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“We can’t leave now.”
“Really? A reading?” the same woman who first approached me asks before turning to her husband. “We are booked until Friday, honey. What’s the harm in staying another day or two?”
“Now you want to stay?” he says with a chuckle. “You spent the last twelve hours nagging me that you wanted to go home because you didn’t want to sleep another night at the Murder Inn, and now you want to stay?”
“You’re exaggerating. I said nothing of the sort,” she scolds him before turning her attention back on me. “Don’t pay my husband any mind, Ms. Usher. I wouldn’t miss your reading for the world. Expect to see me in the first row!” she says excitedly.
“I’ll see you then.”
The other guests overhear our exchange and begin talking among themselves before slowly taking their bags back upstairs. Even the couple at the counter with Mrs. Trott announce that they’ve changed their minds.
The crowd disperses in record time, leaving only me, Sienna, and Mrs. Trott in the lobby.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mrs. Trott says, visibly emotional. “Thank you, Ms. Morgan. There are no words to describe how much this means to me.”
“No problem. I’m just happy they were all avid readers.” I offer her a warm smile. “And it’s Max, remember?”
“Yes, Max.” She wipes at the tears threatening to spill. But before I have time to ask her if she’s alright, Mrs. Trott gets her second wind and claps excitedly. “A Max Usher reading? Oh, my. I have my work cut out for me. I promise everything will be ready tomorrow night. Shall we say around eight?”
“Eight works.”
“Oh! How exciting!” she exclaims before hurrying off to the office behind the reception desk to start making arrangements.
“Well, look at you being all Mother Teresa and shit,” Sienna teases, nudging my shoulder.
“Stop. It’s the least I could do.”
“Why? You’re not the one offing Reds.” She pauses, scrutinizing my face. “Or are you?”
“That’s not funny.” I scowl at her.
“Just checking.” She shrugs. “Besides, I already have a suspect in mind.”
“You do?” My forehead creases. “Who?”
“Why do you want to know? Aren’t you the one who said I was being paranoid?” She smirks. “Nah, Max. Let me get my ducks in a row first, and then I’ll tell you who I think the Reunion Killer is.”
“Oh, my God. You already gave him a name.”
“Him? So you think it’s a man, too?” Her eyebrow arches. “Interesting.”
“I’m not even going to engage with that remark. It’ll only put more ideas in your head.”
“Too late.” She chuckles.
“It’s disturbing how you barely ever smile, but the possibility of a murderer running around Fairhope has you looking positively tickled pink.”
“What can I say? I really love my job. Now come on. All this talk about serial killers has me famished.”
My deeply rooted scowl remains firmly in place throughout breakfast.
The only silver lining to Sienna’s newfound obsession is that I haven’t seen her touch anything stronger than coffee since Sunday’s brunch.
Apparently, hunting a potential murderer gives her enough of a high all on its own.
I’m not entirely sure that’s an improvement.
I spend the rest of my day at the desk, writing up a storm.
