Checking Inn by Emily Harper Page A

fired.  At least she was standing up for what she believed in,” I say.
    “Kate, don’t kid yourself.  Samantha sounds like she was a real piece of work.  My hunch is she wrote that article just to piss people off.”
    “So, what now?” I ask.
    “We go to her place and see if we can get any information on who the client was,” he says.
    “You think that’s who could have killed her?” I ask.
    “Who knows?  But it’s the only decent lead we’ve got.”
    “How are we going to get in?”
    “I have her key,” he says, fishing through his pocket and bringing out a pile of old receipts and wrappers.  He finds the key with some pocket lint attached to it and holds it up for me to see.
    “Is that legal, to go into her place without a warrant?” I ask, parking the car in front of Samantha’s building.
    “I have a warrant,” he says, opening his door and getting out.  “But, you are not on it, so if anyone asks, you work for the police department.”
    I run after him into the building’s lobby, looking around to see if anyone is going to shout out that I don’t belong there.  I catch up to him at the elevator as he waits for the doors to open. 
    “Could I get arrested for this?” I whisper and frantically look around again.
    “By who?  I’m the police,” he gets in the elevator.
    I quickly scramble in as well and watch as he presses the button for her floor.
    “So, what are we looking for when we get inside?” I ask and take out my little clipboard from my purse.
    “Whatever looks odd,” he says, looking at my clipboard and frowning.
    “Okay.”
    Look for odd things , I write.
    “What are you doing?” he asks.
    “Making a list.”
    “A list of what?”
    “Of things to look for,” I say.  Honestly.
    “Does that actually help you?” he asks.  “All those checklists and rules?”
    “Of course,” I say and can’t help but frown.  “This way I can make sure everything is done properly and we won’t waste any time.”
    He looks thoughtful before asking, “What happened to the girl who slid down the banister?”
    My hand suddenly stops writing and I put my clipboard back in my purse.
    “She doesn’t exist anymore,” I say.
    When the doors finally open at Samantha’s floor I am the first to get off. 
    Samantha’s apartment is just as I imagined it, all sleek lines and chrome accents; it must have cost her a fortune.  It looks so cold– just like her.  There are pictures of her everywhere, showing places she visited all over the world.  And there isn’t a picture of anyone else in sight.
    “She sure has a lot of mirrors,” Ben says, standing beside me in her living room, trying to take it all in.
    “She had to look perfect all the time,” I say, and look around the room feeling sorry for her yet again.  Maybe that was why she was so cold. From this apartment, it seems as though she didn’t have anyone who cared about her.
    “Okay, we can’t stay long, and we can’t disturb anything in case we need to bring a team in to look for forensics.  I’ll look in here and the kitchen and you look in the bedroom.  I have no idea what we are looking for, so just try and go with your gut,” he says, and after I take a step I feel his hand on my arm, stopping me.  “And, don’t touch anything.”
    “Okay,” I say, nodding, and he lets my arm go.  I make my way to her bedroom and hesitate before finally walking in.  A person’s bedroom seems so private to me; it says more about the person than any other room in the home. 
    She was meticulously tidy and I gasp when I look in her closet.  It is like my own personal heaven.  Every shelf is labeled, with her clothes sorted first by color, then by length.  She even has a shelf for her nail polishes, lined up from a light beige to a medium pink.
    I quickly take out my cell phone and take a picture.  My closet at home is okay, but this is something else.  Maybe when this is all over I will knock down the wall into the