“Naturally,” Channing added. “Now, if everyone would be so kind as to shine your phone lights on your shoes, we can have a quick look right now.”
There were some glances exchanged, but for the most part, all of the phone lights swung down to highlight the eclectic collection of footwear present. Channing moved from one person to the next, taking enough foot pics to start a fetish site, but not finding any trace of the expected blood. Even Viktor moved from his spot at the window to offer his leather boots for inspection.
But Channing stopped short when he got to Johnny Smith, who still stood off to the side, poking at his phone screen, but making no move to light his own shoes.
“If you would be so kind, Mr. ...?” Channing said.
“Smith,” the man said flatly, meeting Channing’s gaze, but making no move to comply.
There was a moment when Dru wondered what they would do if people just stopped cooperating. It wasn’t like they had any real authority.
But then Johnny activated the light on his phone and aimed it at the ground near his feet. Channing snapped a pic, but the man’s expensive Italian loafers were spotless.
There was an almost audible sigh of relief from the gathered crowd.
“Now then, do we have any witnesses to suspicious behavior of any kind?” Channing called out. “Did anyone see Mr. Thompson with someone in the last hour or so? If you saw something, by all means say something.”
Dru made a mental note to mention last night’s argument to Channing when things calmed down. It might be important, but it was embarrassing to yell about what you had seen in front of everyone. And after all, it had happened last night, and she hadn’t seen the person he was arguing with.
And then there was the matter of her own encounter with the victim shortly after that. And Viktor’s reaction when he’d come onto the scene. He hadn’t exactly been pleased.
Dru pushed the thoughts aside for now. It wasn’t like either of them was the murderer, so there was no point overthinking it.
“I will remain in charge of this case until the proper authorities can be notified and arrive on the scene,” Channing went on, his Southern accent growing more pronounced. “If you find evidence, or remember something, do not talk with other potential witnesses or suspects. Come straight to me.”
He walked over to Dru. He was clearly playing a part at this point, but it was working so far, so she didn’t see any reason not to play along.
“At this point, we would normally identify a recording officer,” he told her quietly. “But I think I’ve already found one.”
He gave her notepad a significant glance.
“Will you lend us your efforts toward solving this heinous crime?” he asked.
“Uh, sure,” she said, glancing over at Viktor, who had gone back to staring out the window.
She wished he were by her side right now. But he seemed to be staying as far away from the crime scene as possible. She supposed that was natural. She wasn’t exactly enjoying it herself.
“You can go back to your rooms,” Channing called out to the others. “But stick together in groups. Until we find out what happened, we have to take the attitude that every one of us could be in danger.”
There were whispers of surprise and horror.
“What makes you an expert?” Jenna Wilder called out. She seemed more upset by the fact that her private time had been interrupted than she was by the body at her feet. “Aren’t you that dinner theatre guy with the cart ad at the ShopRite?”
Behind her, Angie rolled her eyes so hard that Dru was worried she might injure herself.
Hugh Channing drew himself up to his full height, which was probably about five-foot-four.
“Yes, I am that dinner theatre guy,” he said with great dignity.” But for my role in The Perfect Crime, I did a ride-along with the Willow Ridge Police Department. I am the only one here with first-hand experience in securing a crime scene.”
“What, like a cat up a tree?” Jenna asked with a sneer.
“No, madam,” he replied. “A serious crime that I do not wish to discuss. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to confer with my recording officer.”
He turned on his heel and headed back toward the sitting room, and Dru was left with no choice but to follow him.
It was going to be a long night.
2
Dru trailed Channing into the sitting room.
He stood before the fireplace, which was mercifully still crackling, providing enough light for her to see his silhouette, and taking some of the chill out of the air.
“This is a nasty business,” Channing said, pacing in front of the fire.
He sounded so much like one of the black and white Agatha Christie movies Dru used to watch with her Nana, that she had to stifle an inappropriate smile.
But she had things to tell him.
He might not be a real detective, but he seemed to know what he was doing, at least enough to tell the real police when they arrived.
“Listen, Mr. Channing,” she said.
“Call me Hugh,” he said, turning to her.
“Hugh,” she said.
But she couldn’t seem to formulate what needed to be said. Was she about to incriminate herself?
“Dru,” he said quietly, “as the front desk clerk, I’m sure you see a great many things. Anything, no matter how small might help us solve this case. There is nothing you can tell me that I won’t be grateful for. Your forthright nature is why I chose you to be my recording officer.”
Dru strongly suspected that he had chosen her because she had a notepad and a tendency to scurry when someone yelled for help. But she had to come clean, so now was the time.
“There are two things you should know,” she told him.
“Then give me the pad for now,” he told her. “You talk, and I’ll make notes.”
She felt a brief sense of relief that he would be looking down at the pad and not at her when she spoke.
“When I was on last night’s shift, I heard the, uh, victim arguing with someone,” she said.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she admitted.
“What exactly did you hear?” Channing asked, looking up from his pad.
“I was at the desk and I heard two men arguing in the solarium,” she said.
“Ah, so it was a man,” Channing said, marking it down. “Very good. What else?”
“Someone shouted Sullivan more than once,” she said.
“Is there a Sullivan staying at Hemlock House?” Channing asked.
“No,” she told him. “I went through the whole log.”
“Very good,” Channing said approvingly. “Then what happened?”
“Brian came rushing out of the solarium,” she told him. “He practically knocked me into the dining room table.”
“I thought you said you were at your desk,” Channing said.
“I was curious,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks burn. “And the argument sounded violent enough I was also worried it might end in a fist fight. I thought I should check it out.”
“Very wise,” Channing said. “And your natural curiosity has given us clues we wouldn’t have had otherwise. What else?”