Page 34 of Last Resort

“Not sure. I have a police monitor, although Cole wishes I didn’t,” she confessed. “The call went out last night. Someone broke into a house and ransacked it. The owner was an elderly woman who either fell or was hit by the burglar. She went to the hospital.”

Erik walked back up toward the counter. “Could they tell if anything was taken?”

Susan shook her head. “Not that anyone said over the radio. I feel bad for that poor woman. Hope they catch the bastard soon.”

“Yeah, that’s a terrible thing,” Erik agreed. A hunch told him to pay attention. Cape May had a low crime rate, especially compared to cities Erik was used to, like Atlanta or London. Usually, problems spiked during tourist season with car break-ins, unattended items on the beach, or the occasional pickpocket. In the off-season, when the population was mostly locals, car wrecks, DUIs, and domestic disputes were more likely to fill the police blotter.

Not counting the time or two Ben and Erik unintentionally ignited a Mob war.

“Do you know anything about the victim? Has there been a rash of break-ins? There’s probably no connection to the murder at the hotel and the poker chips, but I’ve learned the hard way that nothing is really a coincidence,” Erik said, explaining when Susan gave him a puzzled look.

She pulled up a site on her phone. “Robberies usually go down in the off-season with fewer people coming through town. Violent break-ins are pretty rare here.” Susan scanned the article.

“According to the local news, her name is Dolores Quinn, and she is sixty-eight. Neighbors called the police because they heard shouting. The attacker went out the back door and got away.”

Erik frowned. “They haven’t caught whoever killed the guy in the rental unit. The two attacks might not be connected, but?—”

“Cape May doesn’t have a murder problem—most of the time.” Susan arched her eyebrow.

Erik knew she was teasing him, but he still felt a pang of responsibility. He and Ben seemed to find the skeletons in all the closets, sometimes literally. Fortunately, they hadn’t been run out of town yet.

“She’s sixty-eight. Raines, the guy in the rental unit, was in his seventies. Did they know each other? Was there a connection somewhere?”

“I didn’t know Dolores—she’s older than me, so we wouldn’t have been in school together, but the family name sounds familiar.” Susan offered a chagrined smile. “Cape May isn’t a big place, but we aren’t all acquainted, no matter what the tourists think. Especially if someone isn’t in a job with a lot of public contact, like at a store or a restaurant. Let me see what I can dig up.”

Erik went in the back and called Ben. “Everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ben sounded puzzled. “I’ve got some things to fill you in on, but nothing bad. What’s up?”

“There was a break-in,” Erik told him. “It might be nothing—but an older woman’s house was ransacked. It sounds like someone might be looking for something.”

“The poker chips?”

“It’s a stretch. Doesn’t make sense that it would be. And yet I can’t get that possibility out of my mind. In fact, that’s the only thing on my radar, those poker chips,” Erik said. “Of course, it might be completely unrelated.”

“Because our lives always work like that,” Ben said in a dry tone.

“Right.” Erik hesitated. “We don’t know what game is being played, but if this is all connected to that long-ago heist. People will do awful things to get their hands on a fortune. Just be careful.”

“Yeah, you too. I’m working a couple of angles—I’ll fill you in at dinner. Love you.”

“Love you.” Erik ended the call and leaned against the break room counter, staring at the darkened screen as his thoughts whirled.

There’s a logic to all this. We just don’t know how to look at it. If it’s related, then this makes sense to someone, and we’d better catch on soon.

“I’ve got something,” Susan called out from the shop, and Erik hurried to the counter.

“I found the obituary for Dolores’s mother,” Susan explained. “Apparently, they owned Quinn Private Home Services, which provided contract housekeeping. The obit says the company was started by the grandmother, Eleanor, and that both Dolores and her mother, Opal, also worked there.”

“Interesting. Anything else?”

“Dolores herself seems to have stayed out of the spotlight,” Susan said. “But in the mother’s obituary, it doesn’t mention Dolores having a spouse or children. When I looked up Quinn Private Home Services, I found a listing on a local business website with a note that the company was closed.”

“Huh,” Erik said, feeling like an important connection was dangling beyond his grasp. “Were they cleaners or true housekeepers?”

“What do you mean?”

“Cleaning services come in and tidy up. But when I lived in Atlanta, a lot of workaholics like me hired a private housekeeper who ran everything because we were too busy. They supervised cleaners and personal chefs and lawn services, ordered groceries, made sure the bills were paid, and handled picking up packages from the front office or babysitting repair workers,” Erik said.

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