Mitchell looks at Wavonne and then at me. “Fine,” he says, and motions for me to follow him.
I scurry to the other side of the counter and walk behind him into a little back room. He sits down in front of the computer and starts moving the mouse around, pointing and clicking on folders on the monitor.
“Okay, here is the concierge lounge when the shots went off.”
“There’s no sound?” I ask, leaning in to get a closer look and seeing Cynthia taking a seat at the bar.
“No... I mean yes, there’s no sound.”
I stand behind Mitchell and watch the attendant pour Cynthia a glass of wine. She takes a sip. Then picks up her phone and starts tapping on the screen. A second or two later, she and the attendant are both clearly jolted by something, the first gunshot I assume. As Cynthia hops off her chair you see her flinch again at what must be the second gunshot. She and the attendant stand still as if they are waiting to see if there might be a third blast. When they don’t hear anything more, Cynthia approaches the door to the main hallway with the attendant following, and they fall out of view.
Mitchell does a little more pointing and clicking. “This is the restaurant.”
I lean in even closer this time as Russell and the man he’s talking to are farther away from the camera than Cynthia. This footage is not as crisp as the previous one, but I can tell that Russell is giving the man he’s talking to—or more likely yelling at—a good shakedown. I watch as Russell yells and gestures with his hands until he suddenly stops all motion and begins looking around with a puzzled expression on his face.
“That’s the first gunshot going off,” Mitchell says.
Neither he nor the man he’s talking to have time to do much more than look confused before Russell twists his head from left to right, trying to figure out where the second sound is coming from. They remain still for a few seconds, waiting to see if there is a third boom. When it doesn’t come, Russell seems content to get back to scolding the man about whatever he was dissatisfied with before the shots went off.
“Keep in mind, the restaurant is in a separate building from the hotel, so I’m guessing the noise wasn’t as loud over there as it was here,” Mitchell says, coming up with his own explanation for why the two gentlemen didn’t find it necessary to immediately go investigate the noise. “Is that all you wanted to see?”
“Yes. Things seemed to unfold just as Cynthia and Russell said,” I say, although Cynthia didn’t mention that she was tapping on her phone right before the shots went off, which makes me wonder if she was texting whoever actually did kill Sherry, giving him or her the final go-ahead to move in for the kill. “There’s no way for the date and time on that film to be altered, is there?”
“I’m not an expert, but all the film uploads to a cloud run by the security company as it records. My guess is the only way the date or time could be altered would be if it was done by someone at the security company.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter, considering Russell and Cynthia also have witnesses corroborating their whereabouts when Sherry was killed. And I, myself, saw Cynthia coming out of the lounge right after the gunshots.” I make my way out of the office with Mitchell following. “I’m not sure I’ve learned much more than I knew an hour ago, but it’s nice to see actual proof that Russell and Cynthia were where they said they were at the time of the murder. Thank you for your help, Mitchell. And you can be confident that your secret is safe with us,” I assure, even though I have no idea what his secret is.
“Nothing good on the tapes?” Wavonne asks as I step out from behind the counter.
“Maybe a little something.”
“What?”
“Cynthia was texting on her phone... or doing something on her phone just before the first shot went off. We know she didn’t kill Sherry, but I’m wondering if perhaps she was in contact with whoever did.”
“You couldn’t see anything on her phone screen?”
“No. Honestly she could have been checking the next day’s weather, for all I know.”
“Or checking Facebook or her e-mail... or watching YouTube.” Wavonne looks at her watch. “You ready to go?”
“Not just yet,” I reply. “Let’s swing by Trey’s room. I want to ask him about Twyla . . . why he didn’t tell us she came by his room before Sherry was killed. By the way,” I ask Wavonne as we start down the hall toward Trey’s room, “what was it that Mitchell was doing behind the counter that could have gotten him fired?”
“Hell if I know.”
“What? You said you knew what he was doing.”
“Last week I told Marvin that this is my natural hair, and the other day I told the clerk at Macy’s that I’d never worn the dress I was returnin’. What’s your point?” Wavonne says. “Most people have done something at work that would get them fired if anyone found out. I figured Mitchell was most people. The worst he could do was call my bluff. And it—”
“Shh,” I say. We’re approaching Trey’s room and, a little further down the hall, I see a beam of light coming from the one next to his. “That’s Sherry’s room. Who’s in there?” I whisper to Wavonne as we creep toward the door, which is ajar by a foot or so.
Wavonne presses her back against the wall to the right of the door and cranes her neck around to take a quick peek into Sherry’s room. “It’s Angela.”
“Angela?” I say quietly, more to myself than anyone, questioning what she would be doing in Sherry’s room. Then I figure if she’s up to something nefarious, she wouldn’t have left the door open. So this time I say her name more loudly. “Angela?”
“Yes?” She comes to the door and opens it fully. “Hello.”
“Hi. We were about to pay Trey a quick visit, but then we saw that someone was in here. I guess we were curious.”
“Mitchell let me in earlier. I leave with Sherry’s body in the morning, and... I don’t know, for some reason I just wanted to see where it all went down. I’ve been in here thinking of my sister’s last moments.”
Angela takes a seat on the sofa, and Wavonne and I sit down with her. I can tell she’s been crying, so I put my arm around her. I wish I had some kind words to offer but nothing is coming to mind. My first instinct is to say, “It’s going to be okay,” but it’s not really going to be okay.... I imagine nothing is ever really okay again after something like this. But even if I can’t think of anything to say, I figure Wavonne and I can sit here with her for a little while, maybe make her feel less alone.
I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, so I shift around on the sofa and try to get a bit more comfortable, and that’s when I notice something on the carpet over by the desk, which sits against the wall right next to the door that joins this room to Trey’s. “Excuse me for just one second.” I get up and walk over near the connecting door....
And there it is, plain as day. One little pink crystal that must have been missed by the police and the cleaning crew. As I bend down to pick it up all I can think about is the pink Himalayan salt mask that Trey was wearing the night Sherry was killed.
“Wavonne, can you stay here with Angela? I’m going to pop next door and see if Trey is in his room.”
Chapter 33
“Trey,” I call. I’ve been outside his room for a few moments.
After asking Wavonne to stay with Angela, I hurried into the hall and started knocking on his door. I can hear him moving around in there, so I knock again, a little harder this time.
“Hi,” he says after swinging the door open and removing some headphones from his ears. “Sorry, I had my earbuds in.”
“No problem. May I come in?”
“Um... sure.” Trey opens the door wider and steps aside to let me pass. “What can I do for you?”
I decide to get right to the point. “What you can do for me is tell me why, after Sherry was killed, you were over by her side of the doors that connect both of your rooms.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I was j
ust in Sherry’s room, and I found a little fleck of Himalayan salt on the floor by the joining door. As far as I know, you were the only person in her room at any time in the recent past with little pink crystals on his face. And if I recall correctly, you said you had just finished putting on your beauty mask—”
“Sports facial.”
“Sorry. You said you had just finished applying your sports facial... your pink sports facial when the shots went off. Which means, if you’re telling the truth about when you put the mask on, you were over by the connecting door in Sherry’s room after she died. But I guess it’s possible that this little bit of evidence you left on the carpet could be from when you went to see her shortly before she died, too.”
Trey looks back at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face.
“Yes, I know you paid her a quick visit before she was shot. I also know that Twyla was in your room the night Sherry was killed. Funny, how you didn’t share any of this information with me when I stopped by yesterday.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.” He’s trying to come across nonchalant, but I can tell my revelations have made him anxious. “So, I went by Sherry’s room for a few minutes the night she died. I just wanted to have a quick chat and wish her luck. That’s nothing the police don’t already know. Just like every area of this property, except for apparently the pool area, the hallway is on camera 24/7, so they have me on tape going into her room the night she was killed. The camera also shows that I was only in there about five minutes. Word is they have Cynthia going in and out of there, too.”
“Yes. I heard she’s a premurder visitor as well. Sherry’s sister told us that Sherry mentioned both of your visits to her on the phone that night,” I say. “Was Cynthia’s visit before or after yours?”
“Before.”
“How long was she in there?”
“I don’t know. The only reason I know about her visit at all is because the officer I talked to happened to mention Cynthia was on camera while going into Sherry’s room a few minutes before me. He just let it slip while he was questioning me. He didn’t say how long she was in there, but it couldn’t have been too long, because she was gone when I got there.”
“So, I’m guessing when you were caught on camera visiting Sherry before she died, you did not have your beauty . . . sports facial on?”
“No. Like I said, I had just finished applying it when the shots went off. And you saw me with the mask on when we both went into Sherry’s room after she was killed. Why would it be a surprise, or in any way incriminating, that a small speck from the mask was on the carpet?”
“Because of where it was . . . so close to the connecting door. I have a vague memory of you going into the room behind me after the shooting, but then you fell out of my line of sight, and Mitchell was in front of me, so I’m sure he didn’t see you either. Who’s to say that, while we were distracted by the heinous scene on the bed, you didn’t slip back against the wall and relock the connecting door from Sherry’s side?”
“Relock? Who’s to say that I ever unlocked it to begin with?”
“Is it not possible that you somehow distracted Sherry and unlocked the connecting door when you stopped by to see her before everyone met in the lounge to toast Vera? Then, after the shooting, when all attention was being paid to Sherry’s dead body on the bed, you discreetly hung back and relatched the bolt?”
He looks at me very strangely, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve hit the nail on the head and described exactly what he did, or because he just thinks I’m freakin’ nuts.
“While you may not have had enough time to kill Sherry, exit through her sliding glass door, reenter your room from the pool area, and emerge in the hallway right after Sherry was killed, you could have... just maybe you could have been able to pull it off if you used the connecting door.”
“I can’t even follow everything you just said. I certainly couldn’t have actually done any of it. ‘Exit.’ ‘Reenter.’ ‘Emerge.’ You sound like you’re providing commentary on some sort of rat’s maze competition.”
“Maybe so,” I say, and begin to wonder if he’s right. Perhaps the little salt particle fell off his mask while he was just standing there taking in the awful scene with me. Maybe one of the officers stepped on it and tracked it over by the connecting door or... or who knows what. I’m not sure what else I can ask him that will prove he either did or didn’t relock the door, when it occurs to me that perhaps, instead of asking him something, I should tell him something. If Wavonne’s bluffing worked on Mitchell, maybe a little of my own bluffing will work on Trey, too.
“You know what? Come to think of it,” I say. “I remember hearing a click behind me after I walked into Sherry’s room. I didn’t think much of it at the time.... Any sound that wasn’t a gunshot wasn’t terribly bothersome at that point. But, in retrospect, that was you relocking the interior door, wasn’t it?” From the way Trey is looking at me, I can tell I’ve really struck a nerve this time. “Wasn’t it?”
He’s quiet, but I can tell from his expression that he’s guilty—he did relock the door, and suddenly I’m fearful. If he relocked the door, then he must have killed Sherry. Why else would he have unlocked it? He would have only done it for quick access to her room so he could murder her. What’s to stop him from doing the same to me?
“Wavonne and Angela are right in the next room,” I say, taking a few steps back toward the main door.
He senses my angst and smirks. “You honestly think I killed Sherry?”
I take a few more steps back. “Your face gave you away, Trey. When I said I heard you locking the door, something in your eyes changed. I have no doubt you relocked that door after Sherry was killed... after you killed Sherry.” I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it, getting ready to make a quick exit and scream for the girls in the next room if I have to.
Trey is staring at me. He appears amused by how anxious I suddenly am. “You’re right about me unlocking the interior door when I went by to see Sherry before she was shot. I’ll give you that. And you’re right about me relocking the door after she was killed. I even used a tissue to make sure I didn’t leave any fingerprints. It’s the part in between the unlocking and the relocking that you have wrong.”
“Oh?”
“I did not kill Sherry. The whole using-the-connecting-door thing to commit murder would have been a pretty stupid plan when you think about it.”
“How so?” I ask, my hand still on the doorknob.
“It was just by chance that I was able to get in there after Sherry died to reengage the lock. I got lucky with Mitchell being able to open the room and not know enough to keep us from going in there with him. There was no guarantee that the police wouldn’t have been the first to open the door, cordon off the entire room, and not let me or anyone in. And that would have left an unlocked door between my room and Sherry’s and made me the prime suspect. If nothing else, over the past couple of days, I hope I’ve shown you that I’m smarter than that.”
“If you didn’t kill her, why did you unlock the door from her side earlier in the evening?”
“If I tell you, will you promise to keep it between you and me? I didn’t kill anyone. I swear. But what I did do was probably not exactly legal either.”
I let my hand go from the doorknob and feel my body loosen up just a bit. “If you can convince me you didn’t kill Sherry, then yes, I’ll keep whatever you tell me private.”
“When I stopped in to see Sherry the night she was killed, I did unlock the connecting door, but only so I could get back in the next morning when she went to the gym.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to retrieve something.” Trey sits down at the desk and opens the drawer, which helps further ease the tension in my body. If he were going to kill me, I think he’d stay on his feet. “A listening device.” He pulls what looks like a ballpoint pen from the drawer and tries to hand it to me.
I approach him carefully and t
ake the pen.
“It’s a voice recorder. You press the little clip to turn it on. I laid it on Sherry’s desk while I was in there before Vera’s little send-off in the lounge. I set it to pick up anything she said in her room for the rest of the night. I only unlocked the door so I could slip in her room and retrieve it in the morning.”
“What were you listening for?”
“I’m certain that when they had their little late night rendezvous, Russell was tipping her off about the next day’s challenges, which gave her time to plan and memorize recipes. We didn’t get to shop for many of the challenges. Often, we were just given a basket of ingredients or a set time limit to raid the Elite Chef pantry and told to make do. More so than anyone, Sherry always seemed to know exactly what she was going to make. We’d get a theme and a basket of ingredients, and she’d go right to work. The rest of us would need some time to collect our thoughts and figure out what we were going to make. And often, our quickly thought-up ideas didn’t work out too well. I figured if I could bug her room, I could get a leg up, too. If she was playing dirty, why shouldn’t I?”
I think about what Twyla said earlier about Trey telling her that he was not the only one playing dirty. I also think about the most recent challenge and how, before she ultimately decided to prepare a version of my cheese nips, Sherry seemed totally “ready-set-go” to make a Monte Cristo immediately after she had drawn her assignment from the chef’s hat—she had not needed to take any time at all to figure out what she was going to make. I can’t imagine she had any way of knowing which ticket she’d select, but perhaps Russell let her know what was on all of them, so she could make plans for every possible scenario.
“I was just looking for some information... to level the playing field for the last challenge. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Cynthia told us that, to keep things fair with the other judges, Russell wasn’t briefed on the challenges.” As I say this I realize it was naive of me to believe Russell was kept in the dark about anything that had to do with his own TV show.
Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits Page 19
