Officer Eddings’ boyish face lit up.
“Sure, I remember you. You were in that special report on the Willow Bay Stalker. That was good work, Ms. Lee.”
“Just doing my job.” Veronica suppressed a pleased smile. “I’m wondering if you can tell me what happened to Portia Hart?”
A guarded look replaced the smile.
“I wish I could help you, Ms. Lee, but I’ve been given strict orders not to make any statements to the press.” Looking around as if he feared being overheard, he lowered his voice. “Our new media relations officer was pretty adamant about that.”
Hiding her disappointment, Veronica nodded and shrugged.
“Well, orders are orders, Officer. Thanks anyway.”
She started to turn away, but Eddings reached out a hand.
“I can’t make an official statement,” he said, clearing his throat. “but unofficially I can tell you that the cleaner who found the body had already been talking to your competitor when we arrived.”
“My competitor?” Veronica asked, her eyes flicking around the scene. “You mean Nick Sargent with Channel Six has already spoken to a witness?”
Before Eddings could reply, Hunter Hadley appeared beside her with a camera in hand.
“As I said…our media relations officer, Ms. Frost, will be making an official statement as soon as information becomes available,” Eddings blurted, eyeing Hunter with suspicion. “That’s all I can say.”
So much for me getting the inside story now.
Veronica turned her frustrated eyes on Hunter, who leaned in close as if to tell her a secret. She forced herself to ignore the jolt of excitement that shot through her at his nearness, and instead tried to focus on his words.
“Slimy Nick Sargent has scooped us again,” Hunter muttered, giving Gustavo a dirty look. “And he's stolen our cameraman."
“What’s so slimy about Nick Sargent?” Veronica kept her voice low as she gave the Channel Six crew a sideways glance. “He seems nice enough to me.”
“Sure, he puts on a good act, but I’ve dealt with enough lowlifes in my time to see through his nice-guy routine. You will, too…eventually.”
Bristling at his patronizing tone, Veronica watched her boss stride back toward the news van. He stopped to greet someone in the crowd, lifting a hand to brush a dark curl off his forehead. She felt her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and his strong, tan forearms.
“I gotta a family to feed.”
Veronica jumped as Gustavo Perez suddenly appeared beside her.
“Gotta go where the money is, you know. And from what I hear Channel Ten is pretty much bankrupt. She’s going down and I didn’t want to go with her.”
Veronica frowned at him in confusion.
Is Channel Ten in financial trouble? How would Gustavo know?
She pushed the disturbing thought away when she saw Nessa Ainsley’s unmistakable red curls approaching through the crowd. Willow Bay’s new chief of police was walking beside the town’s medical examiner, Iris Nguyen.
“Nessa? Do you have an update for us?” Veronica called, trying to catch the police chief’s eye. “Have you established cause of death?”
Nessa stopped in front of Veronica and shook her head.
“All I can confirm is that the body of a woman was found this morning in a guestroom at the Riverview Hotel. The woman’s identification and the details surrounding her death have to be withheld pending the notification of next of kin.”
Hunter Hadley approached with the camera lowered by his side.
“I hate to break it to you, Chief Ainsley, but Channel Six already broadcast the name of the woman as Portia Hart. Are you disputing the Channel Six report?”
“No, dammit, I’m not, but-”
“Well, Portia Hart is…was…a celebrity,” Hunter said. “So, I’d assume there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle now.”
Nessa ignored the comment. She stormed past the circle of people gathered around Nick Sargent’s tall, athletic figure as he spoke to the camera in a grave voice that perfectly matched the somber expression on his face.
“…an anonymous source on the hotel staff shared the shocking details behind the woman’s death.”
Nick kept his dark eyes fixed on the lens as Gustavo operated the big camera.
“We can now reveal that Portia Hart, the author of the runaway bestseller, Simply Portia, and a social media sensation, was discovered dead in the bathtub of her hotel suite this morning.”
A gasp of shock and dismay rippled through the crowd. Nessa uttered a low curse as she heard Nick’s next dramatic statement.
“Sources have also indicated that Portia Hart’s tragic death may have been drug related. Stayed tuned for further details as the story develops. This is Nick Sargent with Channel Six News, reporting live outside the Riverview Hotel in downtown Willow Bay.”
“He’s just speculating,” Hunter muttered in her ear. “Trying to sensationalize the story to raise his ratings, as usual.”
Shocked into momentary silence by the disconcerting idea that Portia Hart, the poster girl for clean, simple living, had died of a drug overdose, Veronica followed Hunter back to the Channel Ten van. They still needed to shoot their segment, even if they didn’t have much information to share.
Nick Sargent may have beaten them to the scene, but he was risking his reputation, and that of the entire Channel Six station, by reporting on rumors and conjecture. Veronica wondered what he was trying to do. Were ratings really more important that the truth?
Maybe Hunter’s right. Maybe Nick Sargent really is a slimy lowlife.
Reviewing her notes one last time, Veronica took a long, calming breath and kept her eyes on Hunter’s fingers as he counted her down.
Five, four, three, two, one…
"This is Veronica Lee with a Channel Ten breaking news report brought to you live from the Riverview Hotel.”
She ignored the trickle of sweat making its way down her back.
“Portia Hart, bestselling author and daughter of the late billionaire Remington Hart, is dead. As her many fans and followers begin to mourn, the authorities in Willow Bay are now working to determine a cause of death…”
Chapter Three
Nessa Ainsley followed Iris Nguyen off the elevator and down the long hall. She winced as they stopped in the open doorway of Suite 1408, recognizing the sickly smell that hung in the air. The stench of death and decay never got any easier to take.
Pulling on the protective mask, gloves, and booties that Iris had provided, Nessa followed the ME into the suite and looked around.
“Nice view,” she murmured, gesturing toward the large window while trying to ignore the queasiness that had settled in her stomach.
“We’re in here, Nessa,” a deep voice called from beyond the door leading into the bedroom. “Is Iris with you?”
“Yep, I’m here.” Iris stuck her head into the bathroom and studied the room through protective goggles before stepping inside. “And Wesley will come up with the gurney once he parks the van.”
Moving into the room behind Iris, Nessa waved at Detective Tucker Vanzinger, then forced herself to look toward the tub. She dreaded what she was about to see but knew she didn’t have a choice.
When she’d been promoted to chief of police earlier in the year, Nessa had promised herself she would stay actively involved in the department’s efforts to keep Willow Bay safe. She couldn’t do that by sitting behind a big desk and barking orders, no mattered how much that idea appealed to her at the present moment.
The body in the tub looked nothing like the broken, decomposing bodies Nessa had often witnessed at other scenes. Portia Hart’s pink, unblemished limbs floated under the surface, completely submerged in the clear water. Her head slumped down at an awkward angle and her face was hidden behind a tangle of long, blonde hair. The ends drifted in the water around her narrow shoulders.
Reaching out a gloved hand, Iris shifted a sodden strand of hai
r away from Portia’s face, revealing a gruesome patch of bloated, discolored skin. Pulling the hair back even further, Iris pointed to the white froth that had bubbled out of Portia’s nose and mouth.
“The froth could mean the deceased inhaled liquid into her lungs,” Iris murmured, “although it could also be a sign of a drug overdose, or even a cardiac event.”
Nessa tried not to show her revulsion, but her stomach heaved as the putrid stench grew stronger, and she was forced to turn away.
“What’s your initial take on this, Vanzinger? Accidental overdose? Suicide?” she asked in a tight voice. “Any signs of foul play?”
“I wouldn’t rule anything out yet.” Vanzinger rubbed the stubble on his cheek with a big hand, as if to sooth himself. “I took a look around and have some questions.”
Nessa raised her eyebrows and waited.
“For one thing, there’s an empty pill bottle on the sink. The patient name’s been scratched off, so that got my attention.”
“Of course, we can’t say for sure she took whatever was in it.” He cocked his head and looked over at Iris. “We’ll need the autopsy results to know what she ingested and if it killed her.”
“Okay, what else?” Nessa asked, sensing Vanzinger’s unease.
“Well, I noticed that there aren’t any towels in here. Like…none.”
Looking around, Nessa saw that the silver towel racks were empty.
“I mean, a fancy room like this is bound to have a whole stack of plush towels, and I wondered what happened to them,” Vanzinger continued. “Turns out there’s a pile of them in the bedroom closet. A big, wet pile. Seems weird.”
A loud rap on the doorframe announced the arrival of Wesley Knox. The brawny forensic technician carried a big bag over one muscular shoulder. A camera hung from a strap around his neck.
“We’ll photograph the body in situ first, Wesley,” Iris instructed. “I also want to take samples of the water before we move her.”
Nessa stepped back, giving Iris and Wesley room to move around the tub as they photographed the body from every angle. Her eyes fell on the empty pill bottle. She bent to read the label, not wanting to disturb the bottle until Iris had a chance to photograph and bag it. The top of the label had been scraped off, although a thin strip remained. Nessa could make out a long string of numbers.
“Jankowski said I could take lead on this one,” Vanzinger said over her shoulder. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s a good idea,” Nessa agreed, glancing back at the figure in the tub. “He’ll probably find this scene…difficult. It hasn’t been that long since he found Gabby’s body.”
They both fell silent at the mention of Vanzinger’s partner. Detective Simon Jankowski’s ex-wife had been Willow Bay’s media relations officer before she’d met an untimely end at the hands of the Willow Bay Stalker. Although Jankowski had ultimately helped bring the killer to justice, he was still trying to heal and come to terms with everything that had happened.
“Nessa, I think you’ll want to see this,” Iris called out.
The diminutive medical examiner was leaning over the tub, looking through the camera lens into the water. She motioned for Nessa to stand beside her.
“There’s slight bruising on her shoulders, as if someone was gripping them.” Iris moved back to give Nessa more room. “And two of the fingernails on her right hand are broken. See there?”
Staring into the water, Nessa saw Portia’s right hand resting on the bottom of the tub. The fingernails on her index and middle fingers were cracked, leaving angry red lines where the tips used to be.
“We’ll need to look for the rest of the nails,” Vanzinger muttered. “See if she broke them while she was here in the room.”
“Looks like they’ve been torn off to me,” Wesley said, his voice hesitant, “like maybe she was defending herself.”
Iris moved to the other side of the tub and took a few more shots of Portia’s hand at various angles before looking up.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Wesley. Fingernails get broken all the time. If the deceased was taking medication she may have passed out or fallen, which could also explain the bruises. We won’t know for sure what happened until we’re done with our exam and the autopsy.”
Meeting Vanzinger’s eyes over the tub, Nessa wondered what they were going to tell the press outside.
If I tell the reporters out there that we don’t have the foggiest clue how or why Porta Hart died, they’ll call for my badge…or my head.
“You think somebody set this whole thing up? That somebody killed Portia Hart and then tried to make it look like an accident?”
Vanzinger’s suggestion set Nessa’s nerves on edge. Could Portia Hart have been murdered? If so, who would want to kill a woman that had helped millions of people get their lives back on track.
“Maybe she did this to herself,” Nessa mused out loud. “Maybe the whole celebrity thing became too much for her.”
“Yeah, it seems like lots of famous people turn to drugs to deal with the pressure,” Vanzinger conceded. “Maybe Portia Hart had a secret habit that she couldn’t handle anymore.”
Nessa wondered if the fabulously rich and beautiful Portia Hart would have really wanted to kill herself.
And addicted to pills? I’d never have guessed.
The whole phenomenon around Portia’s hugely successful book, Simply Portia, had centered on Portia’s revelation that living a simple life of gratitude had brought her greater happiness than living the jet setting life of luxury and wealth she’d been born into.
Everyday people had been fascinated to read that the glamorous daughter of the late billionaire Remington Hart had found true happiness by giving up many of the things most people could only dream of attaining.
Even Nessa had a copy of Portia’s book waiting to be read on her bedside table. She'd been hoping it contained the secret to making her own life a little simpler and a little happier.
The admission made her feel extremely ungrateful, especially since she was finally where she wanted to be both personally and professionally. After years of hard work, she was the police chief of a town that she loved, and after a decade of marriage, she and Jerry were still going strong.
So, why can’t I just relax and enjoy what I’ve got?
The answer to that question was what Nessa and millions of other women in similar situations had hoped to find in Portia Hart’s book. But looking at the empty pill bottle, Nessa now wondered if the author had secretly been an addict who had used a façade of happiness to sell her book.
Was everything she said in her book just a lie?
The thought depressed her. If Portia Hart had been miserable enough to kill herself, intentionally or not, could any regular woman hope to find simple happiness?
Nessa turned to see Vanzinger looking even more down-hearted than she felt. The idea of anyone taking their own life would depress the most optimistic of souls, but Vanzinger’s miserable expression told Nessa that something more personal was bothering him. All of a sudden, she realized what it must be.
“I’m thinking of calling Riley Odell,” she said, trying to sound casual. “If there’s even a chance this is a homicide, we’re going to need all the help we can get right from the start.”
Vanzinger frowned.
“What good’s the state prosecutor going to be if we don’t even have a suspect? Hell, we don’t even know if a crime’s been committed.”
“Well, she can help us prepare the case for one thing, and make sure the media doesn’t taint any future jury pool.”
Avoiding Vanzinger’s skeptical gaze, Nessa moved toward the door. She wanted to get Riley Odell’s take on the situation. And just maybe Vanzinger and Riley would patch things up if they worked together on a case. It was worth a try.
Taking out her phone, Nessa tapped in a number she’d come to know pretty well over the last few months. Of course, it was Saturday and Riley might have turned her phone
off, but if the town’s new prosecutor was half as driven as Nessa suspected, she figured Riley would be working, and that she’d want to know about the potentially high-profile case as soon as possible.
Chapter Four
Riley Odell sat up straight and stretched her aching back, grateful it was the weekend and City Hall was closed to the public; the normally busy halls were blissfully cool and quiet. She surveyed the stack of files on her desk and sighed. It seemed the stack was always expanding, no matter how many late nights and weekends she worked.
While Willow Bay was one of the smaller communities within Riley’s assigned judicial circuit, the little town had eaten up most of her time and attention during the last few months due to the Willow Bay Stalker trial. But now that Boyd Faraday was safely locked away, she needed to focus on the pending cases waiting for her attention.
Her phone buzzed just as she reached for the top file on the stack. The caller’s name on the display prompted another sigh.
“Nessa? What’s up?”
“Portia Hart's been found dead in her suite at the Riverview Hotel.” The police chief’s familiar southern drawl sounded strained.
Riley frowned.
"Portia Hart? Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Nessa snorted.
"I thought you were part of the connected social media generation. You should know these things. Portia Hart is Remington Hart's daughter. You know him, right?"
Riley didn't bother answering. Everyone knew the billionaire financier and his wife who had died in a horrific plane crash years before. The name was as well-known as Rockefeller or Vanderbilt. He’d been American royalty.
"Well, his daughter Portia wrote a book that's sold about a gazillion copies,” Nessa continued. “She was in Willow Bay on a book tour. Stayed at the Riverview Hotel last night. The cleaner found her this morning floating in the bathtub.”
"Oh…that’s terrible.” Riley’s initial surprise was followed by a sinking suspicion. “And you’re calling me, so it must have been a homicide. How exactly did she die?”
Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller Page 2
