Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,83
being at all grand, even if it was in a decent part of town.
After setting the brake, Uncle Lance climbed down and then assisted Connie. He wore the same suit he’d used for travel. Aunt Hope had been up late, brushing the dust out of it and making certain it looked good. He had a particular set to his expression that was all business.
“Let me do the talking, Connie.”
She nodded, knowing it would be hard to remain silent if anyone spoke out against her father.
They made their way inside to find the condition of the interior not much better than the exterior. Uncle Lance made his way to the front desk and rang the small bell on the counter. It was several minutes before an old man appeared.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Are you Reginald Belfast?”
The old man shook his head. “He’s my grandson. Do you have business with him?”
“I do.” Uncle Lance smiled. “Is he here today?”
“He is. He ran some blankets up to 203 and should be right back down.” He glanced toward the staircase. “In fact, that’s him now.”
“Thank you.” Uncle Lance turned from the desk and made his way toward the approaching man. Connie followed. “I understand you’re Reginald Belfast.” Uncle Lance extended his hand in welcome. “I’m Lance Kenner. If you have a moment, I would like to speak to you.”
“Sure, mister. What about?” Belfast looked at Connie and smiled.
She returned the smile, hoping it would keep him in good spirits. The whole time, however, she wanted to grab him and demand the truth.
“We can sit over here,” Belfast said, pointing to the lobby, where a dozen or more well-worn chairs awaited. Connie and Lance followed him and took a seat. Belfast pulled up a chair. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I am the brother-in-law of Adam Browning. I’m also his lawyer, and this is his daughter.”
Belfast frowned. “I only told the truth.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you told the police?”
“Mr. Browning came to the hotel every so often. The night Berkshire and Lakewood got shot, he had been out most of the evening. He came back just long enough to get his messages, then told me he had a meeting with Mr. Berkshire and Mr. Lakewood. When he came back that evening, he had blood splattered on his coat and shirt. He said he’d been caught up in a street fight but hadn’t been hurt. I offered to send his clothes to the laundry, and he told me to come up for them shortly.”
“And did you?” Uncle Lance asked.
“I did. I took them to a Chinese laundryman I knew, and he agreed to work on them that night and have them ready by morning. In the morning he brought the clothes clean and pressed, and I personally delivered them to Mr. Browning.”
Connie had to force herself not to blurt out that the man in question wasn’t Mr. Browning.
“Why is it you’ve only recently shared this information with the police?”
“I didn’t hear about the deaths of Mr. Berkshire and Mr. Lakewood right away. See, after Mr. Browning left the hotel, I left as well. We got word that my mother was ill and would probably die—she lives in California. My grandfather arranged for a friend to run the hotel, and he and I left to be with my folks. I didn’t think anything more about Mr. Browning until just a couple of weeks ago, when I saw an article about the police still trying to find who had killed Mr. Berkshire and Mr. Lakewood. The article mentioned that the police were certain that while the killer staged it to look like a murder-suicide, it was clearly murder. That’s when I remembered Mr. Browning and the blood on his suit.”
“Would you recognize this Mr. Browning if you saw him again?”
“Sure would. He stayed with us lots of times. I told the police I could point him out. I’m supposed to go do that this afternoon.”
Uncle Lance looked to Connie and nodded. She pulled the photo of her mother and father from her purse and handed it to Uncle Lance. He glanced at it, then turned it around for Belfast to see. “Have a look at this.”
Belfast took the photo and glanced down. He looked back up at Connie’s uncle. “What about it?”
“Do you recognize the man?”
Belfast looked again, then shook his head. “Never seen him before.”
“Are you sure?”
Belfast nodded and pushed the picture back. “I am. Who is he?”