight to make Sophie flinch.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Clarke, I just—"
"Clean it up," Ellen said sharply. "Now."
As Sophie hurried back to the kitchen for cleaning supplies, Ellen turned to us with a tight smile. "I apologize for the disruption. Did the juice splash on you?"
"No, we're fine," Tessa said.
Ellen moved efficiently around the room, checking on the guests, refilling cups, and murmuring apologies, while Sophie came back with a mop and a bucket and cleaned up her mess with downcast eyes and a defeated posture.
When she got close to our table, Tessa leaned in. "Hey, don't worry about it," Tessa said. "Accidents happen. I once dropped an entire tray of champagne glasses at a party I was catering. Sounded like a bomb went off."
Sophie looked up, surprise and gratitude flooding her face. "Thank you. I'm normally not this clumsy. Actually, that's not true. I am clumsy, but I'm worse when I'm here. Mrs. Clarke makes me nervous."
Ellen's sharp voice cut through the room. "Sophie, when you're finished, please help Chef in the kitchen."
"Yes, ma'am." Sophie grabbed the bucket and mop and fled.
"Well," Tessa said quietly, "Sophie might be someone we could get to talk. She's clearly not a big fan of Ellen's."
"Maybe not a fan, but she is intimidated by her."
"It's still worth a try."
The kitchen door swung open again, and Sophie emerged, carrying a tray of fresh orange juice, and this time she moved with painstaking care, setting the new pitcher carefully on the table. Then she came back to us. "Can I bring you some juice?"
"I think we're fine," I said. "We're coffee addicts."
"Me, too," she said, appearing to relax as Ellen returned to the kitchen.
"Do you work here full-time?" Tessa asked.
"I split my time between here and Kelly's Pub. I'm saving up to get out of here." She glanced nervously toward the kitchen. "Don't tell Ellen I said that."
"Your secret is safe with us," I said. "Where are you planning to go?"
"New York City."
"That's where we live," Tessa said. "It's great there. You'll love it."
Sophie's face lit up. "Really? You're from New York. Maybe we could talk—"
"Sophie!" Ellen's voice rang from the kitchen doorway. "A word, please."
The light died in Sophie's eyes. "Coming." She hurried away, leaving Tessa and me exchanging another glance.
"We've got an in," Tessa said. "Maybe if we share info on the city with Sophie, she'll share info on the inn with us."
"That's a good idea," I said as I finished my food. Checking my watch, I added, "I was thinking of taking the yoga class at ten. It's almost that time now. What do you want to do?"
"Definitely not yoga. You know how inflexible I am."
"That's how you get flexible," I said with a smile, knowing that Tessa was not a fan of exercise.
Tessa took a sip of her coffee, then said, "I think I'll linger here, see if I can catch up with Sophie after breakfast ends."
"Okay. Just be careful."
"I don't think Sophie is dangerous. I'd be more likely to get hurt attempting to do yoga."
I gave her a faint smile. "I'll catch up with you after class. And, Tessa, I don’t think we should assume anyone in this place is not dangerous."