Gin Jones - Helen Binney 01 - A Dose of Death by Gin Jones Page B

suitcases popped open, and inside was a whole linen closet’s worth of hotel towels and flatware and even a cheap little iron. He could have set up his own bed and breakfast with all the stuff he’d taken. He laughed about how he didn’t even want the iron, and he was going to have to pay extra because of the weight of his luggage, but he didn’t care. He was just trying to get even, because he thought the hotel charged too much. He might have been irritated if he’d been caught by the hotel security guards, but he never would have even considered punching one of them.” 
    “ People can panic when they get caught. That fear can lead to anger and then violence.”
    “ Over a few trinkets?” Jack said, shaking his head dismissively. “And not just a little shoving match, but actual murder? I don’t think so. I mean, what’s the worst that would have happened if Melissa had turned in a petty burglar? Whatever the penalty, it couldn’t be as bad as a life sentence for murder.”
    She hadn ‘t thought of that. She’d have to ask Tate about the likely sentencing for the burglaries. Until then, it was reassuring to know that Jack agreed with her about the unlikeliness of a petty burglar turning to murder. Jack certainly had plenty of time to observe human behavior, and the incentive to understand what he observed, in order to keep the passengers happy or at least reasonably satisfied.
    Two people ‘s opinions about human nature wasn’t enough to completely discount the police theory, though. They might know something she didn’t, something that would explain why the burglar would have been willing to kill, rather than something less drastic, like running away or even just fighting the charges in court.
    Helen waited while Jack maneuvered the Town Car into the too-small space in front of the funeral home. When it came to a full stop, she said, “Maybe the burglar didn’t just panic. Maybe Melissa just said the wrong thing, and he over-reacted. She was good at pushing people’s buttons.”
    Jack got out of the Town Car and opened her door. “If Melissa was that bad, she had to have annoyed lots of other folks, and they’d have wanted to kill her more than some random burglar would.”
    “ True.” Helen slid out of the Town Car and then retrieved her cane from the back seat. “I want to see who shows up and who signed the guest book. Folks who were supposed to be her friends and coworkers could have been terminally annoyed by her.”
    “ Does Tate know you’re doing this?” Jack slammed the car door shut.
    “ Sort of,” Helen said. “I’m counting on you to call him if they try to throw me out of the service.”                                                                      
     
    *  *  *
     
    Helen could hear quiet murmurs in the adjoining room, but the entry area was deserted. She stopped at the table with the guest book. She needed to sign it, but it might be best not to use her real name. Geoff Loring might see it later and become suspicious about what she’d been doing here, given her history with Melissa. But she had to write something. Even if Melissa didn’t have any close family, there had to be someone who cared about her, and who deserved whatever comfort another signature would provide.
    What happened to the books after the services, anyway? Helen had been to funerals as the state ‘s first lady, and sometimes the guest books had been destined for presidential libraries, while other times they went to the grieving family members. But what happened when there was no historical value and no close family? Why even collect the signatures if they would just clutter up the home of some distant relative who would toss it onto a shelf or put it in a box in the attic until it disintegrated?
    Helen flipped to the front of the guest book. Even though she ‘d timed her arrival toward the middle of the service, when the bulk of