Page 25 of Cougar Point

I say, “Your night manager said she took a bottle of champagne to the room before midnight. If the café and restaurant were closed, where would the champagne have come from?”

“We keep a few amenities in a locked cabinet in the office.”

“Would there be record of what was taken?”

“No.”

“What time does Missy come on duty?”

“Eleven but she’s always here by ten or ten thirty. Was she helpful?”

I dodge the question. “Missy told us she was working Thursday night and covering for another employee. Who was the employee?”

“We have another night manager who is out with a sick child. Like I told you. But she’s been gone for a month and wouldn’t know anything. Missy has been kind enough to work her nights. She’s worked under me for a year now.”

I’m sure she has. I give him the description Missy gave us of the drunk couple.

“It doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry.”

He would remember the acne if nothing else, so it probably wasn’t a guest.

“Missy indicated it wasn’t unusual to see drunks carried out the back door.”

He hesitates before answering. “If she says she saw them, I believe her. I guess they may have come in for the restaurant. That’s not our typical guest.”

“The restaurant closes at eight. Right?”

“That’s right. But Packer’s is open until nine in the evening.”

It was after that but this isn’t going anywhere. “Would you still have the trash taken from the room?” I ask on a hunch.

“We might. I doubt it though. They pick up the trash bin on Saturday morning. The bin is out back if you want to look. There’s no way of telling what came from each room unless it’s something the guest has their name on.”

Dumpster diving should be an Olympic event. I’ve done it numerous times. “Can we use the café a little longer?”

“Of course.”

We go to the café and out a door leading to another deck. To my right I see a wooden enclosure for the trash bin. “I want to have a look.” I go to the waste bin and pull myself up to look inside. Empty. Unless we want to go to the dump and rake through all the trash, that’s it. Inside we get the same table. The writer dude is back. He looks up, sees me, gets his stuff together, and leaves in a huff. He’s smarter than I give him credit for.

“So let’s backtrack a little. Thursday night you have dinner with your mom, go to her room, sit on the veranda and talk. You go back to your room around…”

“Ten or ten thirty,” Rebecca says.

“You saw no one suspicious. No one watching you during this time?”

Rebecca shakes her head.

“Your mom seemed to have something on her mind during that time but told you she would discuss it with you in the morning. She doesn’t show. When you get the note from Roger, you go to your mom’s room and she isn’t there, but her clothes and other items are still there. You didn’t see a champagne bottle. Have I got that right?” She nods. I tell Ronnie what Missy had to say about the note and Connie’s story about finding a champagne bottle on the floor.

Ronnie addresses the question. “The room looked like Rebecca said. I didn’t smell any liquor, just disinfectant.”

“Connie was in your mom’s room Friday before noon and then Roger declared it off limits. When were you in the room, Rebecca?” I ask.

“Maybe noon Friday. It would have been after Connie cleaned and found the note. I didn’t see a bottle but it could have been in the waste-basket. I didn’t look there. The room wasn’t messed up like there had been a…you know.”

“Like there had been a fight, you mean?” I ask, and she nods. It’s too bad Victoria didn’t tell Rebecca what was bothering her. But for now we have to find out who wrote the note. And hopefully find the guy who Missy saw helping a woman out of the back entrance. “Rebecca, you said your mom didn’t drink much. Could she have gotten drunk?”

Ronnie answers, “I think Rebecca was comparing Mom’s to Dad’s drinking. He can put it away. But, no, she wouldn’t have finished a bottle.”

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