“The food here’s amazing,” Jesse said. “It looks like we have some competition.”

  “Nothing beats your pesto pasta,” Simona said.

  “It is a secret recipe,” Jesse said.

  “All your recipes seem to be secret,” Jack said. “So I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” I said innocently.

  “Simona and I, we’re uh…”

  “That’s great,” Jesse said. “How long has it been?”

  “It’s new,” Simona said. “We didn’t want to jinx it. It doesn’t go against the employee policies, right? I checked and⁠—”

  “It’s cool,” Jesse said.

  “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else,” Jack said.

  “Mum’s the word,” I said. “I know you guys are busy, but I’d like to talk to you when you get a chance.”

  “About what happened at the Wildflower Inn?” Simona asked in a hushed tone.

  Jesse nodded.

  “Sure. I think I can join once you’re done with your meal. Just enjoy.”

  Simona and Jack left us to finish lunch. I had already gotten my fill of food, but dessert was coming. Between trying to investigate this murder and this non-date with Jesse, I was feeling all tangled up inside. The way he looked at me made me feel like there was something printed on my forehead. I felt so embarrassed; his eyes were piercing into me like he could see every thought in my head. I knew I was just being self-conscious, but maybe I wasn’t imagining things?

  Jesse leaned in closer. “You know, Sophie, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

  I looked up, meeting his warm gaze. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

  “I’ve decided that I’m going to challenge you to a pasta cook-off.” Jesse sat back with a grin. "We need to keep busy to pass the time at the inn."

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, I don’t even know if I can boil a pot of water. I think you’ll win by default.”

  “Cards then? Go Fish tonight?”

  “That seems less dangerous.” I smiled back. “Deal.”

  I almost thought he was about to confess his undying love for me or something like that. I was so silly. But there was a part of me that couldn’t help but wonder. What if Jesse did have feelings for me? What if I had feelings for him too? It was a strange thought, especially with everything else going on. But for now, I pushed it to the back of my mind and focused on finishing my meal.

  Since the lunchtime rush took so long, Jesse and I ended up having a two-hour meal. We had dessert, the tiramisu, a creamy, coffee-flavored dessert served with a dusting of cocoa powder on top. As I took my first bite, I closed my eyes and savored the rich, smooth flavors. Then we had coffee. The beans were from Italy, the best coffee I’ve ever drunk. It was the perfect end to a delicious lunch. I was bursting at the seams.

  “I’m glad we came here,” Jesse said.

  “Me too,” I replied.

  “We should do it more often.”

  “Hey guys, how was your lunch?” Mariana came by to ask.

  “It was great,” Jesse replied, before asking for the check. I started reaching for my wallet, but he waved me away, seeming almost offended that I was offering to pay my portion.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We’d almost forgotten why we came: to question Simona.

  After our table was cleared, the restaurant was also starting to clear of the lunchtime crowd. We headed over to the bar where Jack was making drinks for the remaining patrons. Simona was leaning against the counter, taking a breather.

  “Hey,” Simona said. “How’s it going at the inn anyway? Is it going to open up anytime soon?”

  “We’re hoping it can, but it’s up to the police,” Jesse said. “And what they can find.”

  Simona’s face fell. “Oh, right,” she said, her tone serious. “That whole thing was just so weird. I still can’t believe it happened.”

  “I know, it’s crazy,” Jesse said, nodding in agreement.

  “Do you remember seeing anything strange before or during the day Caleb was found?” I asked.

  “Just what I told the police. I didn’t really see or hear anything,” she said. “I was just cleaning the rooms and making sure my team did.”

  “Have you ever spoken to Caleb?” I asked.

  “No, not really. I’ve been inside his room. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary either.”

  “Did you see him speak to anyone else?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “What about anything out of the ordinary in general?” I pressed. “Anything at all.”

  Simona thought about it. “Well, towards the end of the night, I did notice something weird.”

  “What was it?” I asked, feeling my heart rate increase.

  “I saw a man wearing a hat outside when I was cleaning one of the rooms,” Simona said. “It was overlooking the front of the building, not the back gardens. I just thought he had a very old-fashioned hat, in this unusual blue color. Kind of a dark azure. He was talking to someone. I couldn’t really see who. The other man was partially obscured, but it could’ve been Caleb. But then again, it could’ve been anyone.”

  “Do you remember what time this was?” I asked.

  Simona shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t. It was after lunchtime, though. I thought the two men were having a little tiff. The man in the hat seemed to be speaking in a stern voice. I didn’t hear what either of them were saying. I was just focused on the hat because it seemed a little old-fashioned.”

  “Interesting. Did you see anything else?” I asked. “What the guy looked like? What he was wearing?”

  “I can’t recall. Maybe a dress shirt and pants, but I can’t remember the colors. Neutrals. He seemed sort of formal. That’s about it. I didn’t see or hear anything else unusual.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  When Jack was free, we asked him the same questions. He also didn’t interact with Caleb, but he did see the man in the hat that Simona described.

  “Yeah, I did see a man like that. He was wearing a suit and a hat, like the ones they wore in the ’40s. I couldn’t see his face because he had his back towards me, but I remembered he was smoking a cigar. I thought it was strange because I rarely see people smoke cigars. I guess he was pretty old-fashioned.”

  “Did you see anyone else around?” I asked.

  “I think he was talking to someone, but I was just walking past them on my way to work, so I didn’t pay attention. There are eccentric guests here all the time.”

  This man in the hat and suit—I would’ve remembered a guest like that. Even a patron to the restaurant or a guest at one of the wine tasting events we held. Why hadn’t this man enter the inn?

  Mariana had her arms crossed, shooting annoyed glances at me as she watched us chat up Jack and Simona. We had to wrap it up. I thanked them both for their help and promised to keep them updated when the inn opened again.

  I felt a sense of unease settle over me. Who was the man in the suit and hat? And who had he been talking to? Jesse opened the door for me, and I stepped out of the restaurant. These were questions that needed answers, and I was determined to find them.

  CHAPTER 12

  Alone in my bedroom, I sank back into the pillows against the headboard, mulling over the recent events. Jesse and I managed to uncover some new information from Simona and Jack. The description of the hat man they gave was peculiar, yet his connection to Caleb’s murder seemed tenuous at best. It might have been nothing at all.

  Just as I was about to groan in frustration, a knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.

  I opened it to find Max standing there, his eyes tired, hair disheveled. Despite the smile on his face, it seemed a bit strained, as if maintaining it required more effort than usual.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.

  “Not at all.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you about something in private.”

  “Would you like to come in?” I asked.

  He stepped into my bedroom, and I closed the door behind him. We both stood in silence for a moment, taking in the sight of each other.

  After what felt like an eternity of silence, I spoke up.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “Well, I did receive some news. Good news, but unsettling.”

  “Oh?” I stepped towards him in anticipation.

  “The police arrested a suspect in another crime, and they think he could’ve been Caleb’s murderer.”

  I gasped. “What? Who is it?”

  “A local in town named Paul Davis. He was arrested for beating and choking his wife. She’s not dead, thankfully, but close to it.”

  “My goodness,” I exclaimed.

  “She’s in the hospital, barely conscious. If the neighbors hadn’t heard her scream and called the police, who knows what he would’ve done.”

  My heart sank. Poor woman. Domestic violence wasn’t something I had considered in connection with Caleb’s murder.

  “Was this Paul Davis at the inn recently?”

  “He buys wine here all the time, and we have a receipt of him buying wine on the morning of Caleb’s murder.”

  “Okay,” I said, mulling this over.

  Max shifted from one foot to another. “The police are saying that this could be the breakthrough they need in the Caleb case….” His voice trailed off as he noticed my expression darken.

  Peering out the window, my mind buzzed with questions. Was it possible this Paul Davis was really responsible for Caleb’s death? And if so, what could have been his motive? The police seemed to tie him to Caleb’s death through the similarity that both involved choking.

  But I couldn’t shake this feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right. There had to be more to the story.

  “How old are Paul and his wife?”

  “Both around late twenties,” Max said.

  “Maybe Paul would have a motive in killing Caleb if he was, say, having an affair with his wife, but Caleb’s too old.”

  Max shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  This definitely didn’t feel right in my gut.

  “The police say we can open the inn again,” Max said with a weary but genuine smile.

  “That’s great,” I said flatly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just trying to… process everything.”

  Max nodded but didn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know I’m here. The workday is ending, I’ll let everyone rest today, but tomorrow, we can start calling the guests at the other inns to let them know it’s safe to come back.”

  Is it really safe, though? I wondered.

  “Good. Great. It is great news.” I tried to convince Max, and myself.

  I had to talk to Detective Connor.

  Max turned to leave but lingered at the door. “It’s up to the police to make the connection.”

  Did he sound skeptical too?

  “Right. They’re the professionals,” I said.

  “Hey, I heard you went to lunch with Jesse,” Max said.

  I felt a twinge of discomfort as I nodded. “Yeah. We went to La Bella Vita.”

  Max looked a little tense. “Jesse seemed to really have enjoyed it.”

  I was reminded that we had talked to Simona and Jack, and what they had told us.

  “By the way, what does Paul Davis look like?” I asked Max.

  “Like I said, he’s in his late twenties. Usually walks around town with a scruffy beard and one of his metal band T-shirts. On the shorter side. Pudgy. You’ve seen him?”

  I shook my head. “So he’s definitely not someone who would be wearing a suit?”

  “Like a tailored suit?”

  “Maybe from the ’40s or ’50s? With a fedora?”

  Max furrowed his brow. “That sounds pretty specific. Why do you ask?”

  I took a deep breath and explained what Simona and Jack had said at lunch, about the man in the suit and hat who had been hanging around outside the inn.

  “That’s definitely not Paul Davis,” Max said. “He’s nothing like that.”

  “Right,” I said. “But who is this man in the suit? And why was he here that day? The same day Caleb was murdered.”

  Max absentmindedly glanced at the photos on the wall. He stepped inside again and pointed to the main photograph of the Reynolds family.

  “Are you talking about this kind of suit?” He was pointing to the patriarch of the family.

  I stood up to examine the photos on the gallery wall closely. The man in the photo, Mr. Reynolds, was indeed wearing a suit with a fedora. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Well, Mr. Reynolds must have passed by now. His children are in retirement age.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I’ve heard rumors that the Reynolds family was involved in some shady business dealings. Some people even say they were connected to organized crime.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “I didn’t know until after we bought the business. It was just rumors I heard around town though. Nothing was ever proven. I didn’t want our inn to be associated with any of those rumors, so I didn’t spread that gossip to the staff.”

  “That’s understandable. But are you saying that this mystery man might be connected to the Reynolds family?” I asked. “Or even part of the Reynolds family?”

  “We don’t want to jump to any conclusions without more evidence,”he said. “After all, the police did arrest a suspect.”

  “Maybe it’s the ghost of Mr. Reynolds,” I joked.

  Max laughed, but we both looked at his picture again in contemplative silence.

  “It may be flimsy,” Max said, “but it’s something we can look into.”

  We looked at each other. I nodded. “Let’s start by looking into the Reynolds family history. Maybe we can find some connections to this mystery man.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Although I wanted to play cards with Jesse, both of us had pressing matters to attend to. Max and I decided to kick off our investigation by searching the internet. Meanwhile, Stella needed Jesse’s help to bottle and label a fresh batch of her famous blueberry jams for sale. They needed to make up for the lost income at the inn.

  In Max’s cozy office, it was just the two of us, heads bent over our laptops, digging for clues and leads. Side by side, we scoured ancestry databases, local history forums, and genealogy blogs, searching for anyone who might have connections to the Reynolds family. Unfortunately, none of those places led me to anything, given the multitude of people named Reynolds.

  Turning to Facebook, I looked for anyone who might have worked for the Wildflower Inn. Eventually, I got a lead from a woman named Beth Greene, who had once briefly worked as a receptionist when the Reynolds offspring, Stephen and Beatrice, were in charge. In her profile picture, Beth appeared to be a beaming grandmother of five.

  I messaged her. She was online and responded promptly. Beth was more than happy to connect us with a former employee who had worked there longer. When she asked about our research, I explained that it was for the history of the inn for marketing purposes—a good enough reason for her to direct us to a former colleague, likely just a Facebook friend to Beth nowadays.

  Clark Higgins, a retired head waiter from our inn, now living two towns over, agreed to meet at a greasy spoon diner close to his house that evening. He gave us directions to a small town called Woodbury.

  The drive took an hour, but the lovely scenery during sunset and Max’s company made it enjoyable. Woodbury, although smaller than Sierra Hills, had a similarly captivating charm. We passed the downtown area with mom-and-pop shops and cozy cafes, and I made mental notes of places to explore when I got my own car. The heart of the town was marked by a beautiful fountain, surrounded by benches where locals probably gathered and socialized on sunny days.

  We parked in front of the diner, the neon sign flickering above us. As soon as we walked through the door, I was hit by the enticing smell of burgers. The hostess led us to a back booth where we found Clark doing the crossword in the newspaper. A warm smile spread across his face as he stood up to greet us with a firm handshake.

  “I’m glad you could meet with us, Mr. Higgins,” Max said.

  “Please, call me Clark,” he replied with a kind smile. “Aren’t you a fine young couple.”

  Max and I exchanged a look, and we laughed awkwardly, choosing not to correct him. His assumption could work in our favor.

  We exchanged pleasantries, surrounded by the comforting chatter of other patrons. Clark and Max only had pie, while I indulged in a burger and a chocolate milkshake.

  Clark shared stories about his retired life, spending most days perfecting his golf swing and volunteering at the local community center. We listened patiently even though we were eager to learn about his time with the Reynolds family. However, we let him talk, to make him feel comfortable with us.

  After finishing my burger, I finally asked him the real reason we were there. “Have you heard any stories or rumors when you worked at the Wildflower Inn?”

  “So, you want to know about the Reynolds family, eh? What is this for, exactly?”

  I had a whole story prepared about research for a marketing campaign promoting the inn’s legacy history, but looking into his eyes, I decided to be honest.

  We explained the mysterious death of one of our guests and our efforts to uncover information about the Reynolds family, known for shady business dealings. The two might be connected.

  As Clark’s eyes widened, he leaned in closer to us, his curiosity and hesitation evident. After a brief moment, Clark finally spoke up.

  “I heard things,” he said. “But I wasn’t one for gossip. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Beatrice and Stephen did have some financial trouble at some point, but the staff always got paid.”

  He paused, thinking, and then added, “But I might have some information that could help.”

  Max and I exchanged a look, wondering what it could be. Max insisted on paying for the meal, and Clark gave us directions to his house on the outskirts of town, although we had no trouble following his car in ours.