When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(33)

Slowly, I nod my agreement.

Hand in hand, we slide out of the booth and head for the door.





CHAPTER 15





D.D.





HOWARD AND MARTHA COUNSEL OWNED and operated the Mountain Laurel B&B. The pale lavender Victorian sat on the corner of Main Street, with a broad wraparound porch decorated with lush hanging baskets and half a dozen rocking chairs. On this beautiful September morning, the veranda looked perfect for sitting out front with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

Which made it interesting that the porch was completely empty. Though, it was only shortly after eight. Crime had a tendency to get people like D.D. out of bed early. She forgot sometimes how the rest of the world lived.

Sheriff Smithers mounted the front steps, grabbed the bronzed door handle, then gestured for D.D. to enter first. The front door opened to a grand entryway. Sweeping staircase in front, lovely pale green and yellow sunroom to the left. A tinkling bell had marked their arrival. Now a smartly dressed older woman in a dove-gray skirt and elegant pin-striped blouse appeared from a hall behind the staircase. Her heels clacked against the marble floor as she made her way briskly to the giant cherrywood desk that served for guest registration. When she spied the sheriff and D.D., her steps slowed.

“Sheriff Smithers.” The woman halted in front of them, blue eyes curious.

The sheriff was holding his hat before him. Now he extended one hand in greeting. “Mrs. Counsel. Good morning, ma’am. Sorry to disturb you so early. This is Sergeant D. D. Warren, a member of the taskforce investigating the remains found in the mountains. As you’ve no doubt heard—”

“You found another body yesterday,” Mrs. Counsel answered for him. “Maybe more, if the rumors are to be believed.”

The sheriff didn’t confirm or deny. For now, they were trying to keep the news under wraps to keep the media from descending. How long that strategy would work was a good question. But all investigations hoped for a little luck.

“Is Howard around?” the sheriff asked. “We thought the mayor might appreciate an update.”

“Absolutely.” Mrs. Counsel extended a hand to D.D. “Please, call me Martha. I’ll fetch my husband. We can meet in the front room.” She gestured to the room on the left. The walls appeared to be papered in a pale green lattice pattern, while the floor was covered in a sage green carpet with butter yellow roses. An eclectic mix of old tables were positioned around the space; no doubt where the B&B guests enjoyed breakfast, afternoon tea, late-night brandy.

“Coffee, tea?” Martha asked now as she led them to a larger table in the corner.

The room was currently empty, which D.D. found interesting. For a tourist town, the inn seemed lacking in visitors.

“Do you have many guests?” she asked, as they arrived at the table and the sheriff pulled out a chair for her.

“We have four couples right now. But it’s the middle of the week. This time of year, the weekends are busier. It’s too late in the season for thru-hikers, and families are tied up with school. We will get a lot of couples, day hikers, and some families on the weekend, however. Let me get Howard. I’ll be right back. Coffee?” she asked again.

“I would love some,” D.D. said, while the sheriff nodded gratefully.

“You ever been on a taskforce this big?” D.D. asked Sheriff Smithers as Martha clacked out of the room.

“No, ma’am.”

“Go home tonight. Sleep in your own bed. This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint.”

A young Hispanic girl appeared in the doorway. She wore a pale blue maid’s uniform, the skirt cut modestly below her knees, sleeves reaching to her wrists. Her dark hair was pulled up tight in a bun, while on her shoulder she balanced a massive tray topped with a silver coffee service.

The girl crossed the room slowly. She moved with a slight limp, as if dragging her right leg behind her. As she drew nearer, D.D. could make out a shiny scar at the edge of the girl’s hairline and noticed the left half of the girl’s face drooped slightly, as if she’d suffered a stroke.

The girl stopped at the table beside theirs. She carefully lowered the tray, then without a word, set about pouring coffee from the silver pot into two delicately flowered china mugs.

“Good morning,” D.D. said.

The girl glanced up slightly. Her gaze fell on the sheriff’s uniform and her eyes widened. She didn’t say a word, just kept on pouring. She slid the first cup before D.D., the second before the sheriff. Then placed sugar and cream in the middle of the table.

“I see you’ve met our niece,” a new voice boomed into the room. A distinctive-looking older gentleman with a cream-colored linen suit and mint-green bow tie strode into the nook, Martha by his side. Mayor Howard, D.D. would presume.

Immediately, the serving girl took a step back, placed herself in position against the wall, and stared at the floor.

“She doesn’t talk,” Martha provided, her arm looped through the mayor’s. “She suffered a dreadful car accident when she was young. Killed her mother, left her mute and brain-damaged, poor thing.”

“Shouldn’t she be in school?” D.D. asked, still puzzling over such a young girl dressed as a maid.

“No point,” the mayor said dismissively. “She can’t read or write. The area of the brain that processes language is damaged beyond repair. The doctors were very blunt on the subject. There’s nothing to be done. But we’ve taken her in, of course. Family is family.”