DEADLY ACTS IN ROOM 306

Chapter 2

The Victim and the Investigation

The following morning after the discovery in Room 306, the lobby of the Blackwood Grand Hotel buzzed with anxious murmurs. Guests lingered in alcoves, sending surreptitious glances in the direction of the stairway and asking anxious questions. The front desk switchboard rang nonstop—journalists, officers, and a couple of high-profile clients all demanding the same thing: information.

Ethan Carter was seated in the manager's office with Detective Alana Reeves, who had shown up before dawn. She flipped through the first report while Ethan tapped his fingers on a warm cup of coffee.

"So," she said, not looking up, "Victor Langley.

" Ethan's brow twisted. "You recognize the name?"

Reeves nodded. "Hard not to. Corporate titan. Real estate, offshore accounts, one or two failed businesses that conveniently caught fire for the insurance money. He was being quietly investigated for fraud. And he had enemies.

" Ethan leaned forward. "You think that list just got shorter?

She closed the folder. "I think one of the men on that list might have made a move at last. He was rich, arrogant, and far from subtle. If this is an act of revenge, it was personal."

"There's more," Ethan replied, reaching into his coat pocket. He passed her the note he'd found last night—the one half-tucked among Langley's papers. "Found this on his desk."

Reeves read from it: "They know I'm here. But I found it. The truth. It's in the walls."

She glanced up. "Cryptic."

"He wasn't hallucinating. I believe he came here looking for something—or someone."

"You're saying this wasn't a lousy vacation?"

"I'm saying Langley was digging. Maybe into the hotel. Maybe into someone who was in hiding on this property. And he paid the price.

Reeves raised an eyebrow."You think someone lured him here?"

Ethan shrugged. "Or followed behind him. This building has history."

"Room 306," Reeves said slowly. "That isn't the first death in that room, is it?"

The silence of Ethan was answer enough.

Then, just then, Maria, the housekeeper, knocked quietly and came in.

"Detective," she said, nervously glancing at Ethan, "there is something you ought to see."

She gave Reeves an envelope—old, thick, and sealed with a wax seal.

"It was through the linen chute," Maria answered. "Fell from the third floor. Room 306 uses that chute."

Reeves broke the seal. Pictures were inside—black-and-white, grainy photos of what seemed to be Langley, many years younger, standing next to another man… and a burned-out building in the background.

Ethan got up. "That is not just business that went bad. That's a cover-up."

Reeves looked at the photos. "Someone did not want the truth to come out."

Ethan's voice was husky. "And they made sure it didn't."

Outside the office, but another rumble of thunder rolled over the hills as the storm returned. Somewhere in the hotel's walls, the past was stirring again.

And Ethan Carter wasn't going anywhere.

The news from the authorities arrived by afternoon.

Suicide.

Detective Reeves brought it to the front desk with brusque efficiency. The paramedics had taken Victor Langley's body away, the coroner would report, and the case—at least to the local authorities—was closed.

But Ethan Carter wasn't dropping it.

He stood outside Room 306, his arms crossed, eyes fixed accusingly on the now-closed door. The hallway was still, but an aura around it seemed altered, as if the hotel itself hung in silence.

Jason, a bellhop, approached cautiously. "They're seriously just. declaring it suicide?"

Ethan nodded slowly. "They are."

"But you said the—"

"I remember what I said." Ethan cut him off and glared. "And I stand by it.".

Jason moved uncomfortably. "I know nothing about crime scenes, but even I thought the gun was unusual."

"Right." Ethan moved a few steps. "Langley was shot in the chest. The gun was in his right hand. But the wound was from the left—and there was no powder residue. There'd be residue on a self-inflicted wound."

 Jason swallowed. "So… someone faked it?"

Ethan's eyes clouded. "I think someone made this look like a suicide—because it was the easiest way to shut it all down."

Jason's face contorted. "Didn't you also find… something? A letter?"

Ethan produced a crumpled sheet of paper from his coat pocket. It was ripped from a hotel notebook, the ink faintly smudged from Langley's hurried writing. He passed it to Jason.

Jason read out:

"I know they're watching me. In case anything goes down, look in the walls. She knows—find her first before they do. —V"

"Who's she?" Jason blinked. "Who is she?"

"That's what I aim to discover."

 Jason handed back the note, eyes wide. "Aren't you going to turn that in to the police?"

"They don't care. Detective Reeves already has her mind made up. Suicide, close the file, move on." Ethan folded the note and stored it away. "But I don't move on that way."

He waited, his voice low. "Langley was here for a reason. He was looking for something. And whoever did not want that truth uncovered… made sure he never left that room alive."

 Jason paused, then nodded. "And now?"

Ethan gave him a thin smile. "Now we start to dig. Undercover."

Jason looked down the hallway uncomfortably. "You're not afraid?"

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Ethan said. “But I’ve seen what happens when the truth gets buried. I’ve chased enough stories to know when one isn’t finished.”

He looked back at Room 306.

 “And this story?” he added quietly. “It’s just beginning.”

 As the bellhop walked off, Ethan lingered in the hallway, letting the silence settle around him. A floorboard creaked softly behind the wall.

He turned his head.

The hotel was listening.

The fog of the morning still clung to the Blackwood Grand Hotel as Ethan Carter sat in the velvet-upholstered lounge, a black coffee mug in his hand and an open notebook before him. At his side, the usual murmur of guests was subdued, edged with unease. The death in Room 306 hovered over the tableau like a ghost.

His first victim: Clara Bellamy, a sharp-eyed woman of sixty who had been staying at the hotel for over a month. She was seated knitting by the fire, her eyes flicking to Ethan as he approached.

 "May I sit with you?" he asked politely.

Clara didn't look up from her knitting. "You're the reporter, aren't you?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Word gets around."

“Faster than the police, at any rate,” she said dryly, then gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit. You’re not the first person to come poking around here after something ugly.”

 Ethan leaned forward. “You knew Victor Langley?”

“Only by reputation,” Clara said. “I’ve seen him around. Arrogant type. Treated the staff like they were disposable. Always on the phone, always whispering.”

"Did he talk to anyone around here? Get into an argument with someone, maybe?"

Clara hesitated, her needles clicking. "I overheard him getting into a heated argument two nights ago. Down the hall by the east stairway. With that fidgety little man—Stuart, I believe. Room 312. They were whispering, but it wasn't friendly."

 "Thank you," Ethan said, scribbling it down. "That's good."

"Just mind yourself," Clara grumbled without looking his direction. "The last one who started asking questions around here, they packed up and left in the middle of the night. No notice."

Ethan didn't flinch. "I don't scare easily."

He stood up and walked down the hall, stopping when he noticed Maria, the housekeeper, rolling her cart out of one of the rooms. She froze in place when she saw him.

"Mr. Carter," she answered warily. "I… I shouldn't be talking to you."

"Then listen, then," Ethan wheedled. "Did you see or hear anything unusual before Mr. Langley passed away? Anything that felt… strange?"

Maria glanced over her shoulder, then whispered, "He kept asking us about the walls. Kept wondering if we had blueprints for the hotel. He asked me, twice, if I'd ever seen anything hidden in the rooms—behind the air vents, underneath the floorboards…"

 "And did you?"

She hesitated. "Years ago, when they refurbished… there were rumors. Tunnels. Passageways. Secrets of Prohibition left behind. But I never actually saw them myself."

"And Langley's bedroom?"

Maria's whisper was a mere breath. "There was a light on behind the wardrobe door. But there is no plug there. No lamp. Only. a glow."

Ethan's heart was racing. "Thanks, Maria.".

As she wheeled her cart out, Ethan caught himself looking back at the third floor.

Secrets. Hallways. A spreading light where there shouldn't have been any.

Victor Langley had been looking for something.

 And Ethan was going to discover it—before someone else discovered him first.