The Hemlock Clerk Opened Her Room Ledger For The Investigators

Hemlock Rest charged $46 for a room with a working heater.

At least, that was the price on its roadside sign. Inside the office, the clerk showed investigators bills for $460 against the same rooms, on the same nights.

“Those weren't guests,” she said. “Those were charges they put on us.”

Her name was Ruth Bell. She had managed the place before Rusk bought its mortgage. She still owned a small share, on paper, though she could no longer choose who used her rooms.

I was there to read the meter under the warrant's equipment inspection. Ruth watched me open the cabinet.

“You're Farzan's girl.”

“His daughter,” I said. “And the person who sent you that eighty-two-dollar fuse bill.”

She looked down.

“I didn't forget.”

“I know.”

Her office smelled of hot dust and burnt toast. Across the river, bare hills showed through low clouds. A truck changed gears on the road below us.

Tomas sat where Ruth could see the door.

“Tell me about the charges,” he said.

Rusk had promised to fix the roof. His company loaned Hemlock $12,000. Then his bookkeeper, Ellis Vale, added fees each month. Rooms used by Rusk's delivery people appeared on Ruth's debt sheet at ten times her usual rate.

“I asked for the money from those stays,” she said. “Ellis said they were security costs. Costs I owed them.”

“Did you sign that agreement?”

“I signed for a roof.”

She pushed the loan papers toward him.

Tomas asked an officer to copy every sheet, front and back. He did not call Ruth foolish. I liked him for that more than I wanted to.

The meter cassette at Hemlock was still in place. Its marks showed when the private transfer circuit had been used. I recognized the relay model, but its code was different from Lantern Bend's.

“Four, two, one,” I said, tapping my wrist. “I need the installation record to name it.”

Ruth pulled a folder from beneath a drawer liner.

“I kept this after they told me to clear out old bills.”

The routing invoice named Brook Ferry Lodge as the other end of the circuit. It also carried Ellis Vale's approval and a payment of $720 from Alder Rooms.

Another connection. Another piece someone had paid to create.

“Did Leona come here Thursday?” Tomas asked.

“About half past eight. Crying, but angry too. She asked whether I'd signed the room receipts.”

“Which receipts?”

Ruth pointed at the false room bills.

“She'd been carrying envelopes between the places. Thought it was rent money and medicine orders for residents. Then she saw her name on receipts she'd never written.”

“Did she show you the envelopes?”

“One had loose pill packets. No pharmacy labels. She said she wanted out.”

Tomas wrote without interrupting.

Ruth had given Leona tea. Then the private phone rang. Leona answered it because Ruth was checking a heater. Afterward, Leona said she had to take the copies to Brook Ferry.

“She said he was waiting to settle her account.”

“Who was he?”

“She didn't say. I wish I'd asked.”

Tomas let the silence sit.

“You can help now,” he said.

Ruth signed a statement. She gave officers her own copies of the loan and ledger. When we left, she stood beside the room keys as though someone might take those next.

“They'll say I lost the money,” she told me.

“You have the room book.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Keep the bank slips too. Let the numbers be checked.”

She found a shoe box beneath the desk and handed it to the officer.

In the parking lot, Tomas held out a paper cup of coffee.

“No sugar,” he said. “You left the packets untouched yesterday.”

“You notice a lot.”

“My work makes that sound less friendly than I mean it.”

I laughed. It surprised both of us.

Then my parts supplier called.

My credit account had been frozen. Rusk had sent them his theft claim and said I might be selling stolen equipment. My twelve-hundred-sixty-dollar parts order would require cash.

That order was for a church and two small inns. I had already taken deposits.

“The court denied his seizure request,” I said.

“Send us the order,” the woman told me. “I'll take it to the owner.”

I sent it from the passenger seat. Then I sent Jo the supplier's email, with Rusk's letter attached.

For once, his attempt to hurt me arrived with his signature.

Tomas waited until I finished.

“I'd like to say this will be quick,” he said.

“Don't.”

He nodded.

My phone rang again. This time it was Beth Pike.

“I found a voicemail in my blocked folder,” she said. “From Thursday night. Leona used a motel phone.”

Her breath shook.

“She said, ‘If they send you papers, don't sign my name.’”