Page 37 of Forever Dead

Eric Wilson was crossing from reception carrying a videotape in one hand and two glasses in the other. The label on the cassette had been written in thick black marker: UNDEAD DINER DAMES 3.

Selena looked back at the open folder on her bed.

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit sore tonight, Eric.”

His disappointment showed before he covered it. “Oh. Yeah, sure. That’s okay.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. We’ll do it another night.”

“I’d like that.”

Eric lifted the tape slightly. “It’ll keep. Probably survived thirty years already.”

Selena smiled. “Thanks.”

“Feel better.”

“I will.”

He turned toward reception. Selena watched him go, then closed the door.

The motel room became quiet again. Selena locked the door, crossed carefully back to the bed, and lowered herself onto the edge. Eleanor's photograph waited on top of the stack while the television continued playing behind her, forgotten.

Selena pulled Arnold’s copied files closer. She had no intention of watching a movie with Eric now.

She intended to figure out who killed Miss Marsh.

CHAPTER SIX

Connor had been staring at the same telephone number for nearly ten minutes.

It sat on a yellow note in the middle of his desk, written in his own block capitals beneath two words he wished he had never put there.

SAFETY INSPECTOR.

Outside his office, the sheriff’s station had settled into its usual morning rhythm. Phones rang. Somebody laughed near the front desk. A printer started, stopped, then started again with a grinding complaint. None of it reached him properly.

Connor read the number once more.

One call.

That was all Morimer had asked for at this stage. Connor did not have to plant evidence or falsify a report. He did not even have to tell the inspector what to find. He could request a legitimate safety inspection at Malone’s in Eagleton, then let trained people go through the building and see whether the new bar had opened with some overlooked violation.

The inspector might find an obstructed exit, faulty wiring, missing signage, or fire extinguishers that were out of date.

Something real.

That was how Connor had been trying to frame it since before dawn.

His hand moved toward the desk phone.

A knock sounded against the open door.

Connor pulled his hand back. Cheryl stood in the doorway with a printed sheet in one hand.

“You busy?”