Page 22 of Is Anyone Listening?
"So can I talk to you about New York?"
"Of course," I replied.
For the next half hour, Sophie asked us a million questions about which neighborhoods were the most fun for twenty-somethings, what the dating scene was like, how easy or hard it was to get a job, and whether the subway was safe to use.
I didn't want to discourage her with our unemployment, and Tessa didn't seem inclined to bring that up, either. Instead, we focused on how exciting it was to live in such a vibrant big city.
When Sophie finally ran out of questions, I decided it was our turn to get some information.
Clearing my throat, I said, "Sophie, when we were at the library looking for information on the inn, we couldn't help noticing that there were reports of other women disappearing after staying at the inn. One was only three months ago. Her name was Jessica Trent."
"Yeah. It's best not to talk about that here," she said, tipping her head toward the growing crowd around the bar. "It's a sensitive subject."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because the locals don't like the rumors and the bad press. We have enough trouble drawing tourists, and stories like that don't help."
"It is concerning, though," Tessa said. "Two women in the last year have vanished after staying at the inn. Do the employees talk about that?"
"Oh, no. Ellen wouldn’t allow it. When the sheriff came to ask questions, she sat in on every meeting."
"That makes her seem like she's complicit," I said.
"Definitely not," Sophie said. "She's just protecting her business. Mrs. Clarke loves her guests. The only time I ever see her smile is when she's talking to a guest. I think it's just a terrible coincidence. And Jessica hadn't left the inn. She was staying there when she decided to get out on the water on her own. That had nothing to do with the inn."
Sophie spoke with a certainty that was hard to deny. Whether it was born of ignorance or protectiveness, I couldn't say. But she definitely seemed to believe what she was saying.
"I ran into a man on the beach below the inn earlier today," I said. "He said I should be careful, that more women check into the inn than check out. I have to admit he made me wonder if we should stay there."
"Is he a good-looking, brown-haired guy?"
"Yes."
"That's Tyler Pierce. He's an architect. He's looking to develop a piece of property down the road from the inn, but he's been asking questions around town the last week or so, and that's partially why everyone is getting skittish about the subject."
"Asking questions about Natalie?" Tessa asked.
"And the other one. I guess he's concerned about remodeling a house in the area if there's something going on less than a mile away." She let out a sigh. "Does any of this matter for your book? You wouldn't include these rumors, would you? If you did, no one would want to stay there, and the inn drives a lot of our tourism."
"We're not going to put it in the book," Tessa said quickly, reassuring Sophie.
"Oh, good. I was starting to worry. I better get back to work. Thanks for all the recommendations. I still need to save a bit more cash before I can make the move, but I'm hoping by June."
"That's a big move to make by yourself," I commented.
"Cole might come with me."
"Cole?" I echoed. "The sheriff's son, the one who was just here?"
"Yeah. He's dying to get out of this town, too." Sophie got up. "How long are you staying at the inn?"
"Another few days," I said. "We haven't decided yet."
"If you're concerned about the inn not being safe, maybe you should go somewhere else. There's a really nice inn on the beach in Cork Harbor. That’s not too far from here."
"We're happy to stay at the inn," Tessa said. "We're not that concerned."
"Good, because there's nothing to be concerned about. Anyway, I'll probably see you tomorrow morning when I'll be trying not to drop any more pitchers of orange juice."
