Finley looked straight ahead, not focused on anyone, and had the perfect poker face. I had no idea if he was nervous, scared, angry, or none of the above. He'd definitely make a good politician.
Mimi looked slightly concerned. Her light brown curls had dried into a frizzy halo around her pale face. She was mostly glancing at Greer, probably worried about him.
Greer's jaw was clenched. At some point, he had put his gloves back on, and he was bouncing the heel of his right foot up and down on the floor. Was he nervous about something?
I glanced to Cady, who I thought was staring at me, but when I gave a half smile and she didn't respond, I realized she was hardcore glaring at the interrogation room. She was thinking of Aiden.
Anyone in this room could've killed Barclay. Well, other than the cops, Cady, or me.
"That's insane. I had no reason to kill that man," shouted Aiden. The glass behind my head vibrated with his words.
Everyone, including the other officers, looked this way.
Cady's brows knitted together, and she pulled in the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. She was going to have raw skin if they didn't finish with Aiden soon.
A loud bang emitted, and the door jerked open and hit the far wall.
I jumped, nearly sliding off the green vinyl cushion.
Aiden stood in the doorway. His hands were clenched, and a vein in his left temple throbbed. He looked downright angry, and with his bulging biceps, I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. He stormed through the room, once again ignoring Cady.
My feelings for the guy were starting to ever so slightly wane. I knew he was going through a lot, and I felt for him, but don't treat my friend like she's invisible, dude.
Sergeant Clarke stepped into the doorway and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Eh, Mr.—"
Cady leapt to her feet, raising her hand as if she wanted to be called on, and shouted, "Me, please."
The sergeant looked a bit surprised but nodded and motioned for her to come forward.
When she reached me, I held out my hand and rubbed her arm as she entered the room.
There were no loud outbursts from her. I knew there wouldn't be. In the time I'd known her, I'd never heard her raise her voice, except for perfectly hitting those falsetto notes in songs.
When she exited the room, she leaned down and whispered, "Do you mind if I leave? I want to check on Aiden."
That was why she'd volunteered herself.
"No, not at all. Go. I'll catch a cab to Aiden's after."
She looked just as worried now as she had when we first got here. She nodded and ran out.
Sergeant Clarke stood in the doorway again. "Mr. Patterson, please."
Finley stood up, squeezed Whitney's hand, and even gave me a curt nod as he passed.
When he was done being questioned, the police called in Whitney and then Mimi.
Greer and I exchanged quick glances, but they didn't linger. I still wasn't sure if he genuinely disliked me or it was his grief that made him less than hospitable. No matter what Mimi had said and how he seemed to care for her, he did not come across as friendly to me.
In just a few minutes, Mimi stepped out. With one hand on the doorknob, she pressed her back against the open door and said, "Greer, you're next."
He walked over, kissed the top of her head, and entered the room.
She shut the door behind him and muttered something about finding a bathroom and water. She stopped at one of the other officers' desks and asked. The older, paunchy man pointed to the hall and gave directions.
I leaned the back of my head against the glass and let out a deep breath.
"Who planned this vacation?" Sergeant Clarke asked.
Startled by how clear his voice was, I turned and saw the interrogation room door was shut but not all of the way. There was a tiny gap.
"Barclay," Greer said.
"Why now?"
"I don't know. He said it was a good time." Greer's voice didn't sound confident.
"Are you sure?" Sergeant Clarke asked.
There was a moment of silence before Greer replied. "No, I'm not. I don't know any of this. Barclay sent me an email asking if I was interested, and then Whitney followed up. By the time Barclay and I discussed it over drinks, it was already set and in motion. The tickets had been bought. I don't know the details."
The sergeant asked what they had done for the first four days on the island, and Greer filled him in on days of sightseeing, eating and drinking, and going to various beaches. It sounded like they'd had a blast, but it also meant that one of them stood by Barclay's side, ate with him, laughed, and the whole time they'd planned to kill him. That was wild and scary. How could someone be so callous?
"Tell me about that morning before his death. What did you all do?" Sergeant Clarke asked.
"We had breakfast at Bliss Café near Dover Beach. Then we went swimming and lay out."
"And after that?"
"We went back to the hotel, showered, rested for a little bit, and went out for lunch."
"And you chose Ocean Grille?" Clarke asked.
Greer must've nodded because the sergeant then asked why there.
"One of the desk clerks at the hotel suggested it when we asked for a place with good food within walking distance. I think Barclay thought we were getting five-star cuisine and not fried items." Greer chuckled.
"What happened during lunch?" Clarke asked.
"I already told you."
"Tell me again."
Greer made a noise that sounded like a heavy sigh or scoff. He told them about meeting Cady and me and the rest of the afternoon. It was the way I remembered it.
"What did you do after you left Ocean Grille?" Sergeant Clarke asked.
"We went back to the hotel. Mimi and I went to our room and stayed there all night. Before you ask, we didn't leave until the next morning when Whitney convinced us to go to Harrison's Cave in honor of Barclay."
Wait, no. That was a lie. He did leave his room, because I saw him at Lagoon Blue.
"When will we be able to fly home?" Greer asked.
"I will let you know."
"We could just leave," Greer said, sounding defiant.
"And I could hold on to your passport. Don't push me, Mr. Rawlings." Clarke sounded more defiant.
Chair legs scraped on the floor, and I flinched.
I sat up straighter and pretended I found my left knee super interesting.
Greer walked out and left the room.
Sergeant Clarke stood in the doorway and nodded that it was finally my turn.
"Last but not least, right?" I asked with a chuckle.
He frowned, not getting my stupid joke, and I wanted to burrow a hole beneath the table in the interrogation room. My nerves were frazzled. I was terrified they were going to figure out I had snuck into Barclay's room and arrest me. There went my cushy job on the open seas, and then what? Back to Queens? Back to the Espositos?
I sat across from Clarke and Newton at a small metal, rectangular table. The room was tinier than I expected, painted off-white, and other than the blinded window, the walls were bare.
"Miss Foster. Or do you prefer Ms.?" Sergeant Clarke asked while looking down at an open file before him.
"Either is fine," I said and cleared my voice. I placed my hands on my lap, rubbed my palms on my thighs, and then tried to look casual. I was certain they could tell I was anything but.
"Can you please walk us through yesterday?" Clarke asked.
I went through the entire day from the moment we pulled into port, to greeting the guests off the ship, and going to Aiden's, through the lunch, and Barclay's death.
"He propositioned you to have sex. How did that make you feel?" Clarke asked.
"It wasn't a proposition so much as a subtle suggestion. I was surprised since we'd only just met." This conversation was making me uncomfortable though.
"What did you think of Mr. Murdock and his friends?" Newton asked.
Clar
ke cast his partner a sideways glance.
"I assumed Barclay was lonely since he was the only one in their group without a partner. The others seem friendly enough."
Clarke raised a questioning brow.
"I don't think Greer likes me, but I don't know why. We've barely said more than a few sentences to each other. But that was today's attitude, not yesterday."
"Did you not find it odd that four grieving friends wanted to go to Harrison's Cave?" Clarke asked.
I shrugged. "Whitney suggested it. Cady and I went over to the hotel to pay our condolences, and Whitney brought it up. It was something they had planned with Barclay before. Yesterday, he invited Cady and me to go with them."
They already knew this. I told them about the plans when we last spoke at Ocean Grille.
"What did you do after leaving the bar yesterday afternoon?" Clarke asked.
"Cady and I went back to our ship. I took a nap and then met up with some other cast members. They were going out to Lagoon Blue, so I went with them."
"You went dancing after a man died?" Clarke asked.
If he was trying to make me feel guilty or look like a suspect, it wasn't going to happen.
"Yes. I didn't know Barclay. It sucked that he died, and I feel bad for those who loved him, but I'm not one of them."
They both stared at me long and hard and then nodded, as if my answer was satisfactory. It calmed me a little, but I still had the nagging truth that I had been in Barclay's room this morning and my fingerprints would be everywhere. Why hadn't I worn gloves? Oh, because I hadn't planned on breaking and entering when I left the ship this morning. I wanted to blame Cady, but she didn't force me inside. She also didn't force me to steal the man's business card, which was currently in my purse on my person. If they chose to search me… They wouldn't. Right?
Sweat popped onto my forehead at my hairline. I doubted they'd notice, considering it wasn't exactly cold in Barbados, but it still made my heart beat a little faster.
But what was my best approach? Should I have stayed quiet or admitted to being in his room?
I chose to stall and asked, "You got the toxicology report super fast, no?"
One corner of Newton's mouth turned up.
Clarke said, "A rush job. I see that your first name is Elizabeth."
I stopped breathing for a second.
"But you told me Zibby."
"That's what I go by," I said.
Clarke looked back down to the file, and I wondered just how much information he had on me. I didn't care if he knew about back home. I did care if back home knew I was here though. Sure, the ship would be leaving Barbados tomorrow, but then I could be easily found at the next port.
My pulse raced, and a cold sweat produced goose bumps on my arms and the back of my neck.
Before they said anything else, I blurted out, "I saw them at the club."
They both widened their eyes.
"Who?" Clarke asked.
"Greer and Aiden."
Crap. Even though I believed Aiden was innocent because Cady knew him so well, this wasn't going to help him. Cady was going to kill me.
Clarke looked to his partner before making notes on a legal pad beneath the folder.
I explained it all.
"Did they see you?" Newton asked.
I shook my head. "I don't think so. No one mentioned it. I told Aiden I saw him this morning when we went back there. Cady wanted to see him."
"And what did he say?" Clarke asked.
"That he had gone there to get a drink. I didn't discuss it with Greer."
When he was done scribbling, he said, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Foster. If there is anything else, I'll let you know."
I sat frozen in my chair. This was it? I could go?
Without another thought, I jumped up and raced out of the building.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After leaving the police station, I was pumped and pissed. I didn't bother with a cab but walked, practically stomped, to The Frond. Someone had killed Barclay. I assumed it was someone he knew, someone he came here with, and there was no way I was getting blamed for it. Sure, now I was fine, but as soon as the fingerprints results came back, I'd likely be suspect numero uno, and that wasn't going to cut it.
I'd painstakingly run from my family, hid my past, and made the best of my situation, despite numbingly missing my mother and even my doofus brother. I was helping Cady, who was helping Aiden. The thought of either of us being blamed for something that one of the friends had done was inexcusable to me. So my only choice was to have a heart-to-heart with Barclay's so-called friends.
Having the killer confess was a long shot. I knew this, but I had to try.
By time I reached The Frond, I needed a shower. I crossed the corridor with purpose, unlike the first time I was here, and went straight to the elevators. The ride to the fifth floor was fast. But not fast enough, seeing how when the doors opened again, some of my determination had seeped from me and I was starting to doubt if this was the right plan.
I stepped onto the floor and heard voices. The door to room 500 was wide open, and it sounded as if the four remaining friends were inside talking. No, arguing.
"I had no reason to kill Barclay. He was my best friend," Finley shouted.
I gingerly walked across the hall to their doorway. From my vantage point, I could see Greer's black gloved hand. He was standing in front of the couch.
"Well, someone did," he yelled.
My stomach jumped, and I felt nervous and a little nauseous. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I quickly stepped back, out of sight, to contemplate what to do. It didn't seem right to interrupt them. I didn't need their hostility with each other to rain on me. I could return later. From what I'd overheard at the station, they weren't leaving the island tonight.
I started to turn toward the elevator and saw the door to room 501 wide open as well. Greer and Mimi's room. Was she in there or with the others?
They weren't leaving tonight or likely tomorrow, but my ship would be, and if the Barbados police kept me here due to snooping through Barclay's room, I'd be devastated. It may have been wrong to go in there and through his stuff, but I didn't kill him. I wasn't losing this job for trying to help Cady's relationship.
I inched forward. My pulse soared. I held my breath and peeked inside. The main room was empty. The sound of water turned on, and the bathroom door was halfway shut. That must've been Mimi. I prayed their room was set up like the other two and ran inside.
My spur-of-the-moment intention was to hide in their closet, but one of the double doors was open, and it was likely she'd look inside when she was done bathing.
I went from wanting to talk to Barclay's friends, to demand one of them spill as the murderer, to this? What did I expect to find? A letter of admission? But knowing that finding the vial of poison that killed Barclay lying on a bedside table was unlikely didn't stop me. I had to at least look around and see if I could find anything incriminating.
So for the second time today, I dove for the carpeted floor and shimmied under a bed. I was getting good at this.
As soon as I was beneath it, I knew this was a bad idea. Snooping was wrong. Neither of those thoughts made me crawl out though. My brain was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
The water turned off, and I watched Mimi's flip-flop covered feet go from the bathroom to the closet. Thankfully I'd listened to my intuition. She shut the closet door and walked into the living area, out of sight. A second later, I heard the hotel door shut and all muffled arguing was further muffled. Greer must've gone across the hall to Finley and Whitney and left his room door open.
I wasted no time and dragged myself out of hiding. I didn't know if the four of them were going somewhere and I'd have time to snoop or if they were just going to argue some more and return. I needed to act fast.
I turned to the room and took a deep breath. Old Spice deodorant, a green plastic comb, and a jar of moisturizer were arranged on the top of one side of th
e dresser with pristine care. They were in neat marching order. But on the other side, there was an eye shadow palette that was open and cracked shadow dust had fallen out onto the furniture. A tube of Secret Sweet Pea scented deodorant lay beside it. The lid was off and turned over. This disarray wasn't just on the dresser either.
One nightstand was cleared of any items, and the other held used tissues, a glass half filled with clear liquid, and a room service menu. Greer's black slippers were lined up like soldiers on the left side of the bed, and Mimi's light blue ones were upturned, as if they'd been kicked off, and several pairs of stockings lay on the floor beside them. Clearly these two people were named Felix and Oscar.
I opened the dresser and nightstand drawers, but there was nothing unusual. More clothes and toiletries. Greer's nightstand was empty. It made me wonder if he was simply neat and orderly or if he didn't want to leave anything incriminating behind.
I opened the closet door, but the only items in there were Greer's neat array of shorts and shirts—no suits for him—and Mimi's colorful skirts, tops, and dresses. There was so much fringe.
I ran into the bathroom. It was in the same haphazard mess as Mimi's side of the dresser. Oh, Greer must've loved washing up around hair products and makeup-tipped Q-Tips. He hadn't invited her himself, yet every time I'd seen them together, he was always kind and gentle with her. He definitely cared. And he'd have to in order to put up with her mess. That was sweet and made me smile. Maybe he wasn't a grump deep down after all.
I stepped back into the main room and walked around the fireplace. There was a beige shawl draped over the far arm of the sofa, another glass on the side table. This one empty.
I peered into the trash and saw used tissues, and there was something peeking out from beneath them. Vowing to invest in disposable gloves, I reached in and pulled it up.
It was a folded and somewhat scrunched bank statement. Bank of Illinois. Account Holder was listed as Greer Rawlings. It was dated last month, and there was an eight-thousand-dollar cash deposit made on the fourteenth. That may not have been a lot of money to a financial analyst, but it seemed hefty considering it had been cash. And why was this statement here in the trash? It seemed odd to toss it out in a hotel. Why not keep it on him until he could have it shredded?
Killing in the Caribbean Page 10
