Murder at Fire Bay by Ron Hess Read Free Book Online Page B

She’s dead.”
    “Just trying to get a handle on this place and what makes it tick.”
    “Well, I can tell you that deep down, underneath it all, people are relieved she’s not supervisor anymore. People actually like to come to work now. Before she died, the tension in the air was pretty bad.”
    I took a sip of coffee, more to keep from talking than anything.  
    Martha looked directly into my eyes. “Some say her drowning was no accident, that she was murdered. What about it, Mr. Postmaster? Do you know?” 
Holy crap! How was I supposed to answer that? I had just talked about being honest and direct. I took another sip, but I couldn’t keep on drinking coffee; I had to answer. I set the cup down and returned her look. “There are those that say that. But I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
    “Well, Mr. Postmaster, it wasn’t me. Not that I didn’t think about it, but no manager is worth killing.”
    I smiled. “I haven’t seen one yet that is worth it.”
    She daintily wiped at her mouth with her napkin and gave me a lukewarm smile in return. I hoped I might be back in her good graces. A well-run shop needs to have good relations between the steward and manager. They don’t have to be lovey-dovey, but they do have to have respect for each other. And that’s all I wanted from her.  
    I changed the subject. “By the way, I need a place to stay for a while. Like a month, I’m guessing.”  
    She laid her napkin down. “You know, with tourist season about over, you might try a bed and breakfast. The High Bluff is a great place. It’s quiet and the scenery is beautiful. I know the owner from church. She runs a first-class operation. All the way from serving good breakfasts to having a fax machine.”

 
    Chapter 6
     
    I laid my head back on the pillow and reviewed my day. The breakfast meeting with Martha had gone well, I thought. True, she might report to the troops I was just another manager, but at least we had established a tentative dialogue. I made certain she understood my door was open at any time for her and that I would listen. Maybe I would be powerless to do anything, but I would listen.  
    The rest of the day had been quiet, other than a complaint or two about the mail being slow. Of course, the mail from Paraguay is always a little slow. When I heard the country’s name, it was all I could do to keep from smiling. To my credit, I maintained a serious face.
    If there was a fly in the ointment, it was my appointment the next day with a local newspaper reporter. I hoped it would be somebody at least forty-five or so, because that usually meant less aggression than from say, a twenty-something bent on clawing their way up in the journalistic field. I could probably get by just giving out a few facts about myself. My worst fear was questions about Gloria’s death.  
    Martha had been right; the High Bluff Bed and Breakfast had turned out to be a good choice. Cheaper than a motel and with a family atmosphere. The two-story house was light grey with a blue metal roof. There were five bedrooms and a large dining room with a table that could seat twelve. The house was perched a couple of hundred feet back from the edge of a bluff a thousand feet above the ocean. What was really good for me was that I was given a corner room on the second floor with an ocean view. And talk about luck, I was the only tenant!
    A Mrs. Mordant ran it. A bright-eyed divorcee in her forties with short, graying hair, she was a wee bit on the plump side. She not only took care of the day-to-day activities, but also cared for her father, who actually owned the place. I gathered the old boy had recently had a stroke. Mrs. Mordant said he’d made some slight improvements, but would never walk again. His brain was okay, but he mumbled when he talked, and his hands shook so badly he couldn’t write. Life has a way of handing out real clinkers sometimes. I earnestly hoped I was not looking at myself, in say . . . fifteen