No One Else to Kill (Jim West Series) by Bob Doerr Page B

it?” I asked.
    “No.   Must be one of the guests.   There’s some scuttle-butt that the two Steeler fans are connected with
some murder around here in the past.”
    “You mean the two guys here last night in the Steelers
sweatshirts?”
    “Uh-huh,” she nodded.
    “How did you learn that?”
    She smiled at me and hesitated.
    “Let’s just say an employee of the lodge has a close,
personal relationship with one of the deputies.”
    “Interesting.”
    “Apparently it’s got them all excited.”   She didn’t elaborate on “them,” but I knew
she meant the Sheriff’s office.
    I thought about what she had said for a minute, and she
came to the wrong conclusion.
    “It’s not me.   I
mean I’ve known a few cop types in my life, but I’m not the person the deputy
spilled the beans to.”
    “I hope they catch them.”
    “Me, too.   The quicker this mess gets resolved, the
better.”
    “I’m surprised you don’t have more customers.   Free drinks are usually enough to draw a
crowd.”
    “Free is one thing. Advertising the fact is something
else,” she laughed.
    “Don’t worry I won’t tell,” I said.
    “Have you decided when you’re leaving, Jim?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    She didn’t say anything, but she did take my glass back to
the tap for a refill.
    “How far away is this firing range the lodge has?”
    “Oh, it’s real close. It’s just down the dirt road.”   She motioned with her hand at the far side of
the lodge.   I didn’t notice a dirt road
being close to the window of the room where Cross had been shot, but that was
the end of the building she had indicated.
    “An easy walk?”
    “Maybe ten minutes.   I’d take you, but I have to work. It’s
pleasant through the trees.”
    “Maybe I’ll walk over there in a minute.   I’ll go stir crazy if I just in my room all
day.”
    She broke open a large bag of pretzel mix and poured some
into a bowl she had put on the counter next to us.
    “I know I don’t need these, but I’m hungry,” she said.
    We talked about nothing in particular over the next ten
minutes.   I declined another beer but did
my best to empty the bowl before she could eat too much - I try to be helpful.
    When I left to go outside, the bar area and the rest of
the lobby were still empty.   I retrieved
my jacket first and took my car keys.   Once outside, however, I decided to walk.
    To be safe, I followed the dirt road.   It might not be far away, but the woods
around here can get really thick quick, and I didn’t want to risk walking right
by it and getting lost. It only took about ten minutes to reach the long, odd
looking structure.
    The road approached it at an angle and dead ended in a
small dirt parking lot that fronted the building.   The structure’s outside walls appeared to be made of cinder blocks.   The front consisted of a hardy board, or some
similar product. The plain wood door stood ajar a few inches. A sign next to the
door stated that the building belonged to the Royal Lodge and that trespassers
would be prosecuted.
    I pushed the door open and entered.   In doing so, I nearly ran into a young
Sheriff’s deputy coming out.
    “Excuse me,” I said.
    At the same time he asked, “What are you doing here?” He
looked more nervous than I felt.
    “Just getting a little exercise and I decided to take a
look at the firing range,” I said.
    “Are you a guest at the hotel?” he asked.
    “Yes, I’m Jim West.” I instinctively held out my hand to
shake his.
    He held up his hand just high enough to show me he was
wearing gloves. I pulled my hand back.
    “What’re you looking for?” I asked.
    “Just checking the area out,” he answered.   He stood still blocking my entrance.
    “Is there any reason this place would be off limits to me?
I mean this isn’t the crime scene, is it?”
    He looked at me for a second longer before speaking.
    “No, I guess not.   Just make sure you turn off the lights and lock the door behind you when
you