Page 58 of The Cottage on Plum Island
“Okay!” The server looked at her, taking the money. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Jennifer took the trolley and pulled it into her suite. “I’ll leave it outside when I’m done.”
She stepped back and closed the door, turning to see the woman eyeing out the trolley. Jennifer wasn’t sure what to do and started questioning her sanity for letting the woman into the room. Well, she pushed her way into the room after being spooked by the elevator. The woman was terrified and, by the way, she was eyeing the food trolley, starving. Jennifer found herself in a bit of a dilemma, wondering if she’d just let an axe murderer into her room and chase away her only lifeline when she sent the server on his way.
Okay, Jennifer. Look for a weapon to keep handy and stay near to a phone.She turned her head. Her cell phone was on the coffee table next to her laptop.Shoot.
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the woman, wondering who she was or who Lee was that the woman was looking for and why she’d knocked on Jennifer’s door. An idea popped into Jennifer’s head as she edged around the food trolley, careful not to turn her back on the wild woman.
“Are you hungry?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes.” The woman nodded and looked at Jennifer, her eyes wide with excitement as she asked. “Do you have pie?”
“No.” Jennifer shook her head, her frown deepening as the woman’s face dropped.
“I love pie.” She smiled. “Cherry pie. Lee always lets me have cherry pie.”
Jennifer felt concerned as she observed a sudden shift in the woman’s demeanor. It became apparent that the woman was struggling with emotional instability or possibly a mental health condition. One moment, she seemed timid like a frightened mouse, and the next, she became surprisingly enthusiastic, resembling an excited teenager at the mere mention of pie. The abrupt changes raised Jennifer’s awareness, leaving her uncertain about how to navigate the situation.
“I can order a pie and see if the hotel has cherry,” Jennifer found herself offering.
“Really?” the woman looked at Jennifer in awe. “With ice cream and grape soda?”
“Sure…” Jennifer gestured with her hands as she started wheeling the dinner trolley to the dining table. “Why don’t you sit here? I’m sure there’s more than enough for an army.”
“Lee was in the army,” the woman told her, taking a seat at the table, patiently waiting while Jennifer put the food out.
“Oh?” Jennifer glanced at the woman’s ring finger. It was bare.
The woman dived into the food as soon as Jennifer had finished putting some lasagne and salad onto a plate for her before going to thesmall kitchenette and getting another dinner plate. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days the way she was wolfing the food down.
“Why did you think Lee was here with me?” Jennifer asked her, sliding into a seat around the table.
“You were with him last night,” the woman said, polishing off her food. “May I have some more?”
“Sure.” Jennifer dished up some more for her. “I wasn’t with a Lee…” Her eyes widened in realization. “Do you mean Harley?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled, and Jennifer nodded.
CHAPTER 12
The front living room of the Wesley family’s Chestnut Hill residence was adorned with lavish and refined decor featuring plush antique furnishings. A magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm and soothing glow over the polished wooden floor. The reflection of the light through the sparkling crystals surrounding it created a tranquil ambiance, which was in contrast to the inner turmoil of each person in the room.
Harley sat in a wingback chair as he watched his ex-wife Angela’s father, Randal, pace back and forth on the far side of the room as he spoke to his good friend, the Boston Police Commissioner. Margaret Wesley sat primly on the edge of one of the sofas, nursing a glass ofbourbon. While her eyes were shadowed with worry, she held her head high like a queen.
Angela used to put on her mother’s voice and repeat Margaret’s mantra in times of crisis: A lady keeps her composure no matter what.
Harley savored a sip of his smooth bourbon from the fancy crystal goblet. His gaze shifted towards the family wall the Wesleys had assembled, displaying a collection of ancestral portraits that spanned generations. When he saw the pictures of Daniel, his heart skipped a beat. Daniel had his own special place on the wall—his timeline with photos from when he was born until just a few days before his death. Harley took another sip of his drink, but his heart was gripped with pain as he gazed at the pictures of his late son.
“Thank you, Grant,” Randal ended his conversation and went to sit beside Margaret.
“Well?” Wallis Hanover the second, Clair’s husband, stopped his incessant pacing, downed his third glass of bourbon, and took a seat across from Harley. “Is there any news of them?”
“No.” Randal put his phone on the coffee table and ran a hand through his hair, shifting his attention to Harley. “Thank you, Harley, for helping us. We’d never have found that motel.”
“It’s not me you should thank,” Harley told them. “Uncle Sam’s contacts helped me. Lucky for us, Clair isn’t a master criminal and used a credit card to rent a car.”
“Have the police found Clair’s car?” Wallis asked Harley.
