Murder's Last Resort (11 page)

Chapter 35

There is a rhythm to a hotel. Busy in the morning, fairly quiet until lunch. After lunch, quiet again until the late afternoon, when all the happy campers return from Happy Valley, hauling bags of souvenirs, gifts for the folks back home and, most likely, a stuffed animal or two. They hang around, swapping stories, in the hotel lobby for a while.

The gift shop at Silver Pines was much larger than most hotel gift shops. It was divided into four sections: menswear, women’s wear, sundries and even a grocery section. Quite a few hotel guests were shopping. People were in from their day tours to Disney, Universal Studios and Cypress Gardens and they had not yet gone to eat at one of our dining outlets or returned to their rooms.

I had already made my purchase and was now killing time, browsing through the magazines, when I thought I recognized someone in the women’s section. I saw the back of Alana Torrey’s head. She was talking to David Enderly and a woman who looked familiar. It was hard for me to get a good view of them; too many shoppers between us.

I wove my way through the people and the displays, the clothing racks and the busy errant children, who were touching everything with their pudgy little sticky fingers. I wanted to eavesdrop on Alana—what could she, David and Linda Messina have to say to one another that was so important that their heads were bowed together, as if they were telling secrets in third grade?

I stumbled over a toddler. He yelped and I shrank behind a greeting card display, while mumbling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” to both the little boy, who started to sniffle, and to his mother. Mom turned toward me, shooting daggers with her eyes, while she comforted her son.

My only thought:
Did I blow my cover?
It seemed not. Unaware of their surroundings, Alana, David and Linda continued to talk. Their eyes were locked, and their facial expressions were serious, even tense. I continued to edge closer, hiding behind a large round rack of women’s sweat suits, thumbing through the clothing as though I were looking to buy.

“What do you mean?” I heard Alana say, in a tone of hushed surprise.

“Just what I said,” Linda responded. “I know what I saw.”

“Linda,” Alana answered, “I think you should keep this to yourself. You don’t know whom this could harm if this came out.”

“Okay,” she answered with reluctance, her left hand crinkling the fabric of her tennis shorts. “I better go now.” She gave Alana one last glance before she moved away.

“This will all work out for the best. You’ll see,” Alana called after her.

David had said nothing during the conversation, only nodded his head once in a while, as though he were committing every word to memory.

Alana then headed out the doors toward the elevator lobby and David and Linda headed briskly in the opposite direction toward the sculpture garden.

At 6:30 p.m., why would Linda be heading out with David at her side? She was supposed to go to her room to change for a Sapphire dinner event on the mezzanine level. I knew this because I was supposed to be doing that same thing.

It was too irresistible. I had to snake through the loitering guests and follow them. Jake would understand when I called him later and explained my thinking. Jake might play at it but he could never stay angry with me for long.

Chapter 36

Linda and David were walking through the sculpture garden, when David tripped over something and almost fell. I was afraid Linda might see me as she turned and asked if he was all right, but they continued their walk toward Papa’s. A moment later, David looked at his pager, said goodbye to Linda, and hurried off toward the pool.

Was Linda going to have a drink with her husband, Frankie, before cleaning up and heading to the dinner? It could be, I supposed. I was beginning to feel foolish for following her when she, abruptly, made a 180° turn and began walking toward me.

“Well, hello, Maya! How nice to run into you here. Are you going to meet French for a drink?” she asked.

“Actually, I was just going to use the little girls’ room,” I lied. “It’s one of the best on the property and underused this time of day.”

“I have to go, too,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”

I wanted to say, “Oh, great!” Instead, I said, “That would be fine, Linda. Friends that tinkle together, winkle together.”

She looked at me, as if to say, “Huh?” and then laughed. “Maya, you are such a card!” she said, and off to the restroom we strolled.

Once outside of Papa’s again, we took leave of one another. She said she was headed back to her room to change. I wasn’t so sure but I couldn’t follow her again. My chance to spy on her had passed. Frustrated, I walked away from her toward my home.

In the restroom, she had mentioned nothing about her chance meeting with Alana and David in the gift shop, but why would she? She also didn’t mention why she was headed to Papa’s Place, then decided against it. I wanted to ask her but it was none of my business.

As I took the shortcut on the hanging bridge over the pool toward home, I pondered these things. I was in the middle of the hanging bridge, walking as briskly as a person who is swaying from side to side can do, when I heard a popping sound. At once, my left shoulder stung worse than the time a deer fly bit me. When I checked it out, my linen jacket seemed to be oozing grenadine. Then, darkness closed in like a collapsing umbrella and I sank where I stood, swaying slightly, twenty feet above the deep end of the pool.

Chapter 37

I was awakened by the smell of bacon. Gosh, was it breakfast time already? I hoped so. I was ready for waffles, smothered in butter and maple syrup. I started to get up.

Ouch! It was not time to get up. I was in a world of hurt and in a moving vehicle. Everything was a little fuzzy, but as I turned my head, I saw a good-looking kid sitting next to me, sinking his teeth into a double-bacon cheese burger. That explained the smell of Saturday morning breakfast, but why was I lying here next to a teen-ager in uniform?

Then I remembered. That popping noise. My shoulder. My linen suit. “Is my suit ruined?” I tried to say to the hungry kid but all that came out was a garbled slur of brain salad. He removed the burger from his face, adjusted something at my side, and told me to rest.

The next time I woke up, I was still fuzzy and now in a hospital bed. Two men were talking in low tones nearby. I turned my head and squinted to my left. It looked like Jake and Dave Enderly, seated on chairs next to me.

I coughed, then said, “Hey guys, what are you doing here?”

They popped up from their seats. David handed me a teddy bear.

“Here, this is for you. You could have been killed, Maya,” he said, sounding more accusatory than sympathetic. His face looked haggard and his color wasn’t good.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the teddy in my arms. “You don’t look well.”

“I don’t feel well, thank you. I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I had to come here to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m the one who found you, dangling on the bridge over the pool,” Jake broke in.

“What?” I didn’t remember that.

“Yeah, you were just hanging around—” he said and laughed.

“Ha, ha. Very clever,” I said.

Dave looked anxious. “Maya, I’ve got to get back to the hotel. Get well and hurry back, okay?”

“Okay, David. Thanks for the teddy,” I said and he left.

Jake was filling me in on what had happened and how he had called the paramedics, when he stood up and said, “You have a visitor. I think I’ll go stretch my legs for a moment.”

He left and another man entered. “Hello, Beautiful!” The bright hospital lights silhouetted his frame in the doorway and my grogginess made my vision a little dimmer than usual.

“French?” I said, “Is that you?” For a split second, my heart dared to hope. I felt a shudder of comfort and joy inside of me. But, as I focused, I realized it was only James. Not that it wasn’t nice to see him but, considering the circumstances, I would have preferred to see French. Poor James always came in second. He always placed, but never won.

He approached me with his left hand behind his back and, with a flourish, he presented me with a bouquet of roses, pink Gerber daisies, dianthus and freesia. He had remembered my favorites.

I took a deep breath. Ahhh, it was nice to feel loved even if it wasn’t by the right guy.

“Thank you, James,” I said. “How did you know I was here? I didn’t know I was here.”

“Good news travels fast,” he said and paused for drama, “but bad news travels even faster.”

He drew a chair up close to me, sat down and took my left hand gently in his. “Does it hurt when I hold your hand?” he asked with such sincerity in his puppy dog, brown eyes that I almost remembered what I had loved best about him. I felt a wee bit guilty, but his attention was giving my spirits a boost.

Jake came back just then, saw us holding hands and cleared his throat. “So, James, just so super to see you,” he said, and they shook hands.

“Here, Jake. Be a good guy and find a vase for these, will you?” James said, handing over the bouquet. Jake looked at me and rolled his eyes but, nonetheless, did as James asked.

The two Js in my life had a long standing mutual dislike for each other. I hoped this visit wouldn’t give Jake the wrong idea about James and me.

After a short while, I told James I was tired and needed to rest. He took the hint, promising to look in on me again, to see how I was doing.

Jake returned and set the vase on the window sill. “What was that jackal doing sniffing around here, Maya? You haven’t taken up with him again, have you?”

“What?” I said, surprise and reprimand heavy in my voice. “You surely know better than that.”

He gave me a strange grin. I got the idea he didn’t believe me.

“You know what?” he said, “when you get out of here, I’m going to stay with you until French gets back. You can’t talk me out of it, so don’t try. I don’t like any of this. None of it. You need a keeper, Maya.”

What could I say? I winced pitifully, and gazed into his appraising blue eyes with adoring gratitude.

“Jake,” I said, “you’re my hero. What would I do without you?”

Chapter 38

It was Wednesday morning. Jake had brought me home from the hospital last evening, still mildly sedated. I had slept off the drugs and realized I had no idea what was going on with French, the murder investigation, or the world, in general, but I was itching to get back out there amongst them. Jake knew me well. He took the day off just to keep me in his sights at home. There was no hope of escape.

He had called Lily earlier and she was wandering around my house, as well. They were relaxed, knowing that even though my shoulder had been only grazed, I was in no shape to jump off my deck or crawl through a bathroom window to give them the slip. As I cleaned up and got dressed, I could hear their animated conversation coming from the kitchen.

I had missed Monday night’s conference supper and all of yesterday’s events. Every meeting I did not attend was a lost opportunity to find the murderer or murderers. There wasn’t a whole lot left of the Sapphire conference. In a few days, the visiting execs would be straggling off our property and heading back to their own resorts and hotels. So many opportunities to observe my list of suspects were gone, and I was missing a valuable one right now. Added to the pain in my left shoulder, I was feeling grumpy, out of sorts and, therefore, not exactly good company.

I was resting on my bed, feeling sorry for myself when the doorbell rang. I heard Jake open the front door and welcome Rick Wells and Tom Koenig. I put on my happy face, exited the bedroom, and greeted my guests.

They told me they were sorry to see me laid up like this—they now had an extra detail devoted to just me, security had been beefed up, etc., etc. Oh, sure.

For a moment, I entertained the thought that they might have shot me themselves to keep me out of the action. Truth was, I had gotten on somebody’s nerves, someone who wanted me out of the picture more than even Rick and Tom did. Was it the same somebody who had dragged me to the Disney dumpster three days ago? So much had happened that it seemed like half a lifetime ago. And then there was the issue of my missing husband, Mr. Hubert French.

“Maya, as you probably realize,” Rick’s voice interrupted my musings, “the Sapphire conference is drawing to a close. It was impossible to keep the lid on this thing any longer, so, while you were in the hospital, we interviewed the top tiers of visiting execs to get their statements. So far, the crime lab has come up empty. There are no fingerprints, no lipstick marks on glasses, no shoe prints, nothing. Whoever the murderer is, he knows his stuff. He may have killed before. In fact, we may be looking at murder for hire.”

“She,” I interrupted.

“What do you mean?” Rick answered.

“She,” I repeated. “I’m telling you, your murderer is a she. And she knew both men up close and personal. I’m sure of it.”

Rick slowly nodded his head but Tom almost imperceptibly shook his. Rick was at least doing me the courtesy of pretending to give my opinion some merit.

“Are you letting everyone go home?” I asked, trying to conceal my disbelief and disappointment at this turn of events.

“That’s about all we can do,” Rick said. “We have no legal grounds to keep anyone here,” he continued. “Tomorrow morning we’ll tear down Meeting Room C and take all our files back downtown with us.”

This time it was me who slowly nodded.

“Before we go,” Tom spoke up, “have you been in contact with French?”

“No, not really,” I said, figuring it wasn’t a total lie since I hadn’t even spoken to him.

Rick jumped on that. “What does ‘Not really’ mean?”

“I called Rains at Church Lane Depot on a hunch. French had been by to say hello but that was all Ted knew.”

Now alert, they looked like two dogs responding to a high pitched whistle. I knew what they would do next. They would jump into their cruiser, put the lights on with no siren and race up Interstate 4 to shake down Ted for more information. I must call and give him a heads up that Laurel and Hardy were on their way. I was sorry to have drawn him into this, but that’s the way it goes sometimes. And that’s how taxpayers’ money gets wasted.

Rick and Tom made their excuses and got up to leave. I walked them to the front door.
Adios, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

“Jake! Jake and Lily! We need to talk,” I called, as I re-entered the living room. They had disappeared into the den while the officers were visiting. They trotted back and we had a pow-wow.

“Jake, Lily, what do you say we break into Murder Central before they tear it down tomorrow morning? There might be some clues in their files to help solve this case. They haven’t told me anything they know—I can feel it.”

“Is this necessary?” Jake asked, looking to Lily for support.

“What else have we got? We’ll never be able to access the police files any other way,” I answered.

“Are you in, Lily?” I asked her.

“Does the pope wear a hat?” she asked me and continued, “Are you sure you’re up to this, though, Maya?” There was concern in Lily’s voice.

“Don’t you worry about me,” I said, “This isn’t even a flesh wound—I bet it’s not as bad as getting a tattoo.” I waved my slinged left arm.

“I’m not letting you two go alone so I guess I’m in, too,” Jake said. “How do I let you get me wrapped up in these things?” He looked toward the heavens, shook his head and whispered, “Lord help me.”

“Oh, baloney,” I countered. “You guys love this stuff. How dull your little lives would be without me. Lock me in here and go home to change. See you later tonight.”