Warren straightened, forcing a thin smile. “You can look in our suite if it helps.”
Mara nodded, her hands twisting in her apron. “We have nothing to hide.”
Warren retrieved a ring of keys from his pocket and led them down the hall beside the kitchen to the first door on the right. Mara joined them, and she clutched her husband’s arm as if nervous to be away from him.
Given the circumstances, Olive couldn’t blame her.
The lock clicked, and Warren pushed it open.
Their suite appeared.
The place was cozy—warm beige walls, a handmade quilt on the bed, the faint scent of peppermint and soap. A small Christmas tree stood on the dresser, trimmed with white lights and old-fashioned ornaments. A tray of cooling cookies sat on the desk, beside two mugs of untouched cocoa.
Nothing seemed out of place. And yet . . .
Olive’s eyes caught on something small near the baseboard—a faint streak of mud across the rug, leading from the adjoining bathroom toward the door.
She crouched. The mud was fresh, not yet dry. “Did either of you go outside recently?”
Warren looked surprised. “No. Not since before dinner.”
Mara hesitated, her face tightening. “Maybe one of us tracked it in earlier. I’ve been back and forth from the kitchen all evening.”
Olive nodded slowly but said nothing.
Jason’s voice broke the silence. “Everything else looks fine.”
Warren exhaled, visibly relieved. “Good. You mentioned the basement?”
“Yes,” Olive said. “We left JJ’s body down there until the police can reach us. But we should leave no stone unturned.”
Warren’s expression sobered. “Of course. This way.”
He led them to a door at the far end of the hall—a narrow wooden one with iron hinges. The doorknob rattled before it opened, releasing a draft of cold, stale air.
“You should wait here,” Jason told Warren. “Just in case.”
The innkeeper nodded and stepped back.
Olive and Jason started into the basement. The beam of Jason’s flashlight cut through dust motes in front of them as the staircase descended steeply into darkness.
They moved slowly, each step creaking under their weight.
The basement smelled of concrete and damp earth. Shadows stretched across old shelves stacked with supplies—paper towels, extra bedding, cases of bottled water.
And in the far corner?—
Olive stopped short. “Jason.”
Emptiness stretched.
He lifted his light. The tarp lay in a heap in the corner, and the blanket they’d used to cover JJ was still there—folded in a neat square on the floor as if someone had taken the time to tidy up the space.
But JJ’s body was gone.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Jason finally exhaled, the sound low and controlled. “Please tell me Rex moved him.”
