Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series)

by Dane McCaslin

  Get a grip, AJ, I sternly admonished myself. This interview would turn disastrous but quick if I kept letting my mind wander over Detective Baird the way I had strolled around the Miramar.

  ‘Eight. Definitely eight. I left home at noon and it took eight hours to get here, just like Ellie said it would, so that’s why …’ I left the sentence unfinished, feeling, rather than seeing, Baird’s shoulders tense as I stepped off the conversational path once more.

  ‘OK. Eight it is.’ This came from Detective Fischer. I turned to face him, glad for a reason to focus on someone else for a change. If this little tête-à-tête lasted much longer, I’d be checking out Baird’s ring finger as well.

  Chapter Four

  To my credit – or probably more to my mother’s, since it was she who had drilled me in public etiquette since I was a mere tyke – I managed to stay seated until the two detectives left the lobby. As soon as they passed through the entrance, though, I bounced to my feet and beat a hasty path to Emmy’s desk.

  She was still sitting where I’d left her, and the file she had pulled from the cabinet behind her desk remained unopened, her hands folded on top of it. I hesitated, not knowing whether or not this was the right time to interrupt her reverie. I have never been accused of having perfect timing, though.

  ‘Hey, Emmy?’ I plopped down into the chair next to her desk. ‘You OK?’

  She looked at me as if she had just noticed my presence, her troubled eyes on mine. ‘Yes, thank you, AJ. I’m just thinking. So,’ she made an effort to perk up, ‘What did the detectives ask you about?’

  ‘Besides name, rank, and serial number?’ I joked.

  She seemed genuinely interested, so I proceeded to give her a slanted version that probably wouldn’t match Detective Dimple’s notes. I wanted to see her smile.

  ‘Oh, just the usual questions about who dun it and what time I got here last night. I think they were trying to pin it on the new girl.’ I paused and looked down at the empty plate that should have been filled with fresh cookies. ‘Hey, what’s up with the hired help? Did they forget us or what?’

  Emmy smiled then, looking more like her normally in-control self.

  ‘I’ve noticed your sweet tooth, AJ. Would you like me to ring for more?’

  Her hand moved toward the unobtrusive slim phone that sat near her computer.

  ‘No, that’s OK,’ I laughed. ‘I know where they’re hiding.’ I stood to my feet, feeling a little better about Emmy’s frame of mind. ‘I need to run to my suite anyway but I’ll be back shortly. Can I stop by and pick something up for you, maybe a sandwich or something?’

  Emmy shook her head. ‘I’m fine, AJ, but thank you. I have a few calls to make, so take your time.’ With that, she picked up the phone and began to dial, smiling a dismissal.

  I left the main lobby and took the quickest route to the back corridors leading to the various suites and guest rooms. I needed to unpack my bags and get my laptop hooked up; thank heavens for free Wi-Fi, I thought, with a smile. I could Skype with Ellie later on, assuming I’d have time to myself that evening.

  Still marveling at my complete luck in finding such a job, I quickly settled my things and, after a nanosecond of hesitation, rang for some lunch. I mean, if it came with the territory, then why not? I banished the guilt and settled down to wait for my turkey, Swiss, and avocado croissant, feet propped up on the coffee table and head pressed back into the deliciously soft couch cushions. This was something I could get seriously used to in a hurry.

  I must have dozed off without even realizing it because the knock at my door pulled me to my feet with a jerk. The same little maid from this morning stood there, her face filled with a curiosity to make the Saddler nosiness look downright proper. What was she expecting to see? More bodies? Maybe a corpse or two in my suitcases or tucked behind the couch?

  That thought brought me up short. Maybe she looked that way at me because they were already talking in the kitchen. An uncomfortable feeling slithered over me like an unwelcome snake and I all but snatched the plate from her hand, shutting the door with the briefest of thank-yous. If that were the case, I’d have to set someone straight and do it quickly before they had me turned into the assistant of Frankenstein. Why do folks always blame the new kid on the block?

  After getting the food down – which was delicious, by the way – I felt somewhat better. Breakfast had been a long time ago, according to my internal clock, not counting the cookies I’d downed as a preventative against shock. I was still trying to decide what to do next when my suite’s phone rang, startling me into the present.

  ‘Hello?’ I said into the handset. Who, besides Emmy, would be calling me? With no response, I tried again, assuming that whoever had dialed my number might not have heard me answer. ‘Hello, this is AJ.’

  The unmistakable sound of dial tone buzzed in my ear and I replaced the handset on the phone’s base. Weird, but nothing to become unhinged over, I decided. Folks often rang wrong numbers, then disconnected without explanation.

  I was just stepping through the front door when the phone rang again, halting me in mid-stride. This time it was Emmy, and she needed me to help her get a group of conventioneers set to rights. I promised her I’d be right there and left my suite, careful to lock the door behind me. One could never be too cautious, even at a ritzy place like the Miramar.

  I joined Emmy at her desk, helping to sort out the milling throng of middle-aged women who stood chatting and laughing as they waited for packets containing information about the resort and the surrounding area. When Emmy had mentioned ‘conventioneers’, I had pictured a gaggle of old men, sans hair save the little strands glued onto the scalp, in business attire, carrying leather briefcases and the Wall Street Journal. This group was in town for the Scrapbooking Extravaganza and instead of briefcases, each clutched large quilted bags of scrapbook goodies as tightly as if they held gold.

  With the women sent on their merry way, each now enjoying a cookie or two, Emmy and I sat down. Concierge work, I was rapidly discovering, was not only varied, it could be downright tiring. I looked over at Emmy, carefully noting the dark areas under her eyes. She looked exhausted, and I knew that our day was only half over. Maybe she was ill.

  As if sensing my questioning glance, Emmy looked at me and smiled. The lines that radiated from around her eyes seemed new, and I was struck at the difference a day could make in a person’s face. It had certainly done so on Emmy’s.

  ‘So. That is done. We have one more large party arriving at six then we can have our dinner. Did you have something for lunch?’ She arched a brow at me, one hand hovering over the empty cookie plate.

  I had to smile. ‘Yes, I did. The food here is so good, Emmy. How in the world do you stay so thin?’ I nodded at her slim arms that rested on the desk top and she smiled.

  ‘Oh, I think that I run it off, taking care of all these folks,’ she said with an expansive wave. ‘You will see, AJ. Some days we’re on our feet from sun up to sun down and can barely grab a bite to eat.’

  She had a point. Aside from the few minutes I’d spent wandering the Miramar and the half hour or so in my suite, I had stayed busy all morning. I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see the little hand pointing at the two. Good lord, Emmy wasn’t kidding. This job was a bit more than smiling at guests and handing out cookies. The twinge of guilt I’d experienced at calling Room Service fled for good. I deserved it.

  Emmy and I spent an hour or so replacing the stock of brochures and folders, having handed out most of them to the scrapbooking bunch. There were a few guests who drifted over to the desk to ask for directions to different attractions, or to ask questions about the beaches and whether or not there were lifeguards on duty, but for the most part we worked on in a comfortable silence. At last, Emmy sighed and sat back in her chair, placing her hands to the small of her back and stretching.

  ‘There. I think we are done, AJ. We only need to check on the evening entertainment. I want to see if
the sound system has been set up as I requested.’ She stood to her feet, groaning softly as she lifted her arms above her head. ‘Ah. What I wouldn’t give for a good massage just now.’

  I looked up at her, an idea percolating in my ever-enterprising brain. ‘Is there something I could do? I mean, so you could at least lie down a bit? I would be happy to, really.’ I sounded like an acolyte eager to please the master, but I really did want to earn my keep.

  Emmy smiled. ‘No, but thank you, AJ. You have already been more of a help than you know.’

  I nodded, only slightly disappointed. As I’ve mentioned before, I often engage my mouth without the benefit of brainpower. I stood to join her but she waved me off.

  ‘No, there’s nothing you can do right now. Since this is your first day and I don’t want you to quit on me just yet, why don’t you go and make use of our spa? We have a private area for women only and you’ll probably be in there by yourself right now. We can meet up at five,’ she added, consulting her watch. She must have read my hesitation, because she added, ‘Really, AJ. We’ll have a busy evening, so take advantage of this time, OK?’

  I smiled my thanks at her and watched her leave the lobby and step out into the afternoon sunshine. She didn’t have that usual briskness, I saw, and I felt anxiety for this woman who I’d met only last night. Esmeralda Ruiz struck me as someone who was truly concerned about those in her care, and that she tended to carry a bigger personal responsibility than she would admit. After a morning such as we’d had, I could hardly say I blamed her. Hopefully, she’d have a good night’s rest and a much better day tomorrow.

  Chapter Five

  The evening’s entertainment was in full swing, the salsa music swimming upward to sway the bright stars that had begun to appear in the sky. Happy couples danced on the patio and makeshift dance floor, and the musicians kept them asking for more. I sat to the side of the bandstand, watching the guests enjoy themselves. I could feel the day’s tension begin to slip away with the music, although I’m certain the glass of excellent Merlot I held was helping as well.

  Emmy sat next to me, head tilted back and eyes closed as she listened to the music and the happy chatter surrounding us. I had noticed a lift in the tenseness of her shoulders after she’d returned from checking on the sound system and making sure that all was in place for this evening. She deserved to have things go right for once on this crazy day.

  A loud popping noise, accompanied by a brilliant blue flash, startled me from my reverie. Screams from the dancers replaced the pulsating music, and I could see activity was centered near the keyboardist. He now sat slumped forward, his forehead resting on the keyboard and his hands hanging limply down at his sides.

  Emmy pushed past me, signaling to the servers to keep the guests back from the bandstand and to clear the dance floor. I was beginning to think this place was jinxed: a lost child; a dead body; and now this latest disaster.

  I watched as Emmy, moving with purpose but very carefully, approached the other musicians who seemed frozen where they stood, each staring at their keyboard player as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head. I hurried to Emmy’s side, getting there just as one of the security guards arrived. He put a hand on Emmy’s arm, keeping her from moving any closer.

  ‘Ms Ruiz, don’t mess with that. There could still be live wires on stage. We’ve called 911 already, so let’s just keep the rest of the band away from Miguel, OK?’

  He began motioning the musicians to step off the bandstand, and they did so with some reluctance, glancing back to where their bandmate still sat.

  Oh boy, I thought. Things were not looking too good for poor Miguel. He hadn’t moved at all, aside from a few twitches of his arms and legs. Definitely not a good sign.

  The faint wail of an approaching siren announced that help was near, and I felt a little better. Once they were here and had things under control, we could continue the party, right? I looked at Emmy to gauge her mindset, and was shocked to catch a look of satisfaction on her face. As quickly as it was there, though, the look was gone, and I was sure I’d been mistaken. It was probably just a trick of the light. Emmy would never be happy to see someone hurt, least of all someone she had hired to represent her beloved Miramar.

  The paramedics arrived and assessed it was safe to move Miguel and lay him down on the ground behind the stage. By this time, we’d managed to get the guests rounded up and moved to another venue; a smaller patio around the corner, where a hasty drinks table had been set up. Smart move, I thought approvingly, smiling at the servers who were busy handing out glasses of wine; a little bit of lubrication and hopefully no one would find any of this odd. To be on the safe side, though, I crossed my fingers. And toes. I was just reaching for my own glass when I heard my name.

  ‘Ms Burnette? Do you have a minute?’ The familiar voice from somewhere behind me sent a chill down my spine and not just because I was startled. It was that Detective Dimple again, and I was in his crosshairs.

  Slowly, I turned to find him standing just a few feet away, arms folded across his chest and feet planted apart. I didn’t see one hint of that intriguing facial feature, though; in fact, he looked rather stern at the moment. That probably wasn’t a good omen.

  ‘Well, hey there, Detective. Two visits in one day from the boys in blue have got to be some kind of record for the Miramar.’ I was aiming for flippant and managed to sound petulant, as if having the law on the property was some kind of albatross.

  He didn’t get the joke, either. Instead, motioning me to follow him, he turned and headed for the main lobby’s entrance, striding too fast for me to keep up. I guess he thought I had more information, although about what I had no idea. Certainly not Miguel’s misfortune; that had been a simple accident, a crossing of some wires. I sighed, looking down at my watch. Eight o’clock. A mere twenty-four hours since my arrival and already having my second police interview. Not an auspicious beginning, I’d say.

  When I did manage to catch up, Detective Baird was standing near Emmy’s desk, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Actually, it was the cookie plate, which had been refilled while we were all outside enjoying the music and the evening. He grinned when he saw me, a trace of chocolate on his mouth. I had a sudden desire to kiss it off, then blushed at my own crazy thoughts. What in the world was wrong with me? Unless I was having some post-David reaction, it was just plain wrong to think that way about a police officer. There was probably some law against it anyway.

  ‘How can I help you, Detective?’ I didn’t mean to sound as cool as I did, but I was over-compensating for my unruly mind. And I was unexpectedly tired. This entire day was taking its toll on me.

  Seating myself beside Emmy’s desk, I reached for my own cookie, snagging a luscious double chocolate chip. There was enough sugar there to sweeten my mood for at least a week, but if it was working, I couldn’t tell. I looked at him as I munched away, waiting for his response. I was determined to keep my mouth shut until I absolutely had to speak.

  He leaned on the corner of the desk, licking the remainder of the cookie from his fingers, staring at me thoughtfully. Well, two could play the silent game, mister, I thought to myself, reaching for another cookie. I figured if I kept eating, I couldn’t talk.

  Finally he relented, heaving a deep sigh to show me how put-upon he felt. ‘Look, Ms Burnette, I need to know who was near the sound equipment today. Let’s start with you.’ He paused, drilling me with those baby blues and I completely forgot what I had been doing that afternoon. Fortunately, his partner walked in just then, giving me a moment to regroup. I was determined to not to appear imbecilic again.

  ‘Hey, Baird. Got a minute? I have something you might find interesting.’ Detective Fischer gave me a cursory glance, effectively dismissing my presence. I didn’t care; hopefully I would get the scoop on what had happened to poor Miguel.

  To my immense disappointment, Baird and Fischer walked off a ways, Fischer murmuring his information in a low voice. In spite of my
acclaimed hearing prowess, I couldn’t make out a single word. I contented myself with another cookie and surreptitious glances at Detective Baird’s backside. Definitely worth the wait, I reflected.

  In spite of his ability to hold my attention in thrall, I was able to come up with a timeline of my day. I had a feeling that I would not be able to wriggle out of this little conversation despite the cookies.

  Heels clicking on the marble floor made me look around. Emmy stood at the entrance and I could see instantly that something was wrong. She looked upset to the point of weeping, and I sprang to my feet, wanting to go and comfort her. Detective Fischer had other ideas, though, and stepped neatly into my path as I tried to scoot past.

  ‘We still need to talk with you, Ms Burnette, so it’s probably not a good idea.’ What did the man think I would do? Grab Emmy’s hand and run off into the darkness? Come up with matching stories so we could alibi each other? I really thought he was smarter than that. I gave him the most disparaging look I could muster and turned back to my chair, walking with shoulders soldier-straight and chin thrust out to indicate my contempt. This was becoming unbearable.

  I was eventually allowed to go to my suite – I say ‘allowed’ because, at one point, Detective Baird left in a hurry and the irritating Detective Fischer remained behind as a babysitter for me and for Emmy, who had taken a seat on the other end of the lobby. Even from where I was, I could see the dejection in the slump of her shoulders and I wondered what had happened (besides all the pandemonium we’d had already) to make her feel that badly.

  The message light on my room’s phone was blinking madly, bathing my room with an eerie blood-colored effect. I shook my head. I really needed to lighten up. Today had been bad – awful, really – but surely we’d reached our quota of murder and mayhem, enough to last a year or two.