Brandt ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Did you remove the book?”

  Ash shook his head. “Like I said, I opened Clay Wheaton’s door, stepped in to check on him and called you. When I looked at the exit door again while I was waiting for you, it was closed and the book was gone.”

  “So it’s possible the killer was still in the hotel and exited when you were busy in Wheaton’s room,” he said. Had the killer brought the book to prop the door open, which would indicate the killer had used the fire escape before? Brandt thought of the books on the shelves down the hall from Clay Wheaton’s room. “Do you know if the book could have come from the fourth-floor lounge area bookcase?”

  “Could be. Guests are encouraged to take a book and leave a book, so I never know what’s there.”

  The sheriff frowned in thought for a moment. If the book had come from down the hall, then the killer hadn’t used it to prop the door open—his accomplice had. “Who are your other guests?” He’d seen a sedan parked out front. Nothing went unnoticed in Fortune Creek.

  “An older couple. Toby and Irene Thompson from North Carolina.”

  He made a mental note to ask them about the book, before returning his questioning to the dummy. “The killer could have taken the puppet or hidden it in the hotel planning to come back for it. What time does Kitty come in to clean the rooms?”

  “Should be along soon. You want her to help look?”

  Brandt nodded. “For the dummy and the book. Tell her not to touch either if she finds them.”

  “She just has 402 to clean until you release 401 once your investigation is done, so I’ll tell her.” Fortune Creek didn’t get a lot of tourists except in the summer. Things would pick up come Memorial Day then die off again after Labor Day—except when ranch hands came into town to kick up their boots. Often they’d stay at the hotel until they sobered up. Unfortunately, what happened in Fortune Creek, seldom stayed in Fortune Creek.

  Brandt thanked his friend and headed up the stairs. He found his deputy interviewing the only other hotel guests from last night—the elderly couple who’d been in the room closest to Clay Wheaton’s.

  “Here’s the sheriff now,” Deputy Jaden Montgomery said and motioned Brandt over. “These people have some information for you, Sheriff. They were in the room next to the exit and just across from Wheaton’s.”

  “Why don’t we go down the hall to the lounge,” the sheriff suggested. The four rooms were divided by a small sitting area. Once they were all seated in the alcove, deep in the overstuffed chairs, he pulled out his notebook and pen and took down their names.

  Toby and Irene Thompson were a cherub-cute couple, chubby pink cheeked, bright eyed and quite animated. They wore matching T-shirts. His read, She’s My Sweet Potato and hers, I Yam.

  “You saw something last night?” the sheriff asked hoping they did have some information that would help with the case.

  “Not saw,” said Toby. “Heard.”

  Irene nodded, eyes widening.

  Toby continued, with Irene adding her two cents after him, giving Brandt the impression that they always finished each other’s sentences. “We heard a loud thud.”

  “Like a body hitting the floor.”

  “Then nothing.”

  “We’d gone to bed,” Irene said.

  “I was already asleep. Doesn’t take much to knock me out.”

  “I was reading, just dozing off when I heard singing.” She shivered and hugged herself.

  “Irene woke me up.”

  “The singing was chilling, so sad sounding.”

  “Melancholy,” Toby agreed.

  “Then this morning we found out that he’d been...” She lowered her voice. “A ventriloquist.”

  “It finally made sense, the other sounds we’d heard like there were two people over there in that room.”

  “Which was odd because we knew there was only an elderly gentleman,” she said.

  Brandt chuckled to himself—the couple, who he suspected were about the same age or older than Wheaton, referring to the deceased as an elderly gentleman. Do we ever see ourselves as we really are? he wondered. Doubtful, he thought and reined in his thoughts.

  Toby was saying, “We’d seen him a couple of times.”

  “Only when the housekeeper knocked on his door,” she said nodding.

  “Did you see anyone go into his room other than the housekeeper?” the sheriff asked.

  “He never let her in, just took his towels and thanked her,” Irene said. “Seemed like a nice enough man.”

  “Did you hear anyone on the fire escape last night?”

  Toby shook his head.

  “He uses a CPAP to prevent snoring so wouldn’t have heard anything. But I heard someone coming up the stairs and then a knock at the ventriloquist’s door. The door opened—the person went in. But, before you ask, I didn’t see any of the men who came up the fire escape stairs.”

  “There were more than one? Two?” She nodded, but didn’t look sure. “There could have been three people.”

  Brandt rubbed his neck, wondering if he should take any of this seriously. “You could tell by the sound of their footfalls on the metal fire escape they were male? How can you be sure none were female?”

  Irene again didn’t look quite as sure now. “I heard one person coming up the stairs. The second person was following the first but not closely. I’d say the first was definitely a male, heavy footfalls. The second...” She considered. “Maybe a male who was sneaking up, same when he left much later after the first one. Either he came back or someone else did, both quietly. That exit door makes a kind of swishing sound when anyone enters or leaves.”

  “Wait,” the sheriff said. “Let me get this straight. You heard two people for sure? Close to the same time? Like they were together? But possibly a third?” She nodded. He thought of the book still propping the door open when Ash had come up to check on Clay Wheaton. “Did you hear the door close both times?” She shook her head. “The last time someone left by way of the fire escape stairs, was it before the hotel owner came up to check on Mr. Wheaton or after?”

  “After,” Irene said empathically.

  That could explain why the book was in the door when Ash came upstairs, but gone after he found Clay Wheaton dead. “Did either of you use the fire escape stairs?” They both shook their heads in unison. “Did you ever see a book that was used to keep the exit door from closing and locking from the outside?” Another no.

  “Irene probably didn’t hear the door close behind the last one because of the dummy singing,” Toby suggested.

  She shook her head. “The singing was much later after the thud we heard and after I heard the first person leave by way of the fire exit. I heard the second one go, and then I heard someone come up the stairs. Then the singing started. I’m not sure I heard the person leave after that.”

  Brandt’s head had begun to ache as he tried to make sense of what the woman might—or might not—have heard. Flawed recall was a problem.

  Irene heard one individual come up the fire escape, then another one, quieter. Both went back down the same way, the second one later than the first. Then who had come back up and why? Did that mean that one of the suspects had been hiding in the hotel? Had that person used the book to prop open the exit door so the killer could enter? But who had removed it while the deputy was in Clay Wheaton’s room?

  The sheriff had too many questions and few answers at this point. He had to nail down times, if possible. “Okay, about what time did you hear the thud?”

  “Nine twenty-one.”

  He glanced up from his notebook. “How can you be that precise, Mr. Thompson?”

  “Toby, please. I set the alarm on my phone and noticed the time.”

  “He is very precise,” Irene said.

  “I was an engineer.”

  “He built bridges, had to be precise. I quilt so I also have to be precise.”

  “Okay, what time did the singing start?” Brandt asked, fighting to keep a straight face since these two were a kick.

  “Much later.” Irene made a face.

  “Nine fifty-two,” Toby said. “I looked at my watch.”

  Brandt looked at Irene. “That was after the two of the visitors had left by way of the fire escape stairs? That’s when the singing began?”

  She nodded. “It was...haunting. Almost childlike.”

  “We knew we were never going to get any sleep with that singing.”

  “So Toby, you called down to the desk,” Brandt said. That’s when Ash had gone up to Clay Wheaton’s room and found the man dead. “You’re sure of the time?”

  They both nodded, their expressions emphatic.

  “Did you hear anyone come or go from the room during that time?” he asked.

  “After the thud,” Irene said. “Nothing until the singing started.”

  “Which is why we thought he was all right,” Toby said.

  “Neither of you went into Mr. Wheaton’s room?” he asked. Both shook their heads. “Did either of you see his dummy, the doll he used for his act?” More adamant shakes of the heads.

  Ash had stayed outside Wheaton’s room until Brandt arrived with the coroner so no one had entered or left the room. “I appreciate your time and your help,” he told the two witnesses, although he had no idea what to make of what they’d told him. They appeared to be very credible. So how did he explain what they’d thought they’d heard?

  “Do you have the time of death?” Toby asked.

  “Not yet.” But Clay Wheaton had been wearing a smart watch. When he’d hit the floor, at 9:21 p.m., the watch had asked if he’d fallen. He hadn’t responded. The watch, programmed to call for help, did so after asking a second time if he was okay and getting no answer. The 911 operator had called Brandt at 9:25 p.m. to notify him.

  He’d then called the hotel, talked to Ash, who called upstairs at 9:30 p.m. A man answered the phone. Ash asked if everything was all right. The male guest indicated it was. Ash had said it had sounded as if the elderly male guest had been sleeping because his voice was different. It wasn’t until he’d gotten the call from Toby Thompson about the singing disturbing their sleep that he went up to the room and found Clay Wheaton dead.

  The times checked out. So how was it possible the couple had heard the dummy start singing at 9:52 p.m.—twenty-two minutes after the ventriloquist died? Someone had answered the phone in Clay Wheaton’s room at 9:30 p.m. but it couldn’t have been him. The singing started at 9:52 p.m. Brandt didn’t have an answer for that.

  He started to close his notebook when Toby said, “I went online this morning.”

  “After hearing that the gentleman was a ventriloquist,” Irene said.

  “We watched one of his shows.” They both fell silent for a moment.

  “It was the doll singing that we heard,” Irene whispered and hugged herself.

  “No doubt about it,” Toby said.

  “After he died, his puppet sang as if...in mourning.” Irene’s eyes filled.

  “I’m sure there is a logical explanation,” the sheriff said. The Thompsons seemed to be anxiously waiting for him to supply it. He closed his notebook. “The investigation into his death is only just beginning.”

  “Murder,” Irene said.

  “Yes,” Brandt said and looked to where his deputy was standing, looking sheepish. There was no keeping a lid on any of this. The murder was more interesting because of what the victim did for a living. Add what these two swore they’d heard... “Thank you for your time. I hope this didn’t spoil your visit here in Fortune Creek.”

  As he walked back down the hall, he noticed that the Thompsons’ bags were packed. He wondered if they’d cut their visit short because of the murder. He hoped not. Ash could use all the guests he could get if he hoped to keep the hotel doors open.

  * * *

  DEPUTY JADEN MONTGOMERY watched the sheriff coming down the hall toward him, wondering what Brandt had made of the old couple’s story. It had given him chills. Then again everything about this old hotel did that to him—not that he was about to admit it to Brandt.

  But the case? He was fascinated by all of it. Murder was so rare here that when he’d become a deputy, he’d never thought he’d get a chance to be part of this kind of investigation. Add in a ventriloquist and a missing dummy; he couldn’t have been more intrigued.

  As they ducked under the crime scene tape and closed the door of room 401 behind them, the sheriff looked around the room and asked, “Still no sign of the dummy?”

  Jaden shook his head. “I thoroughly searched the room after the crime techs out of Kalispell gave me the all-clear.” The sheriff had called for a state forensics team last night. The techs had arrived before the sun came up. “The dummy’s not here. Thought it might be in the man’s suitcase, but I only found clothing.”

  There was a large stain on the carpet near the bed and a battered valise by the door, but otherwise, the room looked unoccupied. He watched the sheriff pull on gloves and check the closet and bureau drawers. Empty, just as Jaden had found. Clay Wheaton must have either packed to leave the next morning or he’d never unpacked.

  The sheriff swore under his breath. “Unless the killer took the time to hide the dummy in the hotel...” That seemed improbable given what the Thompsons had told them. They would have heard the person going up and down the hall—let alone if they had used the elevator. It was more probable that the killer took the dummy with him when he left by way of the fire escape stairs.

  “Could have been a woman,” Jaden said. “Shot the way he was, a woman could have pulled the trigger. Would have had to have had a suppressor on the gun though. Don’t see a lot of those.”

  The sheriff looked at him and smiled. “Seems you’ve given this some thought.” He nodded. “Nothing looks out of place to you?”

  “You bagged the note the man had left with the two names and numbers he’d left to call. But the pen he’d used and the rest of the hotel stationery are missing and I can’t find Wheaton’s keys for his pickup parked out back either—not counting the missing dummy.”

  “You’re sure the crime techs didn’t find them?”

  “They wondered about the missing objects as well.”

  The sheriff’s cell phone rang. Jaden stepped away, but he’d overheard the gist of the conversation right up to the curse that left Brandt’s lips as he hung up. He guessed the news hadn’t been good.

  “We’ve got time of death,” Brandt said.

  Jaden had arrived at the crime scene right behind Brandt. He’d seen the body. He didn’t need the coroner to tell him that the deceased had died brutally and no doubt quickly. A bullet to the back of the skull and into the brain would do that.

  “9:21 p.m.,” the sheriff said and shook his head. “Clay Wheaton had been unresponsive at 9:21 p.m. Coroner said he would have died instantly because of the angle of the gunshot. Yet someone answered the phone at 9:30 p.m. in this room and it wasn’t Clay Wheaton.”

  Jaden glanced around the room. “Had to be the killer, but why stay so long in the room?” He felt Brandt’s gaze on him. “Unless the killer was looking for the dummy and then the dummy started singing and he didn’t know how to shut it up.” He could feel the sheriff’s gaze on him. “Clay Wheaton was the one who threw his voice not the dummy.”

  Jaden had to grin. “Then how is it possible that the couple across the hall heard the dummy singing after Clay was dead?”

  The sheriff groaned. “Don’t get me started.”

  “If the killer was also a ventriloquist, he would know how to throw his voice. Also the couple across the hallway swore it was Rowdy’s voice they heard.”

  “The dummy wasn’t singing after Wheaton died.” The sheriff said it in a way that meant it was the last he wanted to hear anything different.

  Jaden nodded. “Not singing.”

  Brandt gave him a warning look. “I don’t want this foolhardy theory getting spread around.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Really? So how did the Thompsons know it was a murder?”

  “They’re a smart couple,” Jaden said. “Crime techs combing the room, the yellow tape on the door—I think they figured it out.”

  The sheriff looked contrite. “Sorry. You’re right. I had hoped to keep the lid on this as long as possible.”

  “You forget where we live? In this part of Montana where nothing happens of much interest, even the birth of a calf is news.” It wasn’t quite that bad. But Fortune Creek was so small that little went unnoticed. Didn’t help that everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  “The killer must have been looking for the dummy and that’s why he was in the room so long,” Brandt said. “Period.”

  Jaden didn’t dare look at the sheriff, let alone mention the singing again. “Right. In theory, we find Rowdy, we find the killer.”

  “Maybe,” Brandt said. “Also keep your eye out for an old paperback copy of East of Eden. It might have been discarded somewhere on the grounds. It was used to prop the door open on this floor’s fire escape exit. Bag it for prints if you find it. Also, there’s a couple of women on their way to Fortune Creek who are very interested in Rowdy’s whereabouts. It won’t take much to turn this case into a rodeo if we haven’t found that dummy before they get here.”

  “I just heard that Kitty is on her way,” the deputy said checking his phone.

  “Good. Get her to help you search this hotel for that damned doll and if you discover that paperback just lying around—”

  “Right, don’t touch it. Bag it as possible evidence.” Jaden smiled.

  “I’m going to check Wheaton’s pickup,” Brandt said. “Strange his keys are also missing, but the pickup is still out there. The coroner said they weren’t with the body either.”