The Curse Оf Hollister House

The restaurant Cass had chosen was nice but casual, unlike the elegance of the steak house the previous week. I was glad I’d decided on slacks rather than a dress. I didn’t want to appear overdressed any more than I wanted to appear underdressed. Not that Cass would care what I was wearing one way or another, but life in the Big Apple had made me a bit more conscientious about my attire than I’d been when I’d lived in Foxtail Lake as a teen.

“Didn’t this used to be a pancake house?”

“It was. Grizzly’s was open for breakfast and lunch only seasonally, from the beginning of May through the end of September, when the campground and cabins were open. Then, about five years ago, the place was sold, and the new owner opens year-round, but only for dinner.”

“There used to be big, family-size booths rather than these tables and chairs, and the gas fireplace in the corner used to be a wood stove.”

Cass nodded. “The new owner wanted to upgrade the interior, so he stripped it down to the studs and rebuilt. The log exterior is the same, and the food, while different, is as good as it always was.”

“What do you usually get?” I asked, picking up the menu.

“Sometimes I go for a burger or sandwich. They’re all good, and the portions are large. But my favorite is the beef stew and corn bread. You can always take your leftovers home for lunch tomorrow if you can’t finish whatever you choose.”

I set the menu aside. “Beef stew sounds perfect. And I’ll have a glass of wine and a glass of water to drink.”

Cass waved to the waiter and placed our order. When he left to fetch our beverages, I asked Cass about this most recent murder case. I knew that bringing up such a gruesome subject at dinner might not be proper etiquette, but I’d been curious all day and couldn’t wait to get some answers.

“As I briefly mentioned in my text, Patricia Long was a seventeen-year-old high school student who was last seen by her parents on Saturday evening, when she left for a date with her boyfriend, Rich Cutter. Apparently, Patricia’s parents were not a fan of the boy Patricia had been dating, and they argued before she left. When she didn’t come home when expected, they figured she’d taken off on one of her classic cooling-off periods. When she wasn’t home by last night, they called me. On a hunch, I took Milo to look in the same area of the forest where Tracy’s remains were found the previous week and found Patricia buried not far away.”

“I take it you’ve spoken to the boyfriend?”

Cass nodded. “He took Patricia to a party, and the two argued while they were there. He claimed that Patricia had been moody all evening and he just wanted to relax and have fun, so he left her chatting with friends while he went outside to smoke pot with some of the guys. Based on what multiple partygoers have told me, it seems Patricia found fault in his choice and let him know it. He told me he snapped back about not wanting to deal with her mood swings and she left.”

“Left the party?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. According to Rich, she stormed back into the house, but no one I have spoken to who was at the party remembers seeing her coming back inside after she went out to confront Rich. I figure either Patricia left the party at that point or Rich is lying and he left with her but didn’t want me to know that because he killed her.”

“Did anyone remember seeing Rich back inside after Patricia went out to confront him?” I wondered.

“Yes, but most of the kids I spoke to were unclear on the timeline. Some were under the impression he was at the party the whole time, while others were certain that he left and then returned.”

“So he could have left, killed Patricia, and then returned to the party?”

“Exactly. Based on what I’ve been able to unravel, most if not all of the teens in attendance were drinking and smoking pot. The witness statements I’ve collected have been so varied as to be worthless. What I do know is that it seems possible to me that the boyfriend left the party, killed Patricia, buried her in a shallow grave, and then went back to the party. His only alibi is his presence there, but because no one really seems certain whether he was there the entire time or if he left and came back, his story isn’t much of an alibi.”

“Did he have blood on his clothes? In his car? There must have been blood if he killed her.”

“I didn’t find any clothing with blood on it in his home, but he could have disposed of the soiled articles had there been any. His car is clean, but he could very well have killed Patricia after they arrived at the burial site. It makes sense to me that Rich might have been drunk and stoned and killed her in a fit of rage, but my instinct is that he isn’t the killer. I’ll just follow the evidence and see where I end up.”

I smiled at the waiter when he brought our drinks. He seemed very nice and even took the time to provide the history of the wine I’d be sampling even though I’d simply ordered the house wine. After he left, I continued the conversation. “So if the boyfriend is not your guy, any clue to who might have done it?”