property on Michigan Avenue, it had loads of charm and would suit her needs nicely.
Trailing her suitcase behind her, she approached the front desk. A tall and muscular woman, with her blond hair pulled into a tight bun, greeted Everly with a smile. “May I help you?”
“I need a room,” said Everly, stating the obvious.
“Reservations?” the woman asked.
In her haste to get out of Chicago, Everly hadn’t bothered with the online registration. “No,” Everly said. “I hope you have something available.” If not, she’d have to make the three hour commute from Cheyenne.
The desk clerk tapped on a computer keyboard. “You’re in luck. We have one room available, second floor. There’s also a pub on-site along with a restaurant that serves dinner and breakfast. Both open today at five o’clock.” She pointed in the direction of the establishments as she spoke. “What brings you to Pleasant Pines?”
Without question, the clerk was the most helpful person she’d met in Pleasant Pines. Everly read her name tag. “Darcy, can you tell me if Axl Baker had a room here?”
The desk clerk looked over her shoulder before answering in a low voice. “He did...but Mr. Baker’s room is off-limits by the order of Sheriff Haak.”
At least Everly knew for certain that her brother had been at this hotel. The question was, how could she get the sheriff to let her search her brother’s room? Or rather, she knew that answer—he wouldn’t. What she needed was a way, legal or not, to get inside the room.
She didn’t have much time to plan, so her strategy was simple. Yet, it might just work.
Coughing, Everly touched her throat. “Any chance I can get a bottle of water?”
Darcy held up one finger. “Just a second, I can grab you one from the back.”
Heart racing, Everly waited until the other woman disappeared through a doorway. On tiptoe, she looked over the edge of the counter. Papers. Pens. A computer keyboard. She lifted a pile of papers and it fell out. It was the size and shape of a credit card with two stylized pine trees intertwined with the words Pleasant Pines in gilt script. Written in marker were four other words, the ones she needed to see: Front desk. Total access.
She’d found a passkey. Score.
She didn’t hesitate and slipped the keycard into the palm of her hand. She put the papers on the desk and stepped back just as Darcy returned.
“Here you go,” she said, holding out the water.
Everly took the bottle awkwardly with her left hand. “Thanks,” she said, slipping her right hand into her pocket, where she deposited the stolen card.
Reaching for the handle of her suitcase, she turned from the front desk. How many rooms did this inn have and, more important, how would she find out which one had been her brother’s?
“Ms. Baker?” Darcy called.
Everly increased her pace, as if she could outrun the awful truth that she had stolen a key to every door in the hotel.
“Ms. Baker? Ms. Baker?”
Damn, she’d been caught. Everly tried to think of an excuse. Nothing came to mind. Her mouth went dry. She stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
“You forgot your key.” Darcy held up a keycard, a twin to the one she had in her pocket, save for the note in marker. “Room two twenty-three. Second floor. The elevator is at the end of the hallway.”
Everly swayed as her knees went weak. She was determined to find out what really happened to her brother, a few rules be damned. And yet, she was hardly used to a life of crime. What she was used to—and quite good at—was public relations, which meant knowing her customer. If her read on Darcy was right, the other woman was likely to be helpful and sympathetic.
“Thanks,” she said again. Then she asked, “Do you happen to remember Axl Baker? He’s my brother. He was my brother.” Everly’s voice cracked on the last word.
Darcy lowered her eyes. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, hon.” She lifted her gaze to Everly’s. “I wasn’t at work when he checked in, but he did come through the lobby on his way to and from the pub.”
The pub. Had Axl decided to have a beer? Or more? It wouldn’t have been the first time he thought that he could handle a little alcohol and been wrong. Hadn’t she worried that eventually out-of-control drinking would be the death of him? More than that, the sheriff had all but predicted that drinking was involved in the accidental death.
That was, if Axl’s death was an accident. “Any idea what he was doing?”
“I’m not sure,” said Darcy with a shake of her head. “He wasn’t there long—thirty minutes or so.” She paused and bit her bottom lip. “The bartender comes in at four o’clock—she might remember something.”
Everly checked her phone for the time. 12:04 p.m. What might Everly discover in the next three and a half hours?
Did it really matter in light of the fact that Axl was gone? Was what Wyatt Thornton had said been true? Did Everly want a monumental explanation for a simple set of facts? No. She owed her brother the truth and she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t find out what happened.
“Oh, if you could talk to the bartender and see what she remembers I would so appreciate it,” said Everly with a small smile. “You’d be the first person actually trying to help me around here.”
Turning, she wheeled her luggage down the main corridor. There were a dozen rooms on the first floor, and she guessed there were twice as many on the second. A deep green runner stretched the entire length of the hallway, with identical doors on each side. Brass numbers were affixed to each door, along with a keycard entry.
Since she had no idea which room had belonged to her brother, Everly decided a room-by-room search was in order. She also decided to start on the second floor, when something caught her eye. A paper tag had been placed over one of the locks. Do Not Disturb had been preprinted on the label. But it was the printed memo from the Pleasant Pines sheriff’s office on the door that caught her attention:
No entry by order of the Sheriff’s Department.
Bingo.
Everly didn’t want to wait another minute to get into her brother’s room. Looking over her shoulder, she found that the corridor was empty. After fishing the passkey from her pocket, she opened the door. Even before she stepped into the room, she knew she’d found the right place. It smelled like Axl. It was a combination of grass and dirt. No matter the occasion, Axl always smelled like the outdoors. Yet, to smell it now was both cruel and beautiful. She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to staunch a new flood of tears.
To Everly, it looked like the sheriff’s deputies had already gone through the place. All the clothes had been taken from the suitcase and were piled haphazardly on one of the beds—something Axl wouldn’t do. Likewise, the closet doors were open, his jackets thrown next to the pile.
A fine gray powder covered the dresser. The nightstand. Even the TV remote. It must be fingerprint powder.
For
