The Extinguished Guest (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 2) (23 page)

It seemed as if none of the Historical Society guests were in a hurry to leave the
Alexandria Inn. They apparently were becoming quite accustomed to being waited on
and now didn't want to return to their mundane everyday lives, lives that required
them to be more self-reliant. I'd heard both Ernestine Fischer and Harry Turner tell
Crystal to call them if she ever needed a job because they would be delighted to have
her work for them as a housekeeper in their private homes. She had smiled sweetly
and promised she'd keep their offers in mind.

At least there was a light at the end of our long, dark tunnel, I thought, as I went
in search of Harry Turner in the library. We could surely tolerate these folks for
one more day. Couldn't we?

* * *

Alma was in the library by herself, with a book titled
Death March
on the desk in front of her. The book was opened to a page with a drawing depicting
one of the gas chambers employed by Adolf Hitler. I would have thought she could find
something a little less depressing than gas chambers to read about, even though she
didn't actually seem to be reading the book, but rather using it to hide behind.

"How was lunch, Alma?"

"It was fine, thank you," she said. I nodded, even though I knew she hadn't eaten
anything. Crystal had told me neither Boris Dack nor the Turners had shown up for
lunch. "It was just fine," Alma said again from behind the book.

She was oddly distracted, as if her mind were miles away from the book she had propped
up in front of her. I doubt she'd have even noticed if the book were upside down.
Alma appeared ill at ease and wouldn't look me in the eye. She was fidgeting in her
chair, and her skin looked flushed and clammy. Something had definitely happened to
upset her. Her eyes were darting all over the place, never resting more than a second
or two on any object.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Turner?"

"Yes, of course. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem a little agitated today, a bit nervous and edgy."

"Well, I may be a bit edgy. Who wouldn't be, under the circumstances? The murder,
and all that's happened since, has been a little unnerving for all of us," Alma said.
"You surely are a bit edgy yourself with what you've been through."

"You're right. We're all a bit on edge, myself included. I need to get home to my
little place in Shawnee for a break from all the excitement. Are you looking forward
to going home tomorrow? I hear everyone is planning to leave the inn after lunch,"
I said.

"Oh, really? I hadn't heard that. But yes, I suppose I'm looking forward to going
home tomorrow, even though some things will never be the same again. Once I'm home,
that is. Staying here the last few days has been a very distressing experience for
me. Uh, well, you know, because of the appalling murder of Mr. Prescott, naturally."

"Yes, of course. Something like a murder does tend to put a damper on things, doesn't
it?"

Alma had not seemed to be terribly distressed by the "appalling murder" of Horatio
Prescott, but she did seemed suddenly distressed about something. I wondered what
she meant by her remark "things will never be the same" once she'd returned home.
I wanted to ask her to explain her comment but knew it'd be a waste of time. She'd
never air her dirty laundry—she'd made that clear before—so I changed the subject.

"Can I get you anything from the kitchen? I'm going there after I take care of a few
other matters."

"A cup of hot tea does sound good. Jasmine to calm my nerves, I think, and a couple
of those wonderful oatmeal cookies that Crystal was baking earlier would be much appreciated.
When you have the time, of course. For some reason, lunch didn't appease my appetite."
I wanted to ask if failing to show up to eat any of it had anything to do with her
hunger not being appeased.

"No problem, Mrs. Turner. Stay here so I don't have to track you down, and I'll be
back in a few minutes." I wanted to keep her waiting in the library while I tracked
down her husband for a one-on-one discussion. I hoped he was still in his room packing
his suitcase. I hurried out of the library.

As I left, Alma Turner was staring out the window, over the top of the opened book
about the Nazi dictator. I wondered what had happened to make her so distraught.

* * *

Harry was in his room, but he wasn't packing his suitcase as Cornelius had suggested.
He was pacing anxiously, as keyed-up as his wife had been. I could hear his footfalls
from outside his room. I tapped on his door, and he opened it quickly as if he'd been
waiting impatiently for someone to knock.

"Oh, good. I was hoping it was you, Lexie," he said, reaching for my elbow, pulling
me in his room. "You aren't going to believe what happened this morning, just before
lunch." Harry said, in an excited tone. I would have been concerned if not for the
grin stretching across his face.

"I just spoke to Alma in the library, Harry. She seemed quite anxious, as if something
was really worrying her. Is everything all right?"

"For me, yes, but not for her. Alma has every reason to be anxious and worried," he
said. There was a glint in his eye that almost frightened me. He pulled the chair
away from the small desk in his room and motioned for me to sit down. "Have a seat
and let me tell you what happened when I attempted to follow your advice and speak
to Boris Dack about the photo in Horatio's safe."

"The photo—"

"The one of me in Alma's negligee, of course." Harry's face flushed a light shade
of pink as he made the clarification. I hadn't actually forgotten which photo was
involved. That was a tough image to get out of one's mind.

"Oh, so you spoke to Boris about the photo today?" I asked.

"No, but I don't think the photo is going to be an issue any longer. I'd bet my bottom
dollar the blackmailing is a thing of the past at this point."

"Oh, really? What happened? Tell me all about it." I was almost as excited as Harry
now—and more than a little relieved that my advice hadn't backfired in his face.

"Well, I wanted to talk to him at the first opportunity but didn't want to do so in
Alma's presence. This morning, right after breakfast, Alma told me she had the beginning
of a headache forming behind her forehead. I suggested she take one of her headache
pills and go back to bed for a while. She vetoed my idea, saying she'd only be awakened
by someone knocking on the door, which could cause her headache to worsen. I knew
Boris was up in his room, and I wanted to seize the opportunity to speak to him about
the photo, so I promised Alma she wouldn't be bothered. I told her to hang the 'Do
Not Disturb' placard from the doorknob and I'd make sure everyone knew she was resting,
nursing one of her headaches, and didn't want to be disturbed."

"But, she's in the library now, and never mentioned a head—"

"She never had a headache, my dear," Harry cut in.

"But you said—"

"Alma lied to me about having a headache, I'm certain, just to make sure I didn't
come up here looking for her."

"But why?"

"After Alma came upstairs, presumably to our room to rest, I went to Boris's door
with the intention of discussing the photograph with him. I heard laughter in his
room, so I put my ear up against the door. It was barely discernible, but it was unmistakably
Alma's laugh. Lord knows, I'd recognize that hideous sound anywhere."

"Alma was in Boris's room?" I couldn't hide my amazement, or my confusion.

"Yes, I was shocked, too," Harry said. "And she was in a very compromising position
when I slipped a credit card into the lock on his door and freed it open. When I burst
into the room, they both were butt naked, cavorting in the middle of his bed, and
the look on their faces was absolutely priceless."

"Oh my God! I can't imagine—"

"And guess what? I will have a photo of those expressions, to keep as a souvenir of
this week here at the Alexandria Inn, just as soon as I take this disposable camera
to be developed," Harry said, as he picked up a yellow, red, and black cardboard camera
off his dresser. He held it up as it were a golden Oscar he'd just been awarded at
the Academy Awards show.

"You didn't!" I was laughing out loud.

"I most certainly did. One good blackmail-quality photo deserves another, don't you
think? I have a close friend who owns a one-hour photo lab who'll be happy to print
this for me this afternoon, despite the content of the photo. I just got off the phone
with him."

"How did you happen to have the camera with you?"

"Alma had it in her overnight bag. She'd brought it with her to snap photos at the
inauguration ceremony, which was naturally canceled when Prescott was killed. I'd
placed it in the pocket of my cardigan earlier with the intention of taking pictures
of the large snowdrift beside the carport. I never did go out and take those pictures,
but the camera was still in my pocket. When I heard Alma laughing inside Boris's room,
I instinctively took the camera out and warmed up the flash. I snapped a photo the
second I opened the door and saw them exposed on the bed."

I could scarcely contain my amusement at the thought of Harry snapping a photo of
the pair on Boris's bed or my revulsion at the image that slowly formed in my mind,
like a Polaroid snapshot gradually coming into focus.

"What happened next?" I asked Harry.

"Alma shrieked, grabbed her clothes, and ran across the hall to lock herself in our
room while she dressed. Boris grabbed the bedspread to wrap around his flaccid naked
body. Egad, talk about hideous!"

"I can well imagine." I tried not to even think about it or picture the image on that
photograph.

"He seemed afraid; as if he feared I'd pull out a gun and shoot him. Maybe Boris thought
I was the person who killed his partner. I don't really know what went through his
mind. He was uttering something like, 'It's not what you think.' Of course, I knew
it was exactly what I thought, but I didn't really care."

"What'd you say to him?"

"I merely asked him if he'd like to make an even exchange. My photo of him with my
wife for Horatio's photo of me in her clothes. He obviously knew all about the photo
and the monthly payments I'd been making to keep the photo out of sight because he
readily agreed to the deal. He promised to extract the photo from the company safe
this evening. He said he had an important meeting at six tonight—"

"Uh-huh," I said with a knowing nod.

"—but he'd stop by his office to get the photo on the way to the meeting. He'd gladly
trade photos with me tomorrow morning, before breakfast. Which reminds me, Lexie.
Can I borrow your Jeep for about an hour? My Mercedes may not do well in this snow,
and I'd like to take this camera over to my friend's place today. Jack lives in an
apartment above his photo shop, and since there's only one photo on the roll, it shouldn't
take too long."

"Why does the film even need to be developed?" I asked.

"It doesn't. I could just give the whole camera to Boris in exchange for the photo
of me in the negligee, but I'd kind of like to have the negative to put in my lock
box. Just in case I ever need it, if you know what I mean. I'll also have Jack print
me an extra copy of the photo, just in case Boris thinks to demand the negative, too.
At least I'll have it for back-up if Boris decides to also keep a copy of the photo
of me, and wants to use it against me some day."

"Yes, I completely understand your need to take precautions. I wouldn't trust Boris
Dack any further than Robert Fischer can throw a water buffalo. Can you leave right
away? I've already promised to loan my Jeep to Boris this evening, to get to the meeting
he mentioned to you, and he said he'd like to leave here by five."

Harry checked his watch, nodded, and said, "Sure. It's about two now, so I'd have
it back by three, or three-thirty at the latest. I promise to be back no later than
four, even if it means picking up the copies of the photo in the morning."

"Okay, I'll get the keys for you. I'm delighted it worked out so well, Harry, but
sorry about the circumstances regarding Alma's affair with Mr. Dack." It had not escaped
me that Harry hadn't showed much remorse about the fact his wife had been cheating
on him, committing adultery with the contemptible Boris Dack, of all people. If anything,
he seemed delighted, acting as if things couldn't have turned out any better for him.

"Oh, don't feel badly about that aspect of it," he said. "Any love I'd felt for Alma
had gone by the wayside a long time ago. It didn't bother me in the least the two
of them were having an affair, other than the fact I was being played for a fool.
I'm just glad Boris wasn't aware of the tenuous relationship I had with my wife, or
I might have lost my leverage in this deal. I've been unhappy with Alma for many years,
but I think that's all about to change. I spoke with her a few minutes ago in the
library, right before you did, in fact. She was mortified beyond belief, and hiding
behind some large, boring tome about Hitler. She was afraid of what I might do or
say and couldn't bring herself to look me in the eye."

"Go on," I said, encouraging him.