Sequestered with the Murderers

which I aimed to make last for the rest of my life. I was doing the work that I loved and was about to embark on an intriguing case, a case that filled my imagination with all sorts of exciting possibilities. Life was good.
I reached into my box of CDs and pulled out one of my Christian CDs. I pushed the CD button on, and then inserted the CD into the player. It is Well with My Soul began playing. I sang along. I belted out the lyrics and sometimes hummed along with all the songs on the CD a few times over before reaching the hotel’s parking lot. I had only made one restroom stop the entire trip, another moment of joy. Driving onto the parking lot, I reached to turn off the CD player without looking and turned on the radio instead. The radio blasted on with, “How many times have you seen a surge of ebullience foreshadow bad news?” This stunned me.
“What! Is this aimed at me? Was my moments of joy a forewarning? I don’t need to hear this since I am three hours away from home and excited to work on a case I am totally looking forward to,” I shouted out. I’m not superstitious, but hearing comments like this can sometimes dampen the psyche of the best of us.
“Well, I am not going to let that ominous statement ruin my trip.” I hurriedly turned off the radio and put the CD back in its case.
Since April is considered offseason, not many cars were in the parking lot. I grabbed my overnight bag from the back seat, then quickly walked to the hotel entrance. The hotel outside looked like a renovated Holiday Inn. There were no other buildings close by. Across the street was the Attribute Country Diner. The doors to the hotel slid open as I got near them. The inside confirmed my assumption that this was a renovated Holiday Inn. I had stayed at enough Holiday Inns to make the connection.
“I’ll be right with you,” the young Black female check-in clerk said as I approached the registration counter. She was talking to someone on the phone, and the conversation appeared to be of a personal nature. Approximately ten seconds later, she hung up the phone.
“How can I help you,” she said, Southern charm and friendliness dripping from every word.
“I’m here to check-in. My name is Vett Brayborn.”
“I recognize your name. You’re the lady Louise from Brightness made a reservation for, right?” Her smile lit up her pretty twenty-something-year-old face.
“Yes, Brightness Bus Tours made the reservation for me.”
“I’m Stiles Bison. Everyone calls me Sty. We are so happy to have you. Let me get your reservation all squared away.”
“By the look of the parking lot, this is a slow month for you,” I said, trying to build a connection with her. In my line of work, I’ve found that people on the front line are privy to loads of information, though not all are willing to share what they know.
“Yeah, April is normally a slow month, but it won’t be for long. We had a murder Friday night down the road a bit at a rest area near the Jefferson Springtop exit. Yesterday, the number of reservations tripled compared to this time last year. You’ll see a much different parking lot by tomorrow,” Sty enthusiastically stated, clearly proud of the increase in business.
“I heard a little something about that. So you think the increase is due to the murder?”
“Oh yeah! Some of these people said they were from a television station. So I know they are interested in who killed Duffy.”
It was not the time to tell her I was there to investigate the murder or that I was on the bus when the murder occurred. I didn’t want to lie to her by omission because I knew she could be a valuable ally. However, if I told her these things, she may let it slip to the media people staying at the hotel. Then I would be hounded by them and not be able to perform my job in the manner I prefer. So I decided to tread lightly in asking her questions.
“Did you know him?”
“Oh yeah.” Her brown eyes did a full scan of me, and I could see her eagerness in talking to me about Duffy. I was probably the first guest today to ask about him. “I know Nancy, too,” Sty offered freely.
“What really happened?” I asked. I felt a ting of transgression. I always treat everyone with respect and honesty, but now was not the time to tell Sty the truth. I had made up my mind to find a suitable time to tell her the truth before I went home. She was so eager to talk, and I didn’t want her to later feel like I had taken advantage of her.
“He was found in the maintenance room at the rest area shot to death. He worked for Brightness, you know. There was a busload of people waiting for him to return from the restroom, and he never did. Louise said you’re part of their board of director’s meeting tomorrow morning. They’ll tell you all about it. Are you a saleswoman?”
“Oh, heaven’s no. I’m doing some personal research work for the president.”
“For Jackson. I know Jackson. He is a real nice man.”
“Was Duffy a nice man, too?”
“Uh,” Sty said, then stood still searching for the right words. I looked directly into her face and saw that the answer to my question was no. “He’s a womanizer, uh, I mean was a womanizer. He was a cheapskate and a loudmouth. He showed up a few times at Cleve’s Bar and Grill, where my friends and I go on Friday and Saturday nights. I remember several times Duffy asking people to buy him drinks and becoming belligerent when they didn’t. He wasn’t the nicest man. Attribute is a small town, and everybody knows everybody. You know how that is. People talk.”
“Yeah,