Page 61 of Dead & Breakfast
“How is that unusual? It’s a trash can. It’s probably his math homework.”
Salvatore lifted one of the crumpled pages and smoothed it. “It’s a letter. Oh my, is everyone in this town as old as you, Arthur?”
“Me? You’re six hundred, Sal!” Arthur threw his hands up but made his way across the room to lean over Salvatore’s shoulder nevertheless. “What does it say?”
They read together, and it didn’t take long. It was an attempt at a letter to Brody’s mother, though it was a false start.
Dear Mom, it read,Sorry for not writing back sooner. I hope you’re good.
The letter stopped there. The other pages in the wastebasket were different attempts at the same letter, though he never got more than a few sentences in before giving up and trying again. It seemed Brody was struggling to find the right words to greet someone who’d left him so long ago.
Arthur felt a little twinge of pity for the boy, until he remembered the video of Brody tossing the body of George Roth into the bed of his truck. Arthur pulled open a desk drawer to find it as disorganized as the rest of the room. Among the loose pens and other office supplies, there was a messy stack of papers.
“Not everything is digital these days, Sal.” Arthur flicked through the pages. They were pay stubs, the checks detached. Judging by the amounts, a part-time job. The name of the issuer gave Arthur pause, however: McMartin Ranch. Arthur recalled the sheriff saying Brody had worked for him for a time, but he had assumed it would’ve been at the station.
As he flipped idly through the old pay stubs, which didn’t seem to be in any order, one caught his eye. The check hadn’t been removed yet, and the amount made his eyebrows rise.
“I didn’t realize ranching was so lucrative,” Salvatore said. “A check for fifteen hundred dollars? And look, it says he only worked three days that pay period.”
“This was his last check, too.” Arthur skimmed all the dates to verify.
“Perhaps McMartin is more generous than he lets on?” Sal asked.
“No. This isn’t a bonus for a job well done. Dr.Young said Brody got fired. Who fires someone, then pays them this much extra?” Arthur glanced up at Salvatore.
“You’re right, then. What if it’s hush money? Or some sort of bribe?” Salvatore’s eyes lit up with mischief. “What if McMartin is the one funding all the anti-paranormal graffiti, and this was his way of paying Brody and his friends to see it done?”
“That seems a little far-fetched.” Arthur tucked the check and pay stubs back where they belonged.
“At least take a photo for evidence,” Sal huffed.
“Is that really necessary?” Arthur asked, hesitant to use the phone.
“I can do it if you’re not up to the task.”
“No, no, I can handle this.” He was a detective, after all. He opened the camera app to take a few shots.
“What are you doing? That’s panorama, Arthur. No, now you’ve selected video.” Sal scrambled for the phone, but Arthur tugged it out of reach. “Oh, for the love of— No! Why!”
A bright flash of light filled the room and Sal dramatically stumbled back.
“My retinas! They’re burning!”
“No, they’re not,” Arthur said, leaning closer to the phone screen to select the correct photo option for one last shot of the incriminating documents.
Sal gasped. “I can’tbelieveyou’d use flash, you heathen.”
“I’d rather not use anything at all,” Arthur grumbled. “I don’t see why cameras need to be so complicated. Why are there so many options? I liked those ones we used to use before the turn of the century—the disposable ones with the little clicky slider on the side.”
“Technology evolves, my dear. In my day, we had to sit for portraits and hope the painter didn’t accidentally sneeze on the canvas.”
“We don’t have time for that.”
“Of course we don’t!” Sal flung his arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “We have shady evidence to inspect!”
“Shady enough that we’d better ask the sheriff about it.” Arthur glanced around the room one last time. He hoped Brody would one day see this space again, and he hoped the boy wasn’t amurderer, though nothing here could erase the video footage they’d seen.
“Does this mean we have to go back to the station?” Salvatore whined. “That place is so drab, it’s taken decades off my undeath already.”
