Cold Morning by Ed Ifkovic

happened?”
    Horace glanced around the busy room. “Miss Ferber, I understand you’re a reporter looking for a story—and famous and all…”
    I was impatient. “Could you please tell me what you know?”
    Resigned, he motioned to Martha, and I followed both to a small office. He shrugged, and whispered, “If you insist…”
    â€œPlease, sir.”
    â€œThis is what we know. Cody Lee stormed away. Annabel laughed about it, talked too loudly about it as she talked about everything . She…well, she crowed —that’s the word—crowed that he was a big dummy. But then she went home.”
    â€œWhere she was strangled.”
    Martha added, “By Cody Lee Thomas.” She grasped Horace’s elbow and he looked at her.
    â€œHe admitted it?”
    She shrugged, her face tightening. She was through with the conversation. “Dunno. I assume so.” She started to back away. “We have to…”
    â€œHer roommate found her,” Horace went on. A quiver in his voice.
    â€œAnd she is?”
    â€œYou met her, I think. Peggy Crispen. The chubby waitress.” This from Martha, who rolled her eyes at Horace, who reddened. “The one who sashays around here.”
    â€œMay I speak with her?”
    Horace bit his upper lip. He cleared his throat. “She didn’t come in to work today. The shock, I guess. I mean, you come home and open the door and there is Annabel on the floor. Peggy told me that her neck was twisted….” His words trailed off.
    â€œThey were friends?” I asked.
    Martha answered. “No, just roommates, forced to room together because every room in Flemington is worth a fortune these days. I don’t think they even liked each other.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    Horace shot her a look. “Tales out of school, Martha.”
    A sarcastic grunt. “You should know.” Then, a fake smile directed at me. “Peggy is older than all of us—a decade maybe.”
    â€œBut I don’t understand your interest in all this, Miss Ferber.” Horace glanced toward the doorway.
    â€œI’m not certain myself.” I offered an anemic smile. “Only that—well, I overheard a bruising spat between Annabel and, I’m assuming, the man they say killed her. Yesterday morning. Early. In the parking lot. I don’t know whether to contact the police or…”
    Martha broke in, anger in her voice. “A big lug of a guy. Unshaven, a slob. Annabel said he hauls lumber out of South Jersey.”
    â€œWell, that does sound like the man I saw.”
    Horace stepped back. “Then…”
    â€œWhat did you know about Annabel?” I wasn’t ready to leave. “Her family? I know she was British.”
    They looked back and forth, though Martha frowned. “Not much,” Horace said. “We’re all new here. Management hired her a few weeks back. I come out of Trenton. She came a day later. Peggy, a week later, don’t know much about her either. You know, more staff considering the trial coming up and all.” A quick smile. “Then Martha followed me. Newly married, the two of us.”
    Martha added, “Last summer.” She rolled her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “A whirlwind romance, me and Horace.” A pause. “None of his secrets shared with me.”
    Horace hissed, “Martha, for God’s sake.”
    â€œRomeo,” she muttered.
    I raised my voice. “But I am curious about something Annabel said to me in the café. Something about her payday—something like that. Like she was expecting some good fortune. Something that she planned for…”
    Horace blanched. “She told you that? ”
    I smiled. “A chatty woman.”
    â€œBossy and noisy and loud,” interjected Martha, refusing to look penitent when her husband narrowed his eyes at her.
    â€œSo you heard it