“Hungry?” Lance asked Sharp. “The eggs are organic.”
“No, thanks.” Sharp shook his head. “I have good news for you.”
Frowning, Lance stirred the eggs. “About what?”
“I asked Stella and Brody to look over your mother’s house last night,” Sharp said.
“Why?” Lance transferred the eggs to two plates. He handed one to Morgan and picked up a fork.
Sharp leaned on the counter. Dark circles underscored his eyes. He’d clearly been up all night. “Because I don’t think she tried to kill herself.”
Lance paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “I’m almost afraid to ask why you think that.”
Sharp explained what he and Stella and Brody had found the night before. “Someone was in your mother’s house yesterday.”
Morgan didn’t know whether she should be relieved. Was it better if someone had tried to kill Jenny or if she’d done it herself?
“She would never let a stranger in.” Lance set down his fork, his food untouched.
“I know,” Sharp said. “Brody said he’d try to have the tests expedited. He’ll also ask the doctors to run a full drug panel on your mom. How soon did they say until you can talk to her?”
“The critical care doctor estimates about forty-eight hours,” Lance said. “I spoke to the nurse earlier this morning. There’s been no change in her condition.”
“I’m glad she’s in ICU,” Sharp said. “The regular floors are too accessible.”
A chill zipped across Morgan’s skin. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
“I have to stay with her.” Lance dumped his plate on the counter and moved toward the kitchen doorway. “If someone tried to kill her, there must be a reason, which means they’ll try again when they learn they weren’t successful.”
Sharp raised a stop hand and stepped in front of Lance, blocking his path. “I’ve already got your mom covered. Brody’s girl, Hannah, is already in the ICU, sitting by your mom’s bed.”
“Hannah Barrett?” Lance tried to get around him.
“That’s Mac’s sister,” Morgan said. “I would trust her.”
“Yes. Brody says Hannah can handle it.” Sharp put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We need to find out who did this. That’s the only way your mom is ever going to be safe.”
“You’re right, but where do we go from here?” Lance rubbed his eyes. “Nothing makes sense.”
“But we’re clearly making someone nervous,” Sharp pointed out. “Let’s see if we can poke a few more badgers. I’d like to look at your mother’s recent e-mail and phone activity. I can’t imagine her just opening the door to a stranger.”
“Unless they called her first,” Lance finished the thought. “I just gave that information to the sheriff. I’ll write her account log-ins down for you.”
“I have to get dressed.” Morgan turned toward the bedroom. “I wish we could confirm Crystal’s death wasn’t a suicide. I’d like more evidence than our gut feelings.”
“This is when not being a cop makes the job tough.” Sharp pushed off the counter and paced in a circle. “The official autopsy results might not be issued for months.”
“We need to go through the pictures again and see if anything jumps out at us,” Morgan said.
“We’ve already looked at them.” Sharp shook his head. “What we really need is someone who has seen more homicide scenes than the three of us. My experience is more all-purpose detective. I’ve only seen a few hangings. But who can we trust with pictures we shouldn’t have? Do you think your grandfather would be willing to help?”
“I’m sure he would,” Morgan said. “He has much more experience working homicides than all of us put together. I’ll call him.”
“Call him from the Jeep,” Lance said.
“Give me two minutes.” Morgan hurried to the bedroom and dressed in the old jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing the night before. She used the second minute to brush her teeth.
She walked out of the bedroom, and Lance grabbed his keys from the counter. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll meet you at the office,” Sharp said. “Your grandfather and I can review the photos.”
“I’ll call Abigail and see if we can get into the Roadside Motel this morning,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to wait until tonight.”
They drove back to Morgan’s house. Grandpa agreed, just as Morgan expected. She changed her clothes while Lance got him ready. Muscling her grandfather in and out of the Jeep was a production, but an hour later, Sharp and Lance maneuvered his wheelchair over the threshold of Sharp Investigations.
“You called Abigail Wright?” Sharp asked.
“Yes,” Morgan said. “She said to go ahead to the motel. She called the manager and told him to let us into the storage room. She’ll meet us there as soon as she’s done with her garden club meeting.”
Leaving Grandpa and Sharp at the office, Lance and Morgan headed to the Roadside Motel.
“I expected the place to be sleazy,” he said. “But this just doesn’t fit the image of a motel owned by a little old lady who plays the organ for her church and runs the local garden club.”
The motel was a dirty-looking strip of rooms on a rural stretch of highway. There were no other buildings in sight. No doubt the location afforded privacy for guests who didn’t want their patronage made public. The sign at the edge of the parking lot read VACANCY. The office was located on the left end.
“They rent rooms by the hour. We’re going to need a shower after this,” Morgan said. “At least I’m dressed down.”
“I wish we had PPEs to zip into,” Lance agreed. “I don’t even want to think about what a spray of luminol and a black light would show in any of these rooms.”
They went into the office. A young man with a puffy neck beard sat on a high stool behind a counter watching a small TV. He slid off his stool as they walked in. “You need a room?”
“No.” Morgan shook her head. “Abigail said we could look in the storage room. She was going to call ahead.”
“Cool.” He led them through the office into a back room and unlocked a door into a small windowless chamber. He flipped a wall switch. Overhead lights illuminated a dusty space that smelled of mold. Filing cabinets lined one entire wall. A desk was pushed up against the other.
Morgan pressed a finger under her nose and stifled a sneeze.
“The old records are in the filing cabinets. They aren’t organized very well, so good luck.” The clerk left them to it.
“I’ll start on the left.” Morgan tossed her coat over the desk and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater.
Lance pulled on gloves and handed her a pair. Then he started with the cabinet on the right. He slid a file out and opened it, then checked another. He moved through two cabinets, randomly reading dates.
For the next half hour, Morgan worked her way through several drawers. “I found 1994.”
She dug through the row of files and came up with a yellowed book. “Here is August.”
Lance went to her side and peered over her shoulder as she flipped through the book, only touching the edges of the paper. Depending on conditions, fingerprints could be developed on porous surfaces like paper many years after the prints were deposited. She stopped on August tenth. The entries were written in blue pen.