“How long have you been working here?” Amanda was tiptoeing around what she really wanted to know. If he knew of her connection with Palmer, the entire investigation could blow up in her face before it really got started.
“For a few months.”
“I see, and where were you before that?” Amanda could feel Trent watching her, but she refused to acknowledge his gaze and kept hers on Flynn.
“Florida.” Flynn narrowed his eyes and glanced at Trent, then back at her. “Not sure what that matters, but I followed my college girlfriend there and finally, after marrying her, then divorcing her, I had the good sense to part ways and come home last year.”
So he would have still been in Florida at the time of the accident. She felt herself relax. “When did Mr. Palmer check in?” It seemed strange referring to Chad so formally.
Trent coughed, probably to get her attention, to remind her that he was the primary detective, but when she looked at him, he mouthed an apology. That surprised her. He certainly wasn’t anything she had expected so far. She leveled her gaze at Flynn.
“Friday night,” he said.
That was the day Palmer had been released from prison. “Three nights ago. You’re certain?”
He scrunched up his forehead. “Yeah. The wee hours always mess with my sense of time.”
“So he checked in at night; what time?” she asked.
“Around eleven? Should be in the logbook.” Flynn pointed to an open book on the reception counter.
Trent beat her to it. “Ten fifty-five,” he said.
Palmer would have been released from prison in the afternoon, so she was curious how he had spent the time between then and checking in. One thought crossed her mind, and it had her clenching her right hand into a fist and sinking her nails into her palm.
“Was he drunk when you checked him in, or intoxicated?” She didn’t need to look at Trent to know he was watching her closely.
Flynn didn’t respond.
“Was he drunk?” she pushed.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” she shot back.
“Hey, wait, am I in trouble here?” Flynn’s cheeks flushed red.
Amanda tilted out her chin. “We’re just trying to figure everything out.”
Flynn shrugged. “He might have had something to drink before coming here. His words were a little slurred.”
Amanda squeezed her fist tighter. The bastard had the audacity to waltz out of prison and pick up a bottle like no time had passed—as if his doing so years ago hadn’t met with any consequences. Just like he’d walked away from the accident scene, unscathed. Meanwhile everything she loved the most had been—
“When he checked in did he have anything with him?” Trent asked, giving her a moment to get her temper in check.
She released her fist and downed some coffee, trying to calm herself.
“Heck, I dunno.” Flynn mussed his hair, dropped his hand. “A duffel bag.”
That got her attention. There’d been no sign of one when she’d worked through the room, so, unless it was stuffed into a dresser drawer, it was unaccounted for. She pulled out her cell phone, and, after trying to balance it and her coffee, surrendered the cup to the counter. She tapped duffel bag into the app.
“He paid cash, in advance,” Flynn volunteered.
That wasn’t unusual if Palmer had wanted to stay under the radar, but he’d provided his name so that di
dn’t jibe. It also begged an answer for where Palmer had gotten the cash. It was entirely possibly he’d had some when he was booked, but this tidbit seemed worthy of note enough for Flynn to mention it. “For the night or was he planning to stay longer?”
“It’s in the book.” Trent traced a fingertip across the page. “Until the end of the month.”