Ornaments of Death by Jane K. Cleland Read Free Book Online

building was one of Rocky Point’s finest hotels, a reputation it had enjoyed since it had first opened, and the current owners, a couple named Taylor and Jonah Carmona, were keeping the tradition of excellence alive. Taylor was a fan of our tag sale, often stopping by to see if we had any new vintage perfume bottles, her favorite collectible.
    A carved wooden sign hanging on the front door below a wreath of birch twigs and clusters of plump red berries read COME ON IN!
    As I stepped inside, a bell chimed. The lobby was huge, a former warren of small parlors and receiving rooms that had been renovated into one open-plan space about five years earlier. A large arrangement of bloodred roses and silvery fir branches sat on a round oak table in the center of the room. A pair of red and ivory plaid club chairs was angled toward the reception desk on the right. Two love seats covered with a nubby red fabric faced one another at ninety-degree angles to the fireplace. The fireplace featured a fieldstone surround and hearth. A fire was burning, orange and yellow flames curling over and around charred hardwood logs. Brass lamps sat on small oak tables. A wing chair stood alone in a corner under a standing reading lamp. The current issue of Yankee topped a stack of magazines; I recognized the Coastal Living masthead from the corner protruding under it. Red and white floral drapes were held back by red rope ties, the kind with tassels. Multicolored oval rag rugs were positioned here and there throughout the space. A brass chandelier hung over the flowers, and recessed lamps illuminated the room. Dome security cameras were mounted in each corner. An old-fashioned brass service bell rested on the reception counter. Before I could tap it, Taylor’s head popped out from a swinging door behind the reception desk.
    â€œHi, Josie!” she said, smiling.
    Taylor was short and stout, with chin-length curly brown hair and big brown eyes. She wore khakis and a red sweater. She approached the counter.
    â€œHi, Taylor! I have a favor to ask. Ian Bennington hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. He didn’t keep a dinner date last night, and he missed lunch with me today. Will you go check on him?”
    â€œCome again?”
    â€œJust knock on his door.”
    Taylor tapped into a computer. She raised her eyes from the monitor to my face. “He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
    â€œHe might be hurt.”
    â€œOr he might be taking a bath or listening to music through headphones. Do not disturb means do not disturb. You know that, Josie.”
    â€œI’m worried.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    I looked around, seeking inspiration. None came. “What should I do?”
    â€œIf you think the situation merits it, talk to the police. Until then, let him be. Grown-ups are allowed to hole up if they want.”
    I knew in my gut that Ian was in trouble, but I couldn’t think of how to convince Taylor, so I thanked her and left.
    Outside, I studied the parking lot. There was one silver Taurus, but I had no way to know if the super-popular rental model was Ian’s.
    Taylor said that if I thought the situation warranted it, I should talk to the police. She was right.
    *   *   *
    Ellis wasn’t convinced, either.
    I sat in his office under a print of The Gossips, one of his favorite Norman Rockwell illustrations, and tried to persuade him that Ian hadn’t simply decided he wanted to be alone for a while.
    â€œIt’s barely been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, Josie,” he said. “Give the guy a break.”
    *   *   *
    I walked across Ocean Avenue and climbed a sand dune. The snow was falling more thickly now, forming a white scrim through which the churning near-black ocean looked as deadly as it was. The snow was beginning to stick to the bottle green tangles of seaweed that quivered in the steady wind. No way was the storm