Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (16 page)

“Sometimes by the history of a place. Residual hauntings, for example, are like recordings. They reflect events that occurred at a particular location. Think in terms of an energy residue that keeps repeating itself. Footsteps going up and down stairs, soldiers fighting on battlefields, people walking down hallways; these are experienced in the same place over time, like the apparition in St. Augustine who’s always seen doing her laundry. By doing the same action repeatedly, she’s left an impression on the place. It’s just a replay of the scene, like a traumatic event that has stamped its imprint on the locale.”

“So actual ghosts aren’t present?” Marla asked, wondering about the sounds coming from the thirteenth floor of people laughing and glasses clinking. Remnants of the Prohibition era, perhaps?

“You got it. This type of haunting is simply a recording of an event in time. Then we have intelligent ghosts who will try to get your attention, you know, by rattling doorknobs, creating odors, moving furniture, making noises.”

“I see. Well, thanks for the information,” Marla said, ready to move on.

“Then there are the anniversary ghosts.” On a roll, the young woman continued. “They only appear on the anniversary of a significant event, although that could be another type of residual haunting. We also have the poltergeist that you’re probably more familiar with from movies. They really don’t intend to hurt people, but their high energy level can make them dangerous. They want people to know they’re around.”

“Do you think that’s why you captured this vortex on film? It wanted to be seen?” Like Seto Mulch, trying to tell them something?

“Could be.”

One fine point needed explanation. “What’s the difference between an orb, apparition, vortex, and ectoplasm?” she asked.

“They’re just different forms of spiritual energy. I’d better go show our boss what I got on camera. Sorry for keeping you.” The ghost hunter bustled off while Marla turned toward the fitness center.

In his private office, Dr. Angus pushed aside his swivel chair to greet her after she knocked on his open door.

“Come in, come in,” he said, his jowls quivering as he waved her inside before shutting the door in her wake. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated a chair opposite his desk. Stacks of files littered his desktop, counter space, and floor. Marla tried to read the folder heading on his desk, but she couldn’t decipher the upside-down lettering.

“What is it about my aunt you wanted to tell me?” she asked, smoothing her pants after she dropped into a chair. Her eyes skimmed his accessories, items you could pick up at Office Depot. What would make him stay here instead of maintaining a lucrative private practice elsewhere? Maybe he was paid well but had modest tastes. Or else he liked the food. His girth certainly attested to his appetite, and from his empty ring finger, she surmised the good doctor was single.

Folding his hands on the desk, Dr. Angus leaned forward. “I called the pharmacy given on your aunt’s prescription bottle. They gave me the physician’s phone number when I said she needed a refill. The man was shocked when I told him Polly had, er, passed away.”

He searched her face for a reaction, but when Marla didn’t move a muscle, he continued. Was he concerned about her sensibilities or wondering what she knew? “He told me his patient suffered from cancer.”

Marla’s head jerked up. “Cancer? That’s impossible. She would have told us.”

Dr. Angus’s demeanor turned sympathetic. “She didn’t want her family to know. Apparently, it started in the breast, and she refused treatment. At her age, Miz Polly decided to let nature take its course rather than submit to debilitating surgery and chemotherapy. It would have made her a burden, she said.”

Marla felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. So that’s why Polly had lost so much weight and didn’t look well. “Was she in much pain?” she asked, thinking of the morphine sulfate solution.

“Not until recently. She told her doctor that you were helping her at home, but he wasn’t fully aware of her circumstances.”

“Like being alone at night, I presume. She would’ve needed additional care as time went on.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’ll want to tell your family, but this may ease their concerns. If your aunt knew she was dying, and she helped herself to a bit too much of her pain medication, it may have been her wish to spare anyone the necessity of looking after her.”

“She didn’t die from an overdose.” Marla met his gaze squarely. “Or from natural causes. She was murdered.”

“What?” Angus half-lifted from his chair.

“My fiancé talked to the cops. Were you aware he’s a homicide investigator back home? Preliminary autopsy reports say my aunt died from asphyxiation. She was smothered.”

The doctor shrank back down into his seat. “No…”

“You were very hasty to ascribe her death to natural causes, just as you were quick to say the painter’s fall from a ladder was an accident. How can you be so sure? Or is that what you’re paid to do?”

He leaped up. “How dare you.”

“Seto Mulch was just found dead in the arboretum. The old guy knew something about this resort that he was about to reveal. I think you’d better tell me what you know. Otherwise, you’re likely to be implicated in their deaths.”

Angus’s jowls quivered. “I’ve just been doing my duty. I can’t help it if later findings show things that don’t turn up initially. Don’t blame me.”

“Nobody would know the cause of death is different from what you certify unless you order autopsies, and the local troop is just as glad to look aside. They can’t do that anymore, not with Seto’s murder. They’ll come up with some trace evidence eventually. Dalton will make sure about that.”

Angus passed a hand over his pallid face. “The idiot should’ve kept his mouth shut.”

“About what, Doctor? What’s going on around here?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask.” Facing her, he spread his arms. “Seto hinted at things, but I didn’t believe him. About all those workers on the property. He knew more about it than me, being their supposed supervisor.”

“What do you mean by
supposed
?” Rising, she flexed her arms. This had been a long day so far.

“Butler calls the shots. He’s the real one in charge, along with…”

“Yes?”

Angus shook his head.

“Is the dessert chef involved? Someone searched through my aunt’s drawers. I smelled lilac fragrance in her room, and I know Brownie favors that scent.” When Angus clamped his teeth shut, Marla persisted. “Then there’s the birdwatcher. Isn’t it interesting how she is large-boned like the nurse’s aide who took care of my aunt the night she died?”

“I called the nursing service,” the doctor offered. ‘They didn’t send anyone to the hotel.”

“You see? Then Wanda shows up conveniently the next day.”

“You leave her out of this! She’s nothing but Butler’s flunky.” His eyes widened, as though he realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

“Oh, so she’s following Butler’s orders, too?”

“We all are, for heaven’s sake. We’re employees here, and he’s our manager. You’re trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Am I?”

Convinced she could coax him to reveal more, Marla knitted her brows in annoyance when someone interrupted by knocking on the door and pushing it open.

“Angus, dearie,” Wanda Beake said, sweeping into the doctor’s office. Her binoculars hung lopsided on her neck, and her face appeared flushed. She breathed in rapid, shallow spurts. “The most dreadful thing has happened.”

He hastened over to pat her shoulder. “Yes, I know, lassie. This lady has been telling me. I presume you’re speaking of our late groundskeeper.”

Sniffling, Wanda leaned into his embrace. “Aye, it’s horrible. They’ve sent for poor Mr. Butler, but he’s on his errand of mercy.”

“What’s that?” Marla demanded, not taken in by the woman’s act. Those were crocodile tears, not real ones, but Angus seemed smitten. His hands were all over the large woman, patting and coddling.

“Why, he takes those workmen home to their families. They have no means of transportation, you understand, being so needy. It’s most kind of him to create jobs to provide for them.”

“Oh, so his motives are purely altruistic?” Marla didn’t believe that for one minute. Where the manager had gone with his vanload of laborers was up for conjecture.

“I’m just sick over Seto,” the bird-watcher whined, sagging against the doctor, who embraced her with a raptured look.

Marla watched their interplay with disgust, wondering if she could prove Wanda Beake was the same person who’d entered Polly’s room the night she’d died. How had the nurse’s aide left without anyone spotting her?

The fireplace. If the health care worker, along with Butler, knew about the secret passages, she could have exited from Polly’s place and hidden out at the complex until late Thursday, when she drove to the airport and left her car, only to be picked up by Harvey Lyle after dark. Had she driven herself, or gotten a ride? Butler could’ve taken her, ostensibly going home for the evening. That meant on Thanksgiving morning, the aide—or Wanda—was still on the resort property. She could have easily entered Polly’s room again through the fireplace panel and called for the meal tray. Had her aunt already been lying there dead, or was it at this time that the deed was done? Sergeant Hamilton hadn’t mentioned the time of death.

Marla still wanted to follow the passage to find an outside exit from the hotel, but that could wait. The manager had absented the premises. If she could get into his office, she’d search for the hotel blueprints and any documents pertaining to its sale. Maybe she’d find other evidence as well.

“Please excuse me,” she said to the duo, who appeared oblivious to her presence. “I’ve got to meet my fiancé.”

“Why, dearie,” Wanda stated, breaking away from the doctor’s groping fingers, “Is that gorgeous hunk helping the police?”

Halfway to the door, Marla paused. “He’s a detective, so, yes, he’s offering his input.”

Wanda’s blue eyes rounded. “Oh my, how dreadful that his vacation is being disrupted. I don’t suppose he’s come across anything significant?”

You’d like to know, wouldn’t you
? Marla gave a smug smile. “We don’t discuss business,” she lied. “Besides, I’m just as glad he’s occupied. I’ve been investigating my family history. Can you tell me why the two top levels of the tower are unoccupied? Those are the floors my grandparents lived in. Are these rooms not rented because they’re haunted?”

“I dare say there have been reports of strange incidents.”

“Yet the staff isn’t afraid to go there. The place has been kept clean. So what’s the real reason?”

Wanda exchanged a glance with the doctor. “Perhaps it’s the guests who are shy of ghosts.”

“Or perhaps the hotel is not free to rent those rooms.”

The bird-watcher raked a hand through her ash-blond curls. “You’d best speak to Mr. Butler about your concerns.”

“I intend to. Why do you come here so regularly?”

“As I said before, it’s my favorite resort. Leading the tours helps me earn extra income. I’m saving for my island, you know. A place where I can be alone with my birds.”

“Alone?” Angus blustered. “You said I’d come with you.”

“Well, of course.” Wanda smiled at him in a manner that reminded Marla of a hawk rather than a nightingale. “I meant the two of us.” She turned to Marla. “Any luck discovering the old man’s loot?”

“You mean Andrew’s source of wealth? I’m beginning to believe it’s a legend, nothing more. How do you know about it?”

“It’s no secret, dearie. I’ve been looking for years. Finders keepers, isn’t that the rule? There is this private island, you see, that I’ve had my eye on for my own. All I need is a few hundred thousand more. But I’m getting tired of putting myself at risk by—” She cut herself off.

Marla waited for Wanda to conclude her sentence, but the woman’s expression changed to one of thoughtful speculation.

“I’ll accompany you to the manager’s office,” Wanda suggested in a silky tone. ‘That is, if you want to ask him about the ghosts. He’s the one who hired those silly spook chasers.”

“Thanks, but I’ll look for him later.”

Exiting by the open office door, Marla halted upon confronting Brownie Butterworth, who’d obviously been eavesdropping. The pastry chef, caught unawares, jerked upright with a cry of dismay, whirled around, and ran outside.

Wanda, muttering an expletive, lurched after the chef’s retreating figure.

Sensing this distraction would give her the opportunity she sought, Marla headed toward the manager’s office in the main hotel building. Rochelle was nowhere to be seen. So much for the teen’s compliance in watching for Butler’s return. She’d probably left to go sunbathing with her friends. Teens didn’t listen to warnings about skin cancer, a habit that would keep dermatologists busy in years to come, Marla reflected ruefully.

The administrative section was relatively quiet. Marla trod down a carpeted hallway, zipping past Champagne’s suite in hopes that no one would notice her. Farther along, she reached a door labeled with Butler’s name. After knocking gently, she twisted the knob when he didn’t answer. It opened easily, which surprised her. If he had anything to hide, it seemed strange that he didn’t secure his private domain very well.

Inside the room, she surveyed furnishings that might have remained the same since Andrew Marks had used them. A rolltop desk and swivel chair took up one entire corner. Facing the fireplace was a comfortable seating arrangement: a sofa, love seat, and armchair centered around a driftwood coffee table. Several more period pieces completed the ensemble.

Her gaze scanned the room for a computer and file cabinets, but these items were conspicuously absent.
That’s odd
, she thought. Surely Butler used modern conveniences. Where was his telephone, or even a clock? This room appeared too much like a museum tableau, right down to the old-fashioned pen with an inkwell. Stacks of papers didn’t even clutter his desk. Maybe he did his paperwork elsewhere, and this room was primarily for show. That meant she wouldn’t find anything of significance here. No, he had to use another office, but could he access it from this one?

Roaming her critical eye along the walls, she stopped at the faint outline of a seam in the wood paneling. Was that a natural groove like the rest, or did it look like a door? Tracing her fingers around the rough edges, she failed to find a hidden lock mechanism similar to the one in Polly’s room.

Wait a minute
.

Dashing to the fireplace in Butler’s office, she pushed aside the protective grating. A pile of logs took up space on the hearth, but ashes didn’t darken the floor, and the rear panel looked much the same as it did in her aunt’s room. “Yes! Groping along the brick arch with shaking fingers, she discovered the expected hump and gave it a twist. Her ears picked up the sound of the latching mechanism as it clicked into the unlocked position, and she was able to push open the panel quite easily.

After a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was approaching, even though she’d closed the office door, she scrambled through the opening into the passage beyond. A cool, musty odor tickled her nostrils. The walls felt damp, and she shivered as she heard a nearby scrabbling noise.

Retrieving a penlight from her purse, she shone it ahead into the tunnel. Spending her weekend in the dark wasn’t how she’d envisioned this getaway with Vail, but the thrill of the hunt drove her forward. If Andrew had in fact occupied Butler’s office, then this passage could lead to a significant find. After a few paces, the tunnel narrowed where a supporting beam sagged, and she had to crawl on her hands and knees, grimacing as her skin contacted sludge. She’d look a mess after this excursion.

After a few feet, the opening widened and branched into two directions. One seemed to lead back toward the main hotel. The other went the opposite way. Since the space was big enough for her to stand, she chose the latter and had just turned a corner when she tripped on a prominence and tumbled into a depression. No, not a depression—it was a flight of steps carved from limestone and leading downward. Recovering her balance, fortunately unhurt, she directed her light on the damp walls, which had a slick coating of mildew.

It wasn’t long before she reached bottom. The space wasn’t very deep, but a quick search and the alcohol-infused air told her its purpose. This had likely served as the main storeroom for Andrew’s bootlegging operation. From the rows of bottles and kegs still unopened, she gathered that she’d found one of his stashes. Were these highly valued, like vintage bottles of wine? Open jugs lay about, their contents drained or long evaporated. The air smelled of rum, not wine or whiskey. But had they made this stuff on-site, or brought it in by boat? Because if the latter was true, there would have to be an exit to the outside nearby.

Clattering footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her gaze flew about looking for a hiding place, but it was too late. Harvey Lyle stumbled down the steps, catching her in the bright glare of his lantern.

“Well, lookee who we caught trying to plunder our treasure. This be mine, Missy. The boss said so hisself. Ya ain’t supposed to be here.” He swaggered toward her, his yellowish teeth gleaming.

“I’m your friend, remember?” she said, backing away. The steward stood between her and the stairs.

“Oh, so ya came to give ole Harvey what he’s been after, eh? Let’s see ya get nekked, then. Har, har.” Snatching a bottle from a wood-plank shelf, he tipped its open end to his mouth and took a deep draft.

So this is where he gets his liquor
, Marla thought, watching him smack his lips with glee. Switching off her penlight, she stuck it in her purse strapped to her shoulder. Her long metal nail file might come in handy, she figured, but not yet. Maybe she could talk her way out of this sticky situation.

“You can’t blame me for searching for my grandfather’s wealth. It’s my legacy as his granddaughter. Or perhaps you’ve already found it. Are these bottles valuable?”

“Only to me. The boss lets me drink my fill. Couldn’t get no job anywhere else, ya know. So I do what he tells me and he turns the other eye to my helpin’ myself.”

Butler probably encourages you so as to keep you in his pocket
. “Seto Mulch was found dead. Did you have anything to do with his murder, or my aunt’s?” Hoping to provoke him, she waited to gauge his reaction. Either he was a drunken flunky or an unscrupulous killer. Sidling toward a rack of dusty bottles, she maneuvered herself to face forward while her hand snaked back to grasp one of the glass necks.

“I ain’t no brute. Dunno who did the dirty work on old man Mulch, but I heard he’d been mouthing off in the wrong place. Mebbe one of the boys got to him. This is where Butler brings ‘em in, ya know. Through that door there.”

Marla glanced toward the dark corner.

“Don’t ya be thinking about runnin’ out on me.” He leered at her. “Door only works to let folks in. Butler don’t want none of the fellows gettin’ away, ya understand. Now take off yer clothes, because I don’t have all day. We’ll do it real quick-like, then you’ll stay here till I get off duty.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean about Butler’s boys?” She grasped the bottle, wondering if she should bash Lyle’s head now or later.