Checking Inn (12 page)

“We are just trying to get out of the sun for a minute,” I say to them both, though I am already looking back over the hedge again.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Greg,” Tracy winks at me.   “Because I can’t say I blame you for staring.  Though, if Tim ever asks, I was only doing it for moral support for you.”

I roll my eyes.

“Have you seen him jog yet?” Tracy asks, and to my shock my mother smiles and nods. 

“When does he jog?” I ask, frowning.

“About five in the morning,” Tracy says, then produces some candy out of her purse and offers me some.  “I stand by the window and watch with my morning coffee.”

“Does he go East or West?” my mother asks, reaching her hand into the bag.

“East usually,” Tracy says.

“Honestly, don’t you two have anything better to do?” I say, shaking my head.

“Like you’re doing right now?” Tracy asks, and I have to begrudgingly turn away.

She might have a point.  Though it’s not what they think.  I’m obviously not ogling Ben for eye candy.  My observing him is strictly professional.

“Do you think he wears boxers or briefs?” Tracy asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Boxers,” I say, nodding decisively.  The blush spreads up my neck as I realize how quickly I answered.

“You know Kate, no one would blame you if you went for Ben,” Tracy says, nonchalantly.

“Well, I’m sure Greg might.  Considering he’s my boyfriend,” I say, and at their lack of belief in my statement I put my hands on my hips.

“He would!” I argue.

Tracy smiles and nods, “Of course he would.  Greg obviously cares about you.”

I stare at Tracy.  Cares about me?  Why do I get the impression that she chose that word carefully?

Not that it’s a bad word.  I mean, obviously it’s nice for someone to care about you.  But Greg does more than that; he 
loves
 me.  And I love him.

At least, I’m pretty sure I kind of do.

I mean, we have been together for two years, you don’t just abandon that because he might have impregnated another woman and killed her, do you?

Alright, well when you phrase it like that it doesn’t seem so confusing. 

But it is because Greg probably didn’t do any of that.  And here we are, all sitting behind a bush and staring with puppy dog eyes at a man because he can jog.

And he does have very nice shoulders.

But, that’s not the point.  The point is, we are all being disloyal to Greg here.

“What is happening?” Luisa’s head appears between Tracy and me as she gets on her knees between us.

“We are watching Ben,” my mother says.

“No we are not!  We are simply observing a conversation between two people while trying to stay out of the sun,” I tell them all.

“What are they talking about for so long?” Tracy asks.  We all watch Vivienne’s hands wave around dramatically while she tells Ben a story.  He seems to be listening intently and nodding at the appropriate times.  I really hope they aren’t talking about me.

Not that they would.  I mean, I am not one of those people that thinks the world revolves around them.

But honestly, besides me, what do they even have in common?

Of course, Vivienne is a very attractive woman.  But she is old enough to be his mother, and Ben doesn’t seem like he would be interested in Vivienne’s type.  You know, the dyed hair, painted nails, always looking like they walked out of a magazine.  Who has time for that?

Not that it isn’t a free country… I mean, he’s welcome to do whatever he wants.

Except date Vivienne.

Oh God, I sound like my mother.

“Mr. Ben is so strong, he helped me move things around in the 
trastero
 yesterday,” Luisa says, placing her head on the hedge with a moony look in her eyes.  “I keep thinking how he can toss me around, too.”

“Luisa!” I say, but my mother and Tracy just smile.

“He lost his mama as a baby.  I show him the iron yesterday and he look like he never seen it before,” she says.  “I iron 
whatever
 he want.”

Honestly, this whole thing is getting ridiculous.

“What’s going on?” I hear from behind me and turn to see Becky staring at the four of us behind the hedge. 

“Is no one at the Inn?” I wonder, looking around.

“Mr. Patterson asked me to get light bulbs,” Becky says, holding up the plastic bag in her hand.

“I have to go back to work,” I declare and stand up, grabbing Maggie’s leash. 

“Oh okay,” my mother says, nodding.

“Becky, can you take Maggie home on your way?” I ask.

“Sure, come on Maggie,” she takes the leash and the dog springs up and starts to walk right beside Becky down the street.

Maybe I need to read that obedience book a third time.

“Aren’t you three coming?” I ask.

“In a minute,” Tracy waves away my question.  “I just want to see if he runs back to his car.”

I roll my eyes as my mother reaches into Tracy’s bag again for another candy.    

Ten

  I just need to take a moment and think about this logically.  If I can figure out a marriage proposal in seven minutes just based on my mother’s facial expressions, I think I can figure out why Greg’s business card was in Samantha’s bathroom.

   I just need to go over the facts.

1.
     
        Greg’s business card was underneath a pregnancy test in Samantha’s bathroom.

2.
     
        Samantha wrote a review and got fired because of it.

3.
     
        Samantha came here to write a review even though she didn’t work for the company anymore.

4.
     
        Samantha is dead.

I stare at the list for ages, but I just can’t seem to connect anything.  It just doesn’t make sense. 

What was Greg’s card 
doing
 there?  Was he seeing her?

No, I can’t believe that.  I know things haven’t been exactly great between us lately, but we’re just in a rut.  Every couple gets like that from time to time.

And plus, if my boyfriend was seeing someone else, I think I would 
know
.  I know everything.

Alright, not everything.  I never could get calculus.  But 
this
 I would know.

And the worst part is, I can’t even ask him about it.  I would have to explain to him why I was in Samantha’s house, and that just isn’t an option.  Not that I don’t trust Greg, I just don’t want him to say something in an offhand gesture, and have Ben hear.  Greg can be a little obtuse sometimes, maybe because he is used to being in charge at his job.  Sometimes he will flippantly say something I’ve specifically asked him not to mention, and he kind of just shrugs like it’s no big deal.  Like the time Vivienne wanted to redecorate my house for me and I told Greg I wanted to do it myself.  I really like Vivienne, and I think she’s talented, but her taste is just way too contemporary for me.  I had a great plan: tell her I just didn’t have the money for new things and I was going to try and find some good bargains online, but Greg just told her at dinner that night that I didn’t want her to do it.  Later, when I was fuming at him in the car ride home, he shrugged and said it was better just to say things the way it is so people don’t get confused.  But, he could tell I was still really mad, so he said he would make it up to me.

See, if Greg was seeing Samantha, wouldn’t he just tell me?

Suddenly I know exactly what to do.  I haven’t talked to Greg since dinner the other night, which isn’t that unusual because he’s usually really busy with work during the week, so I speak to him mainly on the weekends.  But, if I just call him and hear the sound of his voice, I know I will feel much better.

After a minute or so of ringing, I finally hear the click in my ear. 

“Hello?” Greg’s voice sounds distant, and I can hear a lot of people in the background competing with the music.

“Greg!” I say.  “How are you?”

“Kate?” he asks, sounding unsure.

“Yes!”  Oh thank God, he recognized my voice.  See, of course he’s not cheating on me. 

“It’s hard for me to hear you,” he says, shouting loudly into the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Just having some drinks with a client,” he replies.

I look down at my watch and lift my eyebrows.  It’s ten am, which is a bit early for a drink.

I don’t know how those New Yorkers do it.

“Listen Kate, I’m kind of busy.  Can I call you back later?” he asks, and I can hear the waiter ask if he wants a refill.

“Yes, of course.  Not a problem,” I say. 

A little nagging feeling is still in the pit of my stomach, and I decide I won’t rest assured if we end the conversation now.

 “It’s a shame about the review, huh?” I ask.  “That Samantha couldn’t stay.”

I wait to hear even the slightest hint of a reaction from him.  Any slight pause, but he answers nonchalantly, “Yeah.  I’m sure you can get someone else to do it, though.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

No reaction, that’s a good sign.  Though, I can’t help but feel I am perhaps not asking the right questions.

“It’s just so weird she would leave like that.  She seemed fine to you at the dinner the other night, right?  She wasn’t upset about anything?”

Like, perhaps, you being the father of her unborn child?

“Not that I remember,” he says, and I relax at his offhanded tone.  “Listen, Kate, I really have to go.”

“Of course. I’ll see you this weekend,” I say.  “Oh, Tracy and Tim left a bottle of wine for you at my house to say thanks for getting them those art gallery tickets the other week.”

“Oh yeah, it’s a shame we couldn’t go.  I know you were looking forward to it,” he says. 

There, I knew it.  Greg isn’t cheating on me.  He loves me.

“You had a business dinner, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, with those clients from Goldman Sachs.  They’re not making my life easy at the moment,” he says, sighing.  “I’ll see you on the weekend.”

I hear the click in my ear and he’s gone.  I slowly lower the receiver and try to stop my hand from shaking.

Goldman Sachs
?  He told me is was Silverman’s Mines. 

Why would he 
lie
 about that?  Did he just get confused?  He sounded pretty busy, maybe he just mixed up the names.

I look at the business card that has been staring at me since I got back yesterday. 

I can’t tell Ben about Greg’s card.  I mean, I have no idea what it means, but I know Greg and he isn’t capable of murdering anyone.  If I tell Ben about the card I would just be opening a can of worms, and he would be distracted instead of trying to find the real murderer.

Greg is so successful; he gives his business card to everyone he meets.  It’s kind of embarrassing actually: he even brings them to the grocery store and hands them to the cashiers.

Samantha could have gotten his card anywhere; it’s just bad luck that it was in her drawer under that test.

The trouble is, I don’t quite believe it myself right now, so what chance do I have of Ben believing it?

Sighing, I look up from the reception desk and out the window to see that the storage shed’s door is open and banging in the strong wind.

I just can’t catch a break.

I reach behind me for my trench coat hanging on the coat rack.  I push both my arms through the sleeves and shaking my head take the belt and tightly cinch it around my waist.  As I double knot the ties I realize I’ve tied it too tight in my frustration and confusion, but the constant banging makes me decide to ignore the constricting feeling around my center.  Leaving through the side entrance, I make my way quickly over the hundred yards to the storage shed with my head down, trying to block some of the wind from sending chills all over my body.

When I reach the shed I realize that the door hasn’t swung open by itself.  The banging from inside lets me know someone is in there, but I just saw Mr. Patterson out front trimming the hedges, so it can’t be him.  Thinking one of the guests has taken it upon themselves to get a tool of some sort I shake my head and tell myself not to scream at them to get out.

“Excuse me, there are no guests allowed in here,” I say to the back of the large black windbreaker that is hunched over the workbench.

“One second, I’m just looking for some sandpaper,” they respond in a muffled voice.

“Ben?” I yell over the wind and suddenly feel my body tense.  “What are you doing in here?”

“I’ve already told you,” he says, turning around to quickly take in my position before returning to his task.  “You don’t happen to know where a hammer is, do you?  It’s not very organized in here.”

“I wouldn’t know; I’m not responsible for the storage shed. Mr. Patterson is.  I’m sure he has his own system.” I say, feeling like I have to defend the untidy space, though I have no idea why.  I have talked to Mr. Patterson so many times about organizing this shed, but he always absently nods like he’s not listening to me.  I feel we have come to a mutual understanding that as long as the door is closed, he will pretend he is working on it, and I will try not to obsess over it every time I look outside.  It’s worked pretty well so far.

“I’m glad you’re here anyways,” Ben says, but doesn’t turn around.  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the other day in New York.”

My body goes completely still and I swallow the lump in my throat.  I knew he knew something was wrong.  He’s never that quiet, and he didn’t even drive in the fast lane on the way home.

“Oh?” I manage to eventually get out.

“Something is bothering me about Samantha’s place, and I wanted to get your opinion on it,” he says.

I nod even though he can’t see me. 

He turns with the sandpaper and hammer in his hand.

“I think Samantha might have been seeing someone,” he says.

“Really?”  I reply, my voice slightly breaking.  “I– what makes you think that?”

“There was a pair of men’s leather shoes in the front closet,”

Okay don’t freak out.  Breathe, just breathe.

The closeness of Ben’s body and the confined space make me suddenly feel very claustrophobic.  And the uncomfortably tight belt around my waist isn’t helping either.  My fingers quickly start working on undoing the knot, but it won’t give an inch.  “Well, those could be anyone’s.  Maybe she had a friend over, and he forgot them.”