Suite Casualty

by CeeCee James

  She harrumphed. “I’ve got better things to do than to stand here with you staring like a google-eyed imbecile.”

  “Sorry,” I stammered, stepping back. My emotions flew around like a grandma’s crazy quilt— half- embarrassed, half- irritated, and more than half offended at being called an imbecile. But insults came with the territory, especially when having to please a difficult customer.

  At that, Steve got the safety bar down.

  “Have a good afternoon.” I could hardly wait to get into the suite and shut the door behind me. That woman. Ugh.

  The room was dark with all the curtains closed. I fumbled for the switch on the wall and flipped it. The curtains opened with a whirring sound, and a rectangle of daylight fell across the floor and slowly grew, stretching over Dayton’s suitcase, clothes strewn about the leather couch, the table, chairs, and finally… the bed.

  One pale foot stuck out from the covers. My hand flew over my mouth. I’d seen enough dead bodies to recognize its waxy appearance.

  Steve’s eyes grew like eggs as he goggled between me and the bed. “Is he—?” He swallowed hard. “Mr. Dayton,” he called. His voice cracked at the end. He said a little more forcefully, “Sir!”

  I tip-toed over like I was cornering a mouse. I really didn’t want to see what I knew I was about to. Fishing into my pocket for my phone, I took a deep breath to prepare myself. Two more steps and I was there.

  Mr. Dayton was indeed deceased. He’d died with his eyes open, and they stared up at the ceiling. I shivered.

  “Uh,” Steve began. He turned then and ran to the bathroom. I could hear him vomiting. It was always the big guys.

  I dialed 911 and called for help.

  Chapter 5

  About fifteen minutes later, I heard rattling in the hall. I went out to see two paramedics headed toward the room. Mrs. Richardson’s door opened again.

  “What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “It’s a private matter. Guest confidentiality. But everything is taken care of.” I smiled firmly and turned my back. Critic or not, I had to be in charge of the situation. Looky-lou’s had to be discouraged.

  “Excuse me?” she asked. But I ignored her and followed the paramedics into the room.

  There was no sense of urgency. One paramedic did a preliminary examination with a stethoscope while the other shook out a long sheet.

  “Any guesses as to the cause of death?” I asked.

  The paramedic with the sheet walked over. “Obviously, there’s no way for us to know for certain what happened, but given that he was found in bed, a likely theory would be cardiac arrest.”

  The two wine bottles by the bed jumped out at me. Had it been alcohol poisoning? He hadn’t seemed that drunk last night. Am I responsible if it was a heart attack? He said his heart was pounding last night. I should have insisted that the hotel call for an ambulance even when he said no. I was kicking myself for not getting medical help.

  “Ms. Swenson?” The paramedic set down the sheet. He waited for my response.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just a little overwhelmed. He was acting a little irrational last night. He called me to his room a little after nine p.m. and insisted there’d been someone in his suite.” I walked over to the side table and looked among the wine bottles for any prescription bottles. “I think, to be on the safe side, I’m going to need to call the police.”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” he shrugged. He probably wondered why I’d call for a drunkard who’d had a heart attack. The hotel had sadly seen more than its fair share of deaths over the years.

  But what was gnawing at me was Dayton’s insistence that someone had been in the room. Of course I knew that was impossible, but still….

  Still what? My inner voice pressed.

  Still, I couldn’t afford to ignore Dayton’s claim, no matter how irrational the fear seemed to be. Not when the man died.

  “How long do you think he’s been… gone?” I asked.

  The paramedic shrugged. “Not for me to say. Seems like it’s been a while though.”

  I pulled out my phone to text Kristi Bentley.

  Kristi was the sister of my best friend, Ruby, and she was also a sergeant for the Starke Springs police department. She was a force to be reckoned with and excellent at her job. Above all, she understood my need for discretion.

  My fingers flew over the keyboard. —Need the police to come. We have a DOA.

  She didn’t text back. Instead, the phone buzzed with her incoming call. I appreciated it. I would have called her first, but I never knew what she was doing at her job.

  “Maisie? What’s up?” she asked.

  “One of the hotel’s guest failed to check out this afternoon. We’ve opened the room and discovered that he’s deceased.”

  “Okay?” She sounded a little frustrated. Obviously, she had been busy when I texted.

  “The problem is that he was quite irrational last night. He kept insisting that someone had been in his room and had woken him up earlier. I had security go through the suite and it was clear, but he was so upset I set up a guard outside his room.”

  “Any drug use?”

  “Possibly. But nothing I can see off hand. I just need to cover my bases. The paramedics are getting ready to take him away right now.”

  “Any signs of violence?”

  “I can’t tell. Nothing that I can see.” I was starting to feel foolish.

  “Got it. I’m not far from you so I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t have them do anything more and don’t you move anything.” She hesitated, before adding, “But you know that already.”

  “I’ll be good, mother,” I said to tease her. She snorted and said goodbye.

  The paramedics had been eavesdropping, and they’d already stepped away from the body and had started to pack their things.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, sliding the phone into my pocket.

  The first one answered me. “You’ve got the police on their way, so now the coroner needs to come get him.”

  I nodded and resisted fanning my face. The room felt overly hot. This wasn’t really happening right next door to the hotel critic, was it? What were the odds?

  The other paramedic latched the medical bag closed and chucked it on the stretcher while paramedic number one folded the sheet. Together, they left the suite.

  The room was silent except for a ticking from somewhere. Even the normal street noise didn’t carry up to the floor this high. I glanced at the bed, suddenly feeling very alone.

  “Steve!” I yelled.

  “Here,” he hollered back. He sat slumped on the floor next to the door to the back half of the suite where the closet and bathroom were.

  “You doing okay?” I wandered over and squatted next to him. He wasn’t quite as green looking as he’d been earlier, but his lips were still white.

  “Fine,” he croaked.

  “You want to head out?” I really didn’t want him to leave me alone, but at the same time, the poor guy was really suffering.

  “I’ll leave when you leave,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. He caught a glimpse of Mr. Dayton and slid back down the wall like an ice cube on a hot griddle.

  “You sure about that?” I asked.

  His face fell into his hands and his reply was muffled.

  “What did you say?” I pushed his shoe with my foot.

  “I said, I never thought I’d have to guard a dead guy.”

  A firm knock on the door interrupted my response. I opened it to reveal Kristi and her partner, Ryan Marshall. Mrs. Richardson was in the hallway behind them. She’d recently changed into a swimsuit and held a stack of towels, obviously on her way to the pool.

  “Wow, you guys were quick,” I said, opening the door wider to let the police officers in. Ryan entered and I could hear him talk with Steve.

  “You sure everything is okay in there?” Mrs. Richardson asked, her voice low with suspicion.

  “Everything’s taken ca
re of,” I said with a wave.

  Kristi gave her a measured stare which Mrs. Richardson seemed to gladly return. The tension between them built like a Jack-in-the-box that was about to go off. Dear heavens, Kristi. Please do not take on the hotel critic!

  I cleared my throat and touched my friend’s shoulder. “You ready?”

  Kristi passed me slowly and entered the suite. Her eyebrow arched as she caught my eye.

  I shut the door as quickly as I could behind her without being rude. My gut told me something was about to fly out of Kristi’s mouth.

  I wasn’t disappointed. The door had barely clicked closed when Kristi blurted with a huff. “She seems overly interested. I don’t trust her.”

  “She’s a difficult guest,” I said, like that was an explanation for Mrs. Richardson’s curiosity.

  “Difficult?” That word interested Kristi. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  “Yeah. She’s a hotel critic my boss warned us was coming. And like all her predecessors, she’s rude and demanding, and generally has all of us on pins and needles.”

  Kristi nodded understandingly. “I’m sure you guys will do fine.”

  “It’s just my luck that her room happens to be next to the dead body,” I said glumly. “It’s my fault. I upgraded her to that one for free when she checked in.”

  “Well, people do die,” Kristi said, turning toward the bed. She cracked her fingers. “Now let’s see about this body.”

  Steve moaned from his spot by the wall.

  “You can leave,” I said to him.

  He swallowed hard as he gratefully nodded to me. The relief spilled off of him like a waterfall as he ran out of the room.

  Kristi pulled a pair of black gloves from her back pocket and stretched them on. She walked over to the side of the bed where Ryan was already poking through one of the drawers.

  She leaned to examine Mr. Dayton’s hand. “Looky, looky. Now there’s a cookie,” she muttered.

  Chapter 6

  “Cookie?” I sounded like a magpie repeating her. “What’s that mean?”

  Ryan leaned over the bed to check out what Kristi was referring too. He nodded grimly. “We better bag them up.”

  “Hey, guys?” I felt like an eight-year-old hanging out with my older sister’s high school friends. “What’s so interesting?”

  “See his nails?” Kristi used a penlight to illuminate his fingertips more than the overhead light could. “They’re all clipped short.”

  I was very disappointed. Seriously? “Well, I mean, I used to bite mine, but I clip them now myself.”

  “It’s usually a sign of foul play. From a very smart criminal,” she said.

  I raised my brows.

  She sighed and continued, speaking like I was that eight-year-old. “DNA is known to collect under nails. So clipped nails often means that the perpetrator is trying to prevent any possible DNA—specifically from them—from being exposed. Ryan, did you see any nail clippers?”

  “None so far,” he said, flashing the beam of his Maglight around.

  “Keep an eye for that, and also nail shavings.” Kari continued her examination.

  “How do you know he didn’t just clip them?” I asked.

  Kristi flashed the light over his face. I winced at the sight. “See there? He’s got quite the stubble going on. And check out his feet. Long toenails. Doesn’t seem like trimming his fingernails is in keeping with his current hygiene practices.”

  I nodded, starting to feel worried. “Last night, he asked the front desk for me, so I came up here with Mike, one of our security guys. Dayton insisted that someone had been in his room and woken him up. He thought it was a ghost. We searched but there was no one here. Dayton was so freaked out that I went ahead and had Mike stand guard all night just for Dayton’s peace of mind.”

  Kristi gave a firm nod at my explanation. “Well, we don’t know anything yet. The coroner could still rule his death as one of natural causes. But I’m going to start gathering evidence just in case it’s ruled otherwise.” She flashed the penlight over the bed and then pulled back the top cover.

  The light shone over the pillow under his head. Something about the pillow looked odd to me, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  Ryan headed for the bathroom as Kristi opened the bedside drawer, causing a pen inside to rattle around.

  “You finding anything, Marshall?” she called.

  “A bottle of pain reliever,” Ryan answered.

  “Ask him if he sees a tiny brandy bottle,” I said.

  “What brandy bottle?” Kristi flicked a sheet back and examined Dayton’s body.

  “Well, last night there was a hotel courtesy bottle and a glass sitting there.” I pointed.

  Kristi followed my gesture toward the table and then called to her partner who was still in the bathroom. “Marshall! You see any cups in there?”

  “Yeah. A dirty coffee mug that has a cigar mashed out in it.”

  “Nothing else? A small brandy bottle?”

  “That’d be a negative.”

  She gave me a curious look and then headed back to the closet alcove to see for herself. Of course, I followed. All I saw at the counter was the coffee station which held another coffee mug and a basket filled with flavored creamers and sugars. Next to that were four paper-wrapped drinking glasses.

  My eyebrows flew up.

  Kristi gestured at them with her penlight. “How many cups does the hotel stock in each room?”

  “Four. But I know I saw one last night.”

  “Hmm. You think he could have washed and re-wrapped it?”

  “Maybe?” But in my gut, I knew that was impossible. Dayton had been beside himself with anxiety. And, judging by the condition of his clothing, he hardly seemed like the type who would clean a used glass.

  But it was possible that the unexplained presence of it sitting on the table—unexplained at least to him—bothered him enough that he wanted to put it back where it belonged.

  Kristi raised an eyebrow at me. “You met him. Yes or no?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t answer that. I know I saw a glass last night, along with a bottle of brandy. Dayton insisted someone other than him had been in his room and drank it. And that person woke him up by touching his face.”

  Kristi turned toward the windows.

  “They don’t open,” I said, guessing what she was thinking. “Mike went out on the balcony when we came up, but there was no one there. I can’t see how someone would get on the balcony, anyway.”

  “Did Dayton say if the door was locked? Is it possible he lost his pass-key?”

  “He said his door was locked.” I frowned, realizing I should have asked about the pass-key. How could I have missed that? “I’m not sure about the pass-key, but when we came in this morning, the safety lock was on.”

  Kristi pulled open the drawer and pointed inside. “There are two keys in here. Marshall! Bag those cups on the counter, okay?”

  “So you think he did wash the cup?” I asked.

  She ignored my question and asked another one of her own. “You found him, right?”

  “Well, Steve and I did.”

  “How did he appear?”

  “What do you mean? Like he looks now. Dead. I tried not to look too close.”

  “Look at this, Benton. Found it in the bathroom trash.” Ryan shook a bottle of pills where it sounded like just a few remained. “Prescription sleeping aid.” He read the label. “And a strong one at that.”

  “Hmm, that makes sense,” Kristi said after studying them.

  “Sense how?” I asked. I was probably annoying them but I couldn’t help it.

  “You mix those with alcohol and you’re in for a world of hallucinations,” she said. “Ghosts, ghouls, and spookies in the night.”

  “So that combo could make him think that someone woke him up?” I asked.

  “It sure can. Plus it induces amnesia. You said your security guy checked this room. From everything I
’ve seen, I can confirm that there’s no way in or out, other than by that door. And you had a guard standing there all night?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Then most likely Dayton died of causes probably due to the mixture of the medication and alcohol.”

  “He’d said his heart was pounding. I asked him if he wanted an ambulance which he declined,” I said. “He seemed sober enough to make that decision. But he was very paranoid.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about that. He made his own choice.” Kristi stared down at the body. “It appears he chose wrong.”

  “But what about the nails?” I pointed to where Dayton’s hands lay curled on the sheet.

  She shrugged. “Coincidences do sometimes happen on this job.”

  The coroner and his team arrived at that moment. I was surprised by how young the coroner looked. He slapped Ryan on the back and whistled as he examined the body.

  Ryan filled the coroner in while the team bagged Dayton’s hands and lifted him onto the gurney. Dayton’s legs, clad in the same dark sweatpants I’d seen on him last night, were wooden-like. His one hand stayed clenched in the air as if it were still resting on the blanket. I turned away, my stomach flip-flopping, feeling more empathy with Steve than ever.

  As the coroner worked, he spoke his impressions into a tiny voice recorder. I caught one of them. “Rigor mortis observed in the upper half and nearly completely through the lower extremities. Cautious time of death, two a.m.” He clicked it off and whistled again.

  Two of the coroner’s team hefted Dayton up onto the stretcher. The coroner scribbled on a clipboard as the team buckled the body down. He dropped his pen, and I bent down to get it.

  “Thanks,” he said with a wink and gave me a slow smile.

  Inwardly, I groaned. Was he flirting with me? Over a dead body?

  “No problem,” I muttered and moved away.

  The team finished buckling Dayton on and then covered him, head to toe, with a thick blanket.

  I dialed Steve who was down in the lobby. “We’re about to come down. Make sure the elevator and foyer are clear of guests and then get back to me.”