Reservation with Death: A Park Hotel Mystery (The Park Hotel Mysteries Book 1)

by Diane Capri

  He shook his head. “Why are you always in the middle of everything?”

  “Dumb luck.” I put up my hand the moment he opened his mouth. “And if you say something obnoxious right now, I’m way too tired to be polite in return.”

  “I was going to suggest that you go back to your room at the hotel, have a hot bath, some tea, and go to sleep. You’ve had a really long couple of days.”

  I blinked blankly at him for a moment, surprised. “You know, I have had a long few days. Thank you. I will go back to the hotel.”

  “Do you want an escort back? It’s late.”

  “Do you have one of those fancy golf carts, too?”

  He smiled, and it nearly knocked me over. “Nope. I got a real vehicle. Only two on the whole island, and the other one’s an ambulance. Only the finest for Frontenac Island Sheriff’s Department.”

  I returned his smile, pleasantly surprised to have witnessed it. I wouldn’t have believed his lips could turn up instead of down. “I will take you up on that. My feet hurt.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was safely in my suite at the hotel. Deputy Shawn had given me a ride up the hill. And I was almost, almost disappointed that Sheriff Jackson hadn’t escorted me himself. The moment I opened the door, my cats were winding around my legs, begging for food. I opened a couple of tins of shredded chicken, their favorite treat, and set it on the counter for them. Once they were eating, they totally forgot about me.

  I dragged my butt into the bedroom to change into my pajamas, my assumption about my feet fully realized. They ached something fierce, and I went into the bathroom and ran some hot water into the tub. I sprinkled some bath salts into the water, then sitting on the edge, submerged my feet. The second my skin hit the hot water, I moaned with relief.

  As I soaked my feet, I closed my eyes. I would be out like a light the moment my head hit the fluffy pillow on my bed. That was one big bonus of living in a hotel—the mattress and pillows were a dream. Plus, someone else did the laundry.

  My phone trilled from the vanity’s counter. I picked it up to see who was calling, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t Lois bawling me out for leaving cleanup early. Or worse, my mother. It was an unknown name and number, but it could’ve been anyone. I didn’t have everyone from the hotel in my contacts yet. It could’ve been the sheriff, for all I knew. I answered, just in case.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Andi.”

  It was my old boss, Jeremy, the gambling thief who destroyed my career along with his. I was so astonished that I fell backward off the edge of the tub and smacked my head on the toilet.

  Chapter 22

  “Hello? Andi?”

  Sitting up against the toilet, I rubbed at my head where I’d no doubt find a big lump in the morning. Reluctantly, I put my phone back to my ear.

  “Andi? You there?”

  “Why are you calling me, Jeremy?”

  “Because I need to apologize to you. I’m so sorry this happened.”

  “Nothing happened, Jeremy. You did this. You, and no one else.” About damned time you apologized, too. I sniffed. “You’re sorry you got caught, you mean.”

  “This sucks for everyone involved.”

  “Yes, you’ve ruined my life as well as yours.”

  “They shouldn’t have suspended you like that.”

  Why did I get the feeling that he wasn’t actually apologizing but trying to get me to feel some kind of sympathy for him? Like somehow we were in this together. Puh-leease. I got to my feet and walked out of the bathroom.

  “What do you want?”

  “I went by your place. I brought over a bottle of wine and a gift basket from Patty Cakes. The little cream cheese cupcakes were your favorite, right?”

  “Then I guess you figured out I don’t live there anymore.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I guessed that when a very large black man with a ring through his nose answered the door.”

  My stomach grumbled. It was probably remembering those amazing cupcakes from my favorite bakery down the street from my old apartment. I went into my kitchenette, opened up the mini-fridge, and took out the small basket of blueberries. They’d have to do.

  “I’m hanging up, Jeremy. Don’t call me again.”

  “Wait! Where are you, Andi? I need to see you. There’s something I—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Goodbye, Jeremy. I’m blocking your number.” I ended the call amid more of his protests, but I didn’t care what they were. Nothing he could say to me would make what he did okay. Or make me forgive him. Not only did he steal from his clients, people who trusted him, but he ruined everyone who had ever worked with him. We were all guilty by association. Unfairly condemned for what he did. Especially me. I’d been ostracized from the legal community, and I could still get disbarred.

  And why the heck would he be contacting me? I’m sure his lawyer would’ve told him not to talk to anyone associated with the case and the firm. What was he up to? It had to be something hinky. I knew without a whisper of doubt that he didn’t call to see how I was doing. He didn’t care about me one whit. He’d already proved that much.

  After I’d found out about his embezzlement, I scrutinized every interaction we’d ever had, every conversation, everything, to find out why, to find out what I could’ve done to prevent this disaster. And the realization I came to was…nothing. I couldn’t have done anything to fix this. He’d been masterful at hiding his theft.

  But I’d seen other signs—how he’d manipulated me and used me. Everything he’d ever said to me, or given to me, was about him, how it praised him, how it benefited him. Classic signs of a narcissist.

  I’d been blind to his narcissistic personality at the time because I’d enjoyed the accolades he favored me with. I was new to the practice and so desperately wanted to succeed. The subtle compliments he gave me, the illusion that he was helping me, grooming me to one day become a partner at the firm. Something he knew I wanted and had been devoting all my time and energy to achieve.

  His helpful behavior had been false. All of it. And I didn’t see it at the time. Which made me feel stupid and duped. I’d never forgive him for any of it. I don’t know why he’d care whether I forgave him or not, either.

  I took my blueberries and sat on the sofa. All notions of sleep had left my mind. My body was still exhausted, screaming at me to lie down to rest, but my head had too many thoughts racing through it begging for attention. I needed to write them down so I didn’t have to hold them in my tired brain.

  I grabbed a pen and the pad of lined paper on the coffee table and started to make a list. List-making always calmed me and gave me focus. There was a connection between the brain and handwriting that had been proved by scientists. But I had always known the connection worked for me.

  First, what I knew or had good reason to believe about the murder so far:

  1. Thomas Banks, low-level criminal, died Friday between two and seven p.m.

  2. Died from blunt force trauma to the head. Where is murder weapon?

  3. Definitely had been in the water, so assailant had to have dragged him out and stored him in utility room.

  4. The assailant broke into (??) spa, hid his wet clothes in shower.

  5. The assailant left in a bathrobe (??) and used stairwell to go to one of the floors and one of the rooms (??)

  6. Assailant is of medium build and average height.

  7. Thomas was blackmailing someone, probably someone at hotel.

  Wow, I really didn’t know much of anything.

  I set the pen down and ate more berries. Scout jumped up on the table and decided that she wanted the pen and knocked it onto the floor. I tried to pick it up, but she was too quick. She had it in her mouth and dashed around the room before I could grab her. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had a little stash of pens somewhere in the suite. She used to collect them back at the apartment. She liked to hoard paperclips as well. I was always running out and buying new ones.

&nb
sp; Maybe she was just telling me to give it up. I was just about there myself. I had no business investigating a murder. It was just another way for me to avoid my problems. To ignore the fact that I might not ever be able to practice law again.

  I got up and went to the mini-fridge to search for any leftover chocolate cake. There wasn’t any, and I glanced at my phone and wondered if it was too late to order room service. No, Andi. I shook my head; I couldn’t cave. I had to stop eating my stress and feelings away. Instead of grabbing my phone, I grabbed my laptop from my bedroom and returned to the sofa. I would do some research instead. I’d always been good at that. Jeremy used to say I could find out anything about anyone. Too bad I hadn’t used those skills to expose him.

  Instead of typing Thomas Banks into the search bar, I typed Daniel Evans. The first thing I found was the home page for Frontenac City. I clicked on his picture and read over his bio. He wasn’t married and had no children. He’d been mayor for the past two years and before that was a local business owner. I was curious about what kind of business he’d owned, so I fell down the rabbit hole of social media and discovered where he’d gone to school, when he graduated, and that he once owned a construction company.

  Now all I had in my mind were images of a shirtless Daniel pounding nails into a wooden frame of a home for Habitat for Humanity. I didn’t know if he ever worked for Habitat for Humanity, but I wanted to picture him that way. The attractive man with the heart of gold.

  “Andi, this is not helping,” I said aloud. I sighed and went back to the browser’s search bar and typed in Thomas Banks.

  There had to be something in the dead guy’s past that would help me figure out who he was blackmailing and why. It was amazing what a person could find just using Google properly. After supplying some inventive search terms, I got an address for him in Michigan. I investigated that and found a woman attached to that address who had the same last name. Helen Banks. Must’ve been some relation.

  I searched Helen Banks and got back an obituary. The obit revealed that Helen had died a few years ago after a long battle with cancer. She was survived by her son Thomas and her daughter Sasha. So Thomas had a sister. I searched for Sasha Banks.

  Majority of the entries were about a wrestling star named Sasha Banks. She was definitely not the girl I was looking for. I clicked on images, and of course, most of the pictures were of the vivacious, purple-haired wrestling diva.

  I kept scrolling through the thousands of pictures until I found one nestled deep among the others—a simple photo of a dark-haired woman. I clicked on it, and it took me to a social media account for some writer from Canada. She wrote romance novels, and the picture was from a conference she’d gone to in Las Vegas. I went through the rest of her pictures, but after a few too many cat and food photos, I concluded this was not the Sasha I was looking for.

  I shouldn’t assume Sasha still had the same last name as Thomas. She could’ve been married and moved away anywhere. But surely there had to be more than one obit to connect the siblings. So, I searched Thomas Banks Sasha Michigan to see what else I could find. Old school photos would be a perfect thread to unravel. But nothing useful came up.

  I leaned back in the sofa and considered what else to check when Jem started hissing and spitting at the balcony window. Jem had Savannah blood in him somewhere, and when he arched his spotted back like a ferocious bobcat, he could be downright frightening.

  I got up to see what he was mad about. When I neared the glass, he puffed up to double his size and made a low yowling sound in the back of his throat. Scout had now joined in on the fervor. The racket was not helping my headache at all.

  I pressed my face to the window but couldn’t see anything out on my deck. I thought maybe there was another cat or a dog or some other animal. I wasn’t sure what kind of wild animals there were on Frontenac Island. I’d seen squirrels and rabbits running around on the hotel grounds, as there were a lot of trees and plants to feed on. I hadn’t seen any bigger game, like foxes or raccoons. I put in a mental note to ask Ginny next time I saw her, just for my own information.

  As I kept peering through the glass, I thought I saw some movement by the bushes next to my deck. Another animal of some sort outside was the most likely instigator of Jem’s reaction. I waited and watched to see if I could spot the telltale glow of glassy animal eyes. The bushes stopped moving, so I backed up.

  I looked down at my cats. They were still puffed up but had stopped yowling. “Whatever it was, I think it’s gone. You guys can relax now.”

  Like a bolt of lightning, Jem jumped at the window. I looked up just as a large stone hit the glass. The impact of it made me jump backward. My heart leapt into my throat, and my whole body shook. The balcony door now displayed a spider web of glass right where my face had been.

  Chapter 23

  “It was a warning Ginny. Someone doesn’t want me looking into the murder.”

  “No one wants you looking into the murder, Andi,” Ginny said wryly. “But you don’t know that’s what happened. It could’ve been just kids playing around.”

  I gave her a look. “Kids? Do you really think kids are going to toss a rock at my window while I’m standing there in the middle of the night?” I took another sip of the whiskey Ginny had brought with her, claiming it would calm my nerves. “No, this was definitely a warning. He was watching me before he threw the rock.”

  Ginny’s eyes grew big as saucers. “You’re scaring me, Andi.”

  “We should be scared. There is a murderer in this hotel.”

  She hugged her knees to her chest while we sat on the sofa. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Murders aren’t supposed to happen on this island. Frontenac is a vacation spot. It’s where people come to have fun, not to kill each other.”

  “Murder happens everywhere. There are bad people doing bad things everywhere.” I rubbed Scout’s little head for comfort. “I think he was watching me the other night as well.”

  Ginny sat up straight. “What? Why didn’t you tell the sheriff? This is serious.”

  “Do you know anyone on staff who smokes?”

  She shrugged. “A few people, I guess. A few of the Chamber Crew, Mick the maintenance guy, Lane at the front desk. Those are all I can think of offhand. But there’s probably more. They can’t smoke inside the building, but they do smoke outside on the grounds.”

  “Does Mayor Evans smoke?”

  She gave me another look. “How should I know? Wait…why? Do you think it was him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ginny took a sip of whiskey and shivered. “We should call the sheriff.”

  “No, I think Sheriff Jackson has had enough of me nosing around in his business. He’s made that clear.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’m definitely not going to stop digging. I must be on the right track somewhere. The killer knows who I am and where I live, so I must’ve talked to him at some point.”

  “You’re not making me feel better about this whole thing when you say stuff like that.”

  I got to my feet and paced the room. “I must be close to the truth. He wants to warn me off. Now I just have to put it all together. But I’m missing something.”

  “Well, we have to tell Lois something. She’s going to freak when she sees the window. And we have to get it replaced as soon as possible, which isn’t all that easy to do here during the height of the tourist season.”

  “She already thinks I’m a screwup, so it won’t be a stretch if we tell her I accidentally broke the window. Especially if I offer to pay for it.” I didn’t have the money to replace the window, but I didn’t know what else to do. I certainly couldn’t afford to get fired again.

  “You can’t be the screwup,” Ginny said with a wry shrug. “There’s only room for one in this family. And I’m it.”

  I stopped and looked at Ginny, appreciating that she considered me family. I realized that I had not properly thanked her for doing e
verything she’d done for me. At my most vulnerable, she had opened her arms and hugged me tight without even touching me.

  I plopped down on the sofa beside her and took her hand. “I love you, you know that, right?”

  She smiled. “I know. How could you not?”

  I laughed and squeezed her hand. “So now what?”

  “Now we have a slumber party. Just like college.”

  “I hope you don’t still snore.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t snore.”

  For the next half hour, we sat on the sofa, sipped the whiskey, and reminisced about our days and nights in college. I knew she’d stayed for my benefit. To keep my mind off the fact that someone had tried to hurt me. If that rock had broken the glass, it would’ve hit me right in the face. That was no accidental toss of some innocuous object. It was meant to hurt me or scare me, at the very least. And I had to admit it did.

  But throwing a rock against my window wasn’t going to stop me. I was too darn stubborn for that to work.

  Chapter 24

  When the alarm on my phone buzzed at six, I rolled over onto my side and nearly smacked Ginny in the face with my arm. She was still snoozing beside me on the bed and didn’t stir. I’d forgotten she could sleep through Armageddon.

  I grabbed my phone, turned off the alarm, then sat up. My head ached something awful. It was likely the combination of smacking it on the toilet and drinking too much whiskey. I wasn’t a drinker, so having even the small amount I did was enough to give me a horrible hangover. Which wasn’t fair, since I never got to experience the lovely floaty high of being drunk the night before.