It was 10:35 by the time Jones had entered the restaurant. The distinct Americana decoration of the interior could only mean one thing, the fare was to be quaint. Jones'' suspicions turned out ot be right, hamburgers and sandwiches dominated the menu. If one wished to skip the bread, a nod was given to a steak.. The restaurant was very affordable considering the area they were in. All was affordable except that steak.
"This must be a place for the townies," stated Jones unsure whether he kept the remark in his head or not. The hostess had turned into a waiter and agreed with Jones'' assessment of the establishment''s clientele. Jones then struck up a conversation with her about his business in town and what she knew about the death of Claudia Wells.
The hostess was very forthcoming to Jones'' questions. It seemed as if the private eye had struck gold in finding such a wealth of information. Claudia''s death, a regular patron of the restaurant, had happened to be the most interesting thing at this job for a long while. For a brief moment the whole town was quite shocked that someone here died of a drug overdose. She remembered Claudia fondly as a regular patron of the restaurant. She had a propensity to tip well and was polite with the staff.
When asked if Claudia would meet someone here frequently, the hostess was quick to remember a male friend. The hostess very distinctly remembered that they were embroiled in discussion whenever they ate. "One could say they talked more than ate." said the hostess in very succinct terms.
She told Jones that she wondered why they did that here and instead of at home. The hostess'' query was quickly met with her own assertion of greater indifference. The description of the Claudia transformed then into a general description of how a restaurant worker ought act in order to maximize tips. "It is best not to pry too much into the lives of our customers. Although that means that I am not much able to help you know."
All that hostess was able to claim with certainty was that the tips were great enough for her to have a smile on her face whenever the pair walked through the door. When pressed on the matter of the nature of Claudia and this man''s entanglement, the hostess admitted that she believed that the relationship was romantic. The dwelling of the hostess'' description on the man as someone mysterious and fairly good looking made it clear that if he were to flirt with her she would follow suit. The hostess added that the two never held hands. The man also never introduced himself by name despite how often the two would stop by. The pair also really flirted loud enough for her to hear, but she was certain that they were together. The hostess called it female intuition, but could offer no more evidence than that.
The increasing speculation that the hostess was offering returned to certainty when the topic of money arose once more. The man was not nearly as generous with tips as Claudia was. She found it strange how the two would bicker about who was to pay the check. If he was too determined to pay he would just hand over the cash straight from his suit pocket. "It comes to mind that this man always wore a suit and carried much cash. Whenever it was his turn to pay the bill, he barely even paid a glance to the final total and would just hand over a straight 100 from the wad in his pocket." finished the hostess. A tingly feeling came over Jones. Men who carry large wads of cash are usually up to no good.
Murder was usually committed by people who had something to lose. The tingly feeling was not just about the suspicious activities of this mysterious man at the diner. Jones too was feeling fearful. People who kill once are often tempted to do it again. Once the wall to the sanctity of life is crushed, it is much easier to draw from the well of death once more. Nosy private eyes usually do not last long when around such corrupted people. Jones, however, gave his word to the father that he would figure out what transpired and thus continued to talk with the hostess despite the growing ting of nervousness.
Jones attempted to finish the conversation, "Thank you for your time. I am sorry about the delay in ordering the food. I really am. May I have a club sandwich?"
"No problem sweetie. Good luck in your investigation. It certainly seems more interesting that slogging away at this restaurant. Rye or on white?"
"White. You do not like it here?" responded Jones. For a brief moment his alleged diet spoke to him. He wondered if rye would be the healthier of the two options.
"Working here is certainly not as interesting as at The Lake House or pretty much any other establishment in the area. Here let me put your order in and I will be back."
Jones would have asked about The Lake House''s history if he had the opportunity, but maybe the hostess had sensed his curiosity. He was quite certain that this place did not get many visitors from out of town. Indubitably, the seasoned hostess returned and now took a seat at his table. She explained in great detail all about how The Lake House came to be:
"Just after the war, The Lake House country club was built and designed by Beatrice de More. Her maiden name was Balkland. They were one of the original families that had settled the region. As farming was becoming unviable the family made the decision to shift to becoming hoteliers. The first hotel they built in the area was the Balkland Inn a few miles south from here. It was a successful business endeavor and so they were motivated to build another hotel to capture the growing market. The family''s goal was to target luxury and so they built a country club hotel hybrid. The eldest daughter of the family happened to be studying architecture and was put in charge of the project. Things went well and the country club was an instant success, but the rumor was that the construction costs were close to bankrupting the family. Beatrice believing herself responsible for the financial situation married into the de More lineage. They had built their wealth through a shipping company. The de More''s bailed out the Balkland''s debt, but took control over The Lake House. I still think Beatrice, or now her son, runs the place. Interesting, huh? There is much interesting history in the region. Many important families have come and gone."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Jones could not get a word in edge wise. Even if unprompted, the history lesson was indeed interesting. Nodding in agreement another waitress brought out Jones'' food and the hostess excused herself.
Jones returned to his car after enjoying his meal. Cheap and good was what Jones enjoyed the most, and this place certainly delivered. If he was ever near this part of the world again, he would have to stop by and try some of the local wines. Now was not the time for a working private eye to drink. Jones sat in the driver''s seat and began to consider all of the clues he knew so far.
The information on Claudia and the history lesson was a good break for the case. Jones knew that the father was extremely keen on investigating The Lake House. The newspaper excerpt that Jones read before did not do the establishment justice. The reduction of the country club to a host of celebrity galas seemed to fail to appreciate its rich history.
Jones had gathered so far that Claudia did not seem to do much in life besides work at the country club. She slept at her home as there were no receipts indicating stays elsewhere. Further, her father claimed the only time she left the vicinity of work was to visit him. Jones cautiously trusted the information the father provided. He would always wear rose tinted glasses in the matters of his now deceased only daughter.
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While driving back to the motel, Jones'' mind returned to the realm of the material. From the appearance of her apartment, she definitely was not habitually partaking in drugs. The private eye shuddered at the thought of such poor police work letting this go at an overdose. A death should not be treated to callously as only seeing what lay around her. Bothering the small details was the difference between an effective detective and an amateur sleuth. People with no passion for the truth can often let their abilities slide off as amateurs. Jones could for now only hope the police were incompetent and not a willing participant in the cover up of her murder.
There was still a chance that her apartment did not convey the full picture of her life. Jones deliberated whether Claudia it was possible for her not to be just working as a waitress at the country club. An attractive girl like her could easily get into trouble when around the wrong people. The wrong peoples capabilities are only exacerbated through wealth. Jones disagreed with the hostess when she said she would rather work at The Lake House over Drake''s. This opinion could be the result of a bad taste from interaction with rich divorcees. Nonetheless, by the time Jones had pulled into the motel parking lot he was of the mind to operate off the assumption that whatever was supplemental to her life was the thing that got her killed. He saw no other means to progress beyond skipping a few steps of detective work and filling in the rest as he went along.
She was, perhaps, too innocent to be a member of a world of deceit. Jones could only remember that picture with the surfboard when pondering the evilness she must have interacted with to be murdered. Disturbed by the thought of her final moments, Jones knew right then and there why he could never become a detective. The routine witness loss of the loss of innocence was too much for his mind to handle. Jones wondered then if for a mind to remain pure it must shelter itself from evil. Regardless of the answer, death was too corrupting a topic for the private eye. Even if he often uniquely could solve crimes, the pleasure of a demonstration of intelligence alone was hardly ever worth the pain ultimately.
Stepping through the door of his dark motel room, Jones turned on the lights once more. It was not nearly so painful to see the room now as it was this morning. "I am no miracle worker. I need a miracle." said the gumshoe aloud now sitting on the uncomfortable motel bed. So uncomfortable in fact that Jones lay down almost immediately to rid himself of the lower back pain just sitting there was giving him. Moving to the chair in the corner of the room seemed like too great of an expenditure of energy.
Gary Wells was certainly right about one thing The Lake House needed a thorough investigation. Infiltration of the establishment was becoming an unavoidable task. Given a lack of police involvement this was an especially hard maneuver to accomplish. Identifying the right person and flashing a badge in their direction made undercover work much easier for the police. People become quite willing to bend the truth for such official purposes. Jones, however, did not have the support of the police. Announcing his investigation to the right parties to insert himself into the establishment was simply not an option. Further contributing to the need of delicacy in the investigation was the propensity of criminals to flee once there is a whiff of danger. There was no hyperbole in suggesting to Gary that people would rather move to Timbuktu than be in jail for murder.
Going undercover was the only viable option. A country club of that stature would certainly run a background check on any prospective member. and employee Attempts to be duplicitous all fail eventually. Applying for employment under some fake name might work temporarily, but maybe only for a few hours or at max a day or two. Further, he could expect his questions to be answered truthfully as a worker. No employee really wants to divulge the death of a comrade to a guest. Still, Jones knew that if he were to work there and leave immediately some alarm would be raised. He only could pray to be successful before his quick departure.
Jones thought of only one possible course of action, finding this mysterious male friend that met with Claudia and getting him in on the ruse. If the man were to vouch for his employability, the estimated hours Jones would have on the inside could comfortably become a whole day. Even if this alleged boyfriend was the perpetrator of the crime keeping him close would allow Jones to investigate him simultaneously.
Something did not sit right with Jones about the whole thing. The more he pondered on that he resolution to the unease had to lie in that country club. She must not have made many friends outside the establishment. There was more going on there than what met the eye and if not Jones was headed up a cul-de-sac regardless. Jones had no way to confirm that there was a devious plot associated with the club besides that there must have been something wrong in her life for her to be murdered. The swiftness of the police in closing the case pointed to an enemy possessed influence. In this line of work, Jones found it necessary to contrive the enemy into existence. Most cases would go unsolved if one merely waited for the most logical and certain step to appear.
Jones knew that it was time to put his plan into action. Any gaps in the logic just needed to worked out with a bit of improvisation. Truthfully, he expected the man Claudia met at Drake''s to be the manager Gary had mentioned earlier. He lay there in his bed for a good hour before the idea hit him on how to lure the friend out. If indeed the country club was connected to Claudia''s murder somehow, he just had to call and ruffle a few feathers. The key to this bait was the restaurant. This was a gambit that he needed to work and Jones knew it.