Page 93 of Secrets in the Dark
“We have a little room but we don’t keep cleaning supplies in it. Mr. Woodridge has his office there.”
Mark frowned suddenly. “Wait. You think this man might be hiding in this store? I’m telling you, that’s not possible. We have cameras. There’s even an alarm on Mr. Woodridge’s computer. No one could come in and out of here. I promise. Oh, and he can be a hard case as a boss, but he’s also good to employees who work hard and—no pun intended—meet the mark.” He grinned at her. “In other words, Mr. Woodridge isn’t a crazed killer.”
“We don’t suspect that he is,” Della said. “But I’d still like to see his office, if it’s possible. What I’m looking for is structure.”
“Um, okay. Let’s head on down!”
He called to another young woman who was working, indicating that he was going below. She frowned and then shrugged.
The stairs were toward the rear of the shop—wooden stairs that had probably been there for years and years.
This cellar contained row after row of clothing hanging from racks, shelves with sweaters and more still in plastic wrap, and more shelves filled with shoeboxes.
But the shop didn’t lack cleaning supplies—they were just kept to the far right in a little nook.
A door led to a room...
A room placed just as the supply rooms in the candy shop and the pub.
Mark opened the door for her. Mr. Woodridge kept a neat office. His laptop was large and closed, his desk was shiny wood—and the security cameras in the room were clearly visible. There were three chairs that could be drawn up to the desk and fine wooden filing cabinets to round out the furniture.
“Just an office,” Mark said.
“Yes, just an office.”
An office—with the same paneling she had seen in the other shops.
But that was all she needed for now.
She thanked him sincerely, gave him her business card and told him that she might see him again.
“I do hope so!” he told her.
She smiled.
“I mean, only in a good way. I would help. I know that Mr. Woodridge would help. I mean, I’ll tell him about you being here—I’m supposed to, right?”
“Yes, of course, please tell him. I believe he’ll be hearing from the British authorities—they may be asking for his help. And thank you again.”
Della left the shop, anxious to reach the others and tell them what she had discovered—and what she thought it might be.
No, the shop owners and managers weren’t helping the killer.
They were clueless. But that long-ago murderer Lucretia Mayberry had told her about might well have paved the way for their current killer.
She headed across to the house, carefully looking around before keying in the alarm, then heading on in and resetting it.
“Hello!” she called.
No one replied. She was the first one back. Anxiously, she looked at her phone, hoping that maybe Lucretia had called her and she’d missed it. No such luck. But as she looked at it, her phone rang. She smiled. Not Lucretia.
Mason.
“I’m here, I’m fine, I’m safe—I’m in the house.”
“I’m almost there. Sorry, just...”
“It’s okay. I like to check up on you, too. And, of course, anyone we’re working with.”
