"Mm-hmm, of course. Yes, that's right, I remember this lady."
After seeing the photograph of Faith Collins, the innkeeper, Billy Capra, answered in British English with a slightly odd accent.
Nick scanned the living room's furnishings: solid wood floors, dark oak paneling, linen-textured sofas, Eastern (Indian)-style drapes and handmade rugs, gleaming brass doorknobs and candlesticks, and tall, wood-framed windows hung with double curtains.
A great deal of care had gone into the English country-house decor. It might not compare to a magnificent estate like Downton Abbey, but it certainly had a fresh, artsy charm with a thoroughly British flavor.
"I remember her quite clearly. She only arrived here after eleven the night before last, I believe. I was in the kitchen baking cookies for breakfast the next morning."
As Nick listened to his answer, he also studied the innkeeper closely.
Although Billy Capra had groomed himself meticulously, his face and appearance alone were those of a very ordinary white man.
He was short, barely over five foot seven at most, but his head was large. With his torso and legs being almost equal in length, he even looked somewhat comical.
His short black hair was trimmed so neatly it almost looked like a wig. Coupled with thick, coarse eyebrows, slightly prominent brow ridges, a broad face, and a long chin, even his warm smile still gave him a slightly neurotic, tense air.
"I was a little surprised to hear the doorbell at that hour. When I answered, she asked to look around the place. Well, anyone who comes is a guest, so of course I couldn't refuse..."
Nick was just about to interrupt his endless chatter when he saw a young man and woman who looked like a couple coming down the stairs.
"Ah, sorry. Please give me a moment."