Jake shook his head. “I don’t know. Cyrus did so much for this community. He donated money to food pantries and the public library. He spread a ton of his money around town every summer. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to see him dead.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might lead us in the direction of the killer?” Fitzgibbon sounded exhausted and annoyed.
“Just one thing,” Powell said, licking his chapped lips. “If you find the killer, does that mean Cyrus’s ghost will leave the motel?”
Jude wished he’d brought Cope with him to answer this question. “Not necessarily. According to what Cyrus told my husband, he’s happy here at the motel and has no plans to leave.”
A look of relief spread over Powell’s face. “That’s good to hear. I make a ton of money every year renting that room. People come from all over to sleep in the murder room in hopes that Cyrus will try to communicate with them. I also have a lot of ghost hunters who pay more than the going rate to investigate the haunting. With Cyrus and his money gone, these rentals help keep the motel running.”
“And this has nothing to do with shiny new Mercedes parked around back, right?” Ronan asked, raising a quizzical brow.
“Cyrus is money, Detective O’Mara,” Powell said simply. “I won’t be shamed over that. His death is a tragedy, but his spirit keeps food on my table.”
“Thanks, Powell,” Jude said. “If you think of anything else before we check out in the morning, let us know.”
As they headed out of the office, Jude’s thoughts turned to Chet Hines. Powell intimated that no one in Old Orchard would be stupid enough to kill their cash cow. He tended to agree with that line of thought. Affairs of the heart, however, were another matter. Hines could have unintentionally killed Cyrus in a fit of passion. He wouldn’t have been thinking of how Cyrus’s moneybenefited the community. His only thoughts would have been about revenge.
Jude couldn’t wait to confront the man with his lies.
16
Cope
Listening to Jude tell the story of his interview with Jake Powell only served to frustrate Cope more. They were leaving the hotel in less than twenty-four hours, and if something didn’t break soon, they’d go back to Salem without having found justice for Cyrus Longfellow.
“Cyrus? Are you here?” Cope called out, startling Jude.
“Are you sure speaking to Cyrus is a good idea?” Jude asked.
“We’ll see,” Cope said, reaching out to Cyrus with his gift. This could be his last chance to get the spirit to see reason when it came to identifying his killer.
“You rang!” Cyrus said and laughed.
“He’s here,” Cope said to Jude. “I did. How are you?”
“I’m dead, Cope.” Cyrus laughed again. “You’ve all been busy little beavers trying to solve my murder. Let me guess, you’ve got bupkis.”
“Less than bupkis, actually,” Cope muttered. “Did you pay someone to kill you?”
“What? No!” Cyrus shouted. “I loved my life. I had everything I ever wanted. Why the hell would I want to give my life up?”
“People do strange things.” Cope filled Jude in on the conversation. “Baked Alaska told us that you and Chet Hines got into an argument at the club the night you were murdered.”
“Yeah, we did. He wanted more than I could give. Simple as that. He wanted to tie me down, and not in a good way. I wasn’t intothat. Why fuck one man for the rest of my life when I could fuck them all?”
“I absolutely get where you’re coming from. You were under no obligation to live the life someone else wanted for you if you didn’t want it for yourself.” Cope paused. There was only one card left to play. “Your mother called to speak with us the other night.”
“Shewhat?” Cyrus wore an incredulous look. “I’m guessing that Jake Powell told her all about Chet Hines’ plan to solve my murder, and she told you guys not to bother.”
“Actually, that’s not what she wanted to tell us,” Cope said, feeling a drop of sunshine. Maybe Cyrus’s love for his mother would convince him to talk.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did she want?” Cyrus wore a nervous look, as if he were afraid of his mother chastising him from beyond the grave.
“I’ve got some bad news, Cyrus,” Cope began. He didn’t quite know how to tell Cyrus about his mother’s cancer.
“Did Jake sell the motel to my mother?” Cyrus sounded lower than Cope had ever heard him. “She’d bulldoze this place to smithereens and build a giant luxury hotel here. Anything to make money.”
Cope shook his head. “No, your mother didn’t buy the hotel. She’s sick, Cyrus.”
