Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  "Well, we aren't sure yet. Could be a suicide or an accidental overdose, but there are signs that someone else may have been in the room with her…that there may have been a struggle.”

  Riley sat up straighter in her chair.

  “So, her death is suspicious?”

  “Well, yeah,” Nessa conceded. “Of course, Iris Nguyen can't make an official determination until the autopsy and death investigation are complete, and the press are already outside the hotel running live reports and circling like vultures.”

  Stomach sinking, Riley pictured the media circus that was sure to follow. Press coverage of any high-profile victim's death was always intense, but if Remington Hart’s daughter had been murdered, it would be especially brutal. They'd all need to be prepared for the onslaught.

  "I just thought you'd like a heads up,” Nessa added. “If we open up a homicide investigation the press will be all over us looking for answers. They'll want someone charged; we'll be on the hot seat until we have a suspect."

  Hearing a deep voice in the background, Riley realized that Detective Tucker Vanzinger must be working the case.

  "Are you calling from the scene?" she asked, already on her feet.

  "Yep, but Iris will be transporting the body over to the ME’s office pretty soon. Of course, if we call this a suspicious death we'll need to have Alma and her team come in and do a full search of the scene."

  Riley heard the hesitation in Nessa's voice. The new chief of police was about to open a can of worms, and she was smart enough to be worried about it.

  "I'll be right over," Riley found herself saying. "We'll need to work together closely on this. Present a united front to the press and the community."

  Riley didn't wait for Nessa's response. She ended the call and headed out into the stifling heat.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It wasn’t quite noon when Riley arrived at the Riverview Hotel, her glossy black hair already wilting. She glared at the sun, angered by its relentless assault on the sweltering town, but that only caused her eyes to water.

  “Any chance of rain today, Officer?” she called out as she approached the cordoned off security entrance where Andy Ford stood guard. “Or would that be asking too much?”

  Andy grinned at her and shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t count on it, Ms. Odell,” he replied as he waved her through. “From what I hear we won’t see any rain until next week.”

  Stepping into the air conditioned lobby, Riley breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for Nessa.

  A middle-aged man stood by the elevator in a shiny suit. His nametag identified him as Dennis Robinson, Hotel Manager. He kept anxious eyes trained on Riley as she approached.

  “I’m looking for Chief Ainsley with the WBPD.”

  Riley kept her voice crisp and authoritative.

  “She’s on the fourteenth floor.” The manager gestured toward the elevator with a curt wave. “Along with a whole heap of other people.”

  The elevator doors were just about to close behind Riley when Dennis Robinson stuck out a hand to stop them.

  “You wouldn’t know how long this is gonna take, would you? I don’t wanna sound heartless, but it’s bad for business, you know?”

  “What I know, Mr. Robinson, is that a woman’s dead and we need to find out why.” Riley’s voice was ice cold. “But I can assure you that it’ll take less time if you stop asking inane questions and let us do our job.”

  Watching the shocked hotel manager’s face disappear behind the closing doors, Riley felt a stirring of guilt.

  The poor man is just trying to run his business. He has a right to know what’s going on.

  Riley knew if she was ever going to fit into the small town, she would need to learn how to play nice. Willow Bay wasn’t like Miami or Tampa. It wasn’t a busy city bustling with strangers that you might never see again.

  She stepped off the elevator on the fourteenth floor and saw Tucker Vanzinger’s red crew cut and broad shoulders at the end of the hall. Her intention to play nice evaporated, replaced by a grim resolve. She wouldn’t let herself be fooled by the big detective again. She was older now, and wiser. An expert in the art of self-preservation.

  “Hey, Riley, how are you?”

  Responding to Vanzinger’s greeting with a curt nod, Riley strode to meet him halfway down the hall.

  “Nessa already filled me in on the basics.” She opened a notepad and took the cap off her pen. “Has the ME given you a preliminary cause of death yet? Or time of death?”

  “Iris is just talking to Nessa now.” Vanzinger studied Riley’s face with a hurt expression. “They’re getting ready to move the body. That should throw the media into a frenzy.”

  She thought of the reporters gathering outside. More news crews from around the state, maybe even around the country, would be arriving as the news spread. The demand for all the gory details would grow. Tenley Frost would need to make a statement soon.

  “What about her next of kin?”

  The change of subject seemed to throw Vanzinger.

  “Oh, well, I guess Iris will make the official notification, and then we’ll set up time for an interview. I-”

  “Where are the security tapes?”

  Vanzinger stiffened at her sharp tone.

  “Why are you involved already, Riley?” he asked, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “Shouldn't you just sit back in that big office of yours and wait for us to identify a suspect?”

  Regarding him with cool, indifferent eyes, Riley shook her head.

  “Things have changed in Willow Bay since we first worked together, Detective Vanzinger. It’s no longer business as usual on my watch.”

  Vanzinger remained silent and cocked his head, as if waiting for her to continue. She obliged, trying to sound detached even as her blood boiled. He should know better than anyone else that the WBPD needed to change the way it operated. And Nessa couldn’t do that single handedly.

  “If the WBPD determines the scene is in fact a homicide, then having the prosecutor involved from the start can only be a help.”

  She paused as frustration flooded Vanzinger’s face.

  “Is there a problem, Detective?”

  Shrugging, Vanzinger motioned to the door.

  “Just wondering if you’re done now. Cause I got a dead woman in there and I gotta figure out what, or who, killed her.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, just spun on his heel and marched back down the hall. Riley followed close behind him, indignant at his rebuke but determined to keep her calm. She couldn’t let him see the effect he had on her.

  The smell seeping out of Room 1408 made her eyes water, and she stopped at the door, glad that crime scene protocol prevented her from entering.

  Determined not to gag, she looked through the living room into the open bedroom door just as Wesley Knox and Iris Nguyen emerged pushing a gurney. Riley’s stomach clenched as she caught a glimpse of Portia Hart’s discolored face.

  Seeing Riley’s stricken expression, Iris pulled up a crisp white sheet, covering everything but one tangled strand of blonde hair that had escaped. As she stepped out of the way to let the gurney pass, Riley caught sight of her own pale, strained face in the mirror across the room. She almost didn’t recognize herself.

  Is that what I’ve become? A miserable, uptight stranger?

  Once again she questioned her real motivation in pushing for the assignment in Willow Bay. What had she been trying to accomplish by coming back to the place that had almost broken her? And what was she doing now by thrusting herself into Vanzinger’s case?

  What am I trying to prove?

  Forcing her focus back to the situation at hand, Riley cleared her mind. There was no room for self-doubt. She was good at her job and there was a suspicious death to resolve. She couldn’t let anything get in the way.

  Iris and Wesley rolled the body down the long hall toward the wide service elevator used by the hotel staff. Riley watched as the elevator do
ors closed behind the gurney, then turned to see Nessa behind her.

  "Looks like we're gonna have to treat this as a possible homicide." Nessa pulled down her face mask and exhaled heavily. “Iris suspects Portia drowned, and that she may have been forcibly held underwater.”

  Nessa continued before Riley could ask any questions.

  “There are bruises on Portia Hart’s arms and shoulders, and she has several broken fingernails.”

  “And those pile of wet towels didn’t get there by themselves,” Vanzinger chimed in. “I mean, why would Portia have dried up the floor, stashed the towels in the room, and then gone back to the tub? It just doesn’t add up.”

  Riley opened her mouth to argue that there were other possibilities and other scenarios, then closed it again. This wasn’t the time or place to get into a disagreement with Tucker Vanzinger. Sensing the friction between Riley and Vanzinger, Nessa held up a placating hand.

  “Okay, then it’s settled,” she said. “Let's get Alma and the crime scene team down here right away. They can perform a thorough search and collect any evidence.”

  Vanzinger frowned at Nessa’s words and cleared his throat. Riley saw a blush of color work its way up his neck.

  "Um, I actually called Alma as soon as I saw the broken fingernails," he admitted, then nodded toward Riley. "And I thought you agreed it was suspicious, Nessa. Why else would you ask the state prosecutor to come down here? I guess I should have waited-”

  “No, you did the right thing, Vanzinger. This is your case and your scene. I’m just here to lend a hand and offer guidance.”

  But Vanzinger’s frown didn’t fade. Riley could see something else was bothering him.

  “What's wrong, Detective?"

  “Well, the press got wind of all this and spread the news before we could notify this woman's family. She may have been some kind of famous author, but I think her family still deserves to hear the news officially."

  Both Nessa and Riley stared at Vanzinger in surprise. Nessa pushed back a red curl and sighed.

  “I have to agree. Vanzinger, why don't you go on over to the ME's office and work with Iris on the next of kin notification? Between the two of you I'm sure you can handle it.”

  A frowned flashed between Vanzinger’s eyes, but he only nodded.

  “I'll join you shortly,” Nessa continued. “And if we're lucky, Iris will agree to perform the autopsy this afternoon.”

  Riley watched with mixed emotions as Vanzinger hurried toward the elevator. She’d learned the hard way that some men couldn’t be trusted, no matter how nice they seemed. No matter how badly you wanted to believe that their nice-guy routine wasn’t just an act.

  But she’d allowed Tucker Vanzinger to lure her in before, and he’d let her down in the worst possible way. It had taken her a long time to get over his abrupt departure from her life. Now, a decade later, she was stronger and smarter. Too strong to let him see how much he’d hurt her, and too smart to fall for the same game twice.

  Chapter Five

  Lexi Marsh rolled onto her side and pulled the thin sheet up to her neck, but she still couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position in the lumpy double bed. The late night encounter in the stairwell had spooked her, and she hadn’t been able to sleep at all after she’d raced back to her apartment at half past midnight.

  Every time she tried to close her eyes she saw the man’s enraged face framed by the dark hood and heard the ominous sound of his shoes pounding down the stairs after her.

  Giving up all hope of sleep, Lexi sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her purse. She dug around in the little bag until her fingers found the plastic pill bottle. Her stomach dropped at the hollow sound of the last two pills rattling against each other.

  This bottle was supposed to last a fucking week. Molly’s gonna go apeshit if I go back to her asking for more so soon.

  She shook out the pills and stared at them, wondering if she should just take one and save the other one for later. Her hands trembled slightly, making the pills jitter in her palm. She impulsively popped them both in her mouth before she could stop herself.

  Picking up a half-empty soda can on the bedside table, she washed down the pills and forced herself up and off the bed. She wanted to get out of the suffocating room.

  I need to eat something. Or maybe have a smoke. Just one…that’ll be it.

  Lexi hadn’t smoked a cigarette for more than a week, but the insidious thought played over and over, stuck in her mind like the random line from a song that wouldn’t go away.

  No, I have to quit…otherwise I’ll end up getting lung cancer like Granny.

  Stumbling out to the living room, she tried not to think of all the other things she needed to quit. Smoking was only one of the vices she had that threatened her health and safety on a daily basis.

  The living room window was shuttered, and Lexi glanced toward the shadowy corners of the little room as if the man from last night might be standing there waiting for her. Flipping on the light, she noted with relief that the only thing in the corner was a dusty pair of running shoes. The relief turned to guilt as she tried to remember the last time she’d had the energy to go for a run.

  Sinking onto the sofa with the television remote in hand, Lexi felt the pills beginning to take effect; all thoughts of exercise and guilt floated away. She just needed a little time to relax. Maybe a dose of reality television would help.

  She pressed the ON button, leaned back, and exhaled. Everything was going to be all right. Sure, she’d had a scare, but that was to be expected in her line of work. It came with the job.

  Lexi gazed at the screen, her mind wandering as the Channel Ten noon broadcast started. Suddenly registering what the reporter was saying, she sat up straight and read the headline, squinting to make sure it was real. That it wasn’t just the pills.

  Portia Hart, bestselling author and daughter of the late billionaire Remington Hart found dead this morning in the Riverview Hotel.

  A young, female reporter stood outside the familiar hotel as Lexi gazed on in horrified silence.

  “This morning a woman’s body was found on the fourteenth floor of the Riverview Hotel. Although police have declined to officially name the deceased until next of kin has been notified, unofficial sources have confirmed that the body was that of Portia Hart, the popular author of the runaway self-help bestseller, Simply Portia, and the daughter of the late billionaire, Remington Hart.”

  Lexi tried to think. The woman’s body had been found on the fourteenth floor. She pictured the angry man who had chased her down the stairs and wondered again what he’d been doing on the stairwell in the middle of the night.

  Was he trying to get out of the hotel without being seen…like me?

  Could the man have been coming from the fourteenth floor? Lexi’s date had been staying on the tenth floor, and she’d left via the stairs as usual, just as she'd been instructed. Thinking back, it seemed to fit. She must have had at least a four floor head start to outrun him.

  Of course, it didn’t hurt that she knew the big hotel like the back of her hand. She’d snuck out of it plenty of times trying to avoid the security guards that patrolled the lobby and parking garage, and she’d known from habit to make a sharp right turn as soon as she had flown through the exit door.

  A slight gap in the railing had allowed her to slip around to the back of the big concrete parking structure. From there it had only been a five minute walk to the side street where she always parked her old silver Mustang. Ten minutes later she’d been back in her little apartment, closing the shutters and double-checking the locks.

  “Authorities haven’t released the cause of death yet as the investigation continues.” The reporter gestured toward the chaotic scene behind her. “We’ll be bringing you live updates throughout the day. Stay tuned for more details after this commercial break.”

  Pushing herself up and off the sofa, Lexi made her way to the bathroom on shaky legs. She bent over the sink and
splashed cold water on her face, then raised her eyes to her reflection.

  Her normally spiky cap of platinum blonde hair had been matted down by the pink wig she’d worn the night before. Smeared eyeliner and mascara formed black rings around her red-rimmed eyes, emphasizing the unhealthy pallor of her skin.

  Grimacing at her reflection, Lexi knew she’d have to quickly pull herself together. Molly expected her girls to be picture perfect when they arrived for a date. She squeezed her eyes shut, too tired of her own lies to pretend anymore.

  Why bother calling it a fucking date? Why not just call it what it is? The idiot I met last night wasn’t a date; he was a paying customer. Or at least, that had been his intention.

  Everyone knew what that was called. And it wasn't called dating.

  Lexi crossed to the shower and turned on the water; she wanted to wash away all traces of the evening before. She scrubbed her face and body with a soapy washcloth, then let the warm water flow over her, watching with a wistful expression as iridescent bubbles swirled down into the drain.

  If only all my problems could be washed away so easily.

  Pulling on a well-worn robe, Lexi emerged from the bathroom and stood in front of the television; a commercial for a used car dealership filled the screen. She picked up the remote and began switching through the channels, stopping on Channel Six.

  A tall, handsome reporter was conducting a live interview outside the Riverview Hotel. People swarmed in the background as the reporter stuck a microphone toward a man standing next to him.

  Lexi froze, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe she’d taken one too many pills. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep. She rubbed her eyes and looked again at the screen.

  No, it wasn’t her eyes. The man from the evening before was definitely on the screen. Lexi jabbed at the remote, trying to increase the volume, but the station had cut to a commercial break. Her tired mind spun as she tried to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.

  I’ll call Molly and tell her what happened. She’ll know what to do.

  But Lexi didn’t reach for her phone. She knew Molly Blair too well. The no-nonsense operator of the town’s only escort agency wasn't the type to offer up sympathy or provide a shoulder to cry on. Especially if she thought Lexi might scare off a client or jeopardize her business in any way.