Page 22 of Snow River

“Shawna.Please.There was a woman staying here a couple of weeks back.”

Immediately her expression switched to serious.“The dead woman.You want to know about her?”

So Cromwell had beaten him to the punch.He should have figured; the guy wasn’t a bad detective.“The police already talked to you?”

“Me?No.”She sniffed.“They think I know nothing.I don’t know very much,” she admitted.“She was a nice lady.She left a big tip when she checked out.She even left a watercolor.”

“Do you still have it?”

“It’s in the laundry room.We hung it up there.We never got a painting from a guest before!You want to come see it?Not too many men come to our laundry room.”He followed her through the carpeted hallway to a large room filled with washers and dryers and shelves stacked with bedding.The scent of detergent and clean clothes made the space more inviting than he would have thought.

Maybe he should add laundry to the services offered at The Fang, he mused.Lord knew some of his customers could use it.Of course he’d have to run that by Lila.It was one thing to pour shots of rum, another to make change for a washing machine.

Lila will be gone before too long, he reminded himself.No sense making plans based around her.

The watercolor had been taped to the wall over a white plastic table meant for folding laundry.It depicted a lovely forest with a river flowing through it.A couple perched on a rock at the river’s edge.The artist’s perspective was from behind their heads.The woman could have been Rita—her hair was long and dark.The man wore a floppy fishing hat and a jacket rendered in watery swaths of green and black.

He pointed at the man.“Does he look familiar to you?”

Shanna nodded.“Her hookup.”

“How do you know that?”

“Housekeeping knows.”Shanna gave him a wink.“Condom in the trash.”

That was interesting.“I don’t suppose?—”

“Did we save the condom?No, it’s in the trash compactor by now.But he’s a sweet guy.Real smart.He’s no murderer.”

That was what people always said, even about the most heinous killers.Psychopaths and sociopaths were experts at appearing normal.

“Is he from around here?Or did he have his own room?”

She shook her head.“I don’t know where he’s from, but it’s not here.He wasn’t staying here, either.He’d come and hang out sometimes.”

“Have you seen him around since then?”

“No.”

Frustrated, he rubbed the back of his neck.This “hookup” seemed like a solid lead, but there was nothing to follow up on.He took a shot of the watercolor, just in case.But he couldn’t do much more than that.If he trespassed on Cromwell’s turf too much, there would be hell to pay.

Then something occurred to him.According to Cromwell, the Wagon Wheel clerk had said that Rita was meeting someone, and that she’d been wearing her backpack.Had that person picked her up outside the hotel?

“The Wagon Wheel doesn’t have security cameras, does it?”

“Security cameras?”Shawna hooted with laughter.“We don’t even have an ice machine.”

But there was a bank across the street, he remembered.Maybe one of their cameras pointed in a helpful direction.Had Cromwell checked it?Was there a way he could ask to view their footage without claiming to be a police officer?

Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a legitimate approach.Banks tended to be particular when it came to cooperating with investigations.

Unless…there was always the damsel-in-distress angle.If only Lila was here.She was impossible to resist, at least for him.

He eyed Shawna and her rounded belly.Who could say no to a pregnant woman?What was a little deception when it came to tracking down a murderer?

“Want to take a break and pretend your purse got stolen two weeks ago shortly after checkout time?”

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