I want to believe him, but he doesn’t know the truth. Instead, I settle on another question. “Can I ask why you’ve stayed here so long?”
“I inherited this place from my grandma. I owe that woman everything. She raised me after my parents cut and run to Melbourne. She wanted a safe space for me to grow up. A place I would feel at home, where I could be myself. Drag karaoke was her idea.”
“She sounds like a great woman,” I add.
“That she was. Even after everything started drying up, I couldn’t bring myself to let this place go. I owe it to her. I know our days are limited, but if the bank or this town wants this place, they’re going to have to pry it away from me. Although, I’d be lying if I said they didn’t try.”
I look at him curiously, silently begging him to continue.
“When the hotel stopped bringing in money, the locals turned against me a bit. They weren’t totally on board with having a ‘queer’ in their midst,” he says, throwing up air quotes as if it’s a swear word, “but they could at least look the other way when this place was supporting the town’s economy. Once that stopped, they didn’t hesitate to make their feelings known. Let’s just say, there’s been a few times now I’ve had to get these here windows repaired.” He gestures to the large rounded glass windows behind him that face out onto Main Street. “But if they think some graffiti and broken glass is going to stop me, they don’t know the half of it.”
“Wow,” I say. “I don’t know if I would have the strength to stick it out after all that.”
“Sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until you’re tested,” he says with a wink.
If he only knew.
“So, what is it you all are planning to accomplish by coming out here?” he asks.
“Well, uh…Daisy, that’s actually what all this was just now,” I say, gesturing back to the door that Nick walked out of minutes earlier.
“Oh Lordy, just call me Luke, darling. I haven’t been Daisy Dukes in quite some time now.”
I nod. “Luke. I came back to try to find out who killed my friend.” I feel my cheeks flush at the admission, skirting over my role in Phoebe’s death. I rush to continue, before Luke can notice. “I was actually wondering if you remembered anything about her. The whole group came in here a few days before…she died.”
Scenes of that night snap through my head. Daisy Dukes crooning at the microphone as I spun around on the dance floor.
I fumble in my pocket for my phone, pulling up a photo of me and Phoebe in Cairns, the night of the bungee jump. Happier times. I divert my eyes from it, unable to bear the pain it elicits as I hand the phone over to Luke.
He shakes his head, disappointed. “I remember the night the whole group of yous came in. It was one of the last times we were that busy. But no, I can’t recall seeing her.”
“I get it; it was a long time ago, after all,” I say, but my shoulders slump in defeat. “Thank you for all this, but I should be going,” I say, realizing how much I still need to uncover if I’m going to figure out what really happened. I move to pull my wallet from my bag, but Luke reaches his hand out to stop me.
“It’s on the house, hun.”
The kindness pricks at my eyes.
“Listen,” he says, placing his hand on mine, “you’re staying over at the Inn, right? Randy’s place?” I nod. “Are you sure you all are safe there?”
I open my mouth to answer, to assure him we’ll be fine, but I can’t. It looks like Luke is about to say something, but he seems to shrug it off. “This is just me being paranoid. I’m sure you’ll be fine, but in case you need it, here’s my number.”
He hands me a faded business card withThe Royal Hotelinscribed in dusty pink letters at the top and a jumble of numbers and email addresses below it.
“Thank you,” I say, more grateful than he can know.
I’m almost out the door when he calls after me. “Claire, just… That guy was right before. You all should be careful.”
***
My mind is buzzing by the time I return to the Inn, likely from a combination of the two drinks and everything I’ve just found out over the last hour. I feign something resembling a smile, expecting Randy to be at his usual post, but the front desk is empty. Instead, there’s a piece of computer paper taped to it, proclaiming in prickly handwriting that he will beBack by 17:00.
I breathe a small sigh and start heading to my room. I’ll use the restroom and then head out, look again for the knife. But a movement outside catches my eye. The others are draped over chairs, beers in hand, talking excitedly. I must have been so caught up in my conversation with Nick that I never saw them walk by the Royal on their way back to the Inn.
I consider joining them, telling them about my conversation with Nick. But then I remember the caginess I’ve picked up on since I arrived at Kyan’s the other day. Josh’s lies about interviewing with the AFP. And Villanueva’s veiled warning against sharing the news of Phoebe’s pregnancy.
The thought stings me.
I can’t trust them.
