“Good afternoon, Detective, this is Laura Fisher at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast.”
He was quiet for a beat. “Yes, I remember you, Ms. Fisher. What can I do for you?”
“We found one of our guests in his bed on the first morning of the storm,” I said. “The circumstances seem suspicious.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. Fisher, but it’s my job to decide if the circumstances are suspicious or not.”
Detective Reid’s doubt rankled me, but commenting on it would only make the conversation drag on longer. So I told him everything I knew about Harold Jepsen, the state of his room, the wound on his head, the smudge on the wall, the fight with his wife, and what Kenneth told me by the garden cottage.
Reid paused for a long second. Then he clicked his teeth. “Well then, I think you’re right. That sounds suspicious.”
“And we’ve got another problem,” I said, taking another sip from my glass of tea. “The parking lot is mostly dry, but the road to the highway isn’t. You’ll need a boat to get out here.”
“More like a helicopter.” Reid took a deep breath, and for a second, I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Is the body someplace secure?”
“As secure as we can make a guest room that locks from the inside, yes.”
“So not secure at all.” He sighed. “I’ll be out as soon as I can, Ms. Fisher, but things are bad on the other islands too.”
“Well, how long will it be? The guests are pretty eager to get back to their lives.”
“Sometime tomorrow, unless you think someone else is in danger.”
“I don’t. If someone did something to Harold Jepsen, I’m sure it was personal.”
“Is there anyone in the house but staff and the guests?”
“No, but we have a temporary staff member, Ashley. She was in the house that night, but I don’t think she’s involved. There’s no reason for her to have hurt anybody.”
“You may be right, but you shouldn’t be investigating, Ms. Fisher.”
“I’m not investigating, Detective Reid. I’m just telling you everything they told me on their own. To be honest, I wish they wouldn’t keep telling me things. It’s weird constantly hearing stories about a dead man.”
“You get used to it,” he said in a tone that sounded only half serious. “But I have to insist. If they try to corner you, find an excuse to get away. If someone did harm Harold Jepsen, you could trigger something worse than a compromised case.”
“There’s something worse than a compromised case to a homicide detective?”
“Absolutely. Another body. A blow to the head is a level of violence that suggests high emotion,” Reid said. “An emotional killer may strike again to protect themselves.”
Even though I knew he was only trying to scare me, I still felt a creeping sense of dread in my gut.
“I’ll be careful, Detective Reid.”
Chapter Twenty
It didn’t take long for the industrial-strength air conditioning in the Paradise to cut through the soupy Florida air. The signature cherry and lavender air freshener, beaten into submission by the oppressive humidity, rose through the cooling air.
I’d never take AC for granted again.
Since the power was back on, the normal schedule for a day at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast was back in effect. In the evening, guests were invited to mingle and chat with cocktails in the front parlor. Danielle staffed the cocktail hour with whichever staff member would entertain the guests the most.
Frequent fliers and corporate types looking for a break loved to hear about the minutiae of running a bed and breakfast. Granny and I couldn’t talk about much but dusting and scrubbing toilets, but Danielle could name half a dozen procedures, pieces of software, and systems she relied on to keep the Paradise running smoothly.
Long, hot days tended to make older guests sentimental. Though she was in her 80s, Granny still had a razor-sharp memory for trends and major news that happened anytime between the 1950s and 1970s. Her knowledge got a little fuzzy after that and skewed much younger thanks to circumstance forcing her to raise children all over again.
Since I’d come back to Paraiso and joined the staff, my niche had become artsy types and young couples.
Danielle had her hands full with the impromptu fish fry, and after her time in the heat supervising, Granny was ready for a nap. Ordinarily, that would have left me in the parlor with the Jepsens, but it’d been two days since we refreshed the guest suites. So Andy took over serving duties instead, while Ashley and I changed out sheets and emptied trash.
I took Tabitha and the younger Jepsen girls’ suite. The older Jepsen daughter’s room was so orderly I would have thought it was empty. I suppose between holding up in the reading room and nights being consoled in Kenneth’s arms, she wasn’t spending much time in it.
Melody and Alexis’s room wasn’t as tidy as their older sister’s, but most of the mess was confined to assorted sundry items spilling out of their suitcases. The addition of their mother’s suitcase and her blankets on the sofa added to the clutter.
I left everything where it was and started stripping the bed closest to the door—judging by the bag of pencils and the portable watercolor palette on top of the suitcase, it was Melody’s bed. As I grabbed the pillowcase, I realized half a second too late that it was heavier than it should be. The mystery solved itself when a thick mixed media art journal fell out of the slip.
“Oops!” I knelt over the journal, inspecting it for damage.
It had fallen open to a spread with “June” written in black ink and a flowing hand lettered script. The number “7” was stamped beneath the month in burnt umber ink. A sketch of the royal poinciana trees from the central grounds dominated the right page, embellished with a packet of sugar from downstairs that was the same deep shade of pink as the tree’s flowers. The left side featured more hand lettering—a long poem written in alternating blocks of green and burnt umber ink. A sketch of a whiskey glass the size of my thumbnail was tucked into the bottom left corner, almost as if the sister who drew it couldn’t help but capture it yet refused to let it dominate her attempts to capture the memory in colors and words.
The design was simple, but elegant. Darkly vintage and yet grounded in natural tones. Colored with pencil or maybe watercolor, it would make a fine piece for a young artist.
Since the poem was such an integral part of the composition, I figured reading it would bring the theme into greater perspective.
Old wounds follow no matter how far we fly. The servants dragged the lord back to his chamber, leaving the air thick with the stench of spirit and too much cheer. Deep trenches did his boots wear into the planks as he moved along his path. And none in the duchy had tears to spare. Least of all the lady, who had suffered her lord husband’s affliction for so long she had lost all patience for holding it secret. Sunshine and warm breezes bring comfort, but the lord’s temperament brings only the storm that drowns him in the drink he loved so. And his passing brings naught but sorrow and many a barrel and bottle to unload.
The further along I read, the more my heart sank. Poor Melody. She saw her father as a duke just like Ash and I had the night they arrived. But she knew the darkness hidden behind the façade. It sounded like she expected the darkness to follow them here, even if she hoped it wouldn’t.
I closed the book and set it on top of Melody’s suitcase. Before, I’d just suspected the Jepsens and Kenneth were lying to me. Now I knew for sure.
Catherine said her husband fell and she hadn’t looked back to check on him. It was possible she’d made it into her daughters’ suite. She might have been telling the truth about that, but she left out hearing what happened after.
Tabitha couldn’t have been telling the truth either. Her suite was on the same side of the hall as the executive suite. Whether she had been in Kenneth’s room or her own when her father was dragged back to his room, she must have heard it.
If she wasn’t the on
e who did it.
That didn’t seem likely. Tabitha was a healthy and athletic girl, but she was built like a runner, not a bodybuilder. Harold had at least fifty pounds and nearly a foot of height on Tabitha. There was no way she could have gotten her father back to his room by herself.
If Melody’s art diary was accurate, Catherine was in the room with her younger daughters.
Had Kenneth helped his would-be love carry her lord father back to his bedchamber?
Had her long-suffering uncle intervened?
Maybe Tabitha had only heard what happened. Who would care enough?
For all I knew, they were all lying. Ashley was the only one I could be sure hadn’t heard Harold Jepsen being moved. Down in the front parlor, she wouldn’t have heard anything above the roar of the air conditioner.
Or maybe Melody misheard what happened outside her door that night. Her poem assumed heavy drinking led to her father’s death, but I didn’t remember him having that much to drink at dinner.
There wasn’t enough wine missing from the bottle in the suite either.
I could only think of three potential solutions to this puzzle. The first was the simplest: Melody Jepsen was wrong about what she heard. The second was that Harold had more to drink during dinner than I’d noticed.
The third option was Harold Jepsen had more to drink at some point between dinner and his death.
If that were true, then the evidence had to still be in his room. There was only one way to know for sure.
I sprang to my feet and headed for the door, leaving the stripped and unmade beds behind. But at the doorknob, I paused. The girls couldn’t know I’d found Melody’s journal. If either of them found out, they would tell their mother––and I’d get the chewing out of a lifetime from Danielle for snooping in guests’ possessions.
Even if Catherine hadn’t been involved with her husband’s death, she might accidentally tip off the person who was. Reid wouldn’t have warned me things could get dangerous unless he meant it. Reid was a problem in and of himself. If he caught me investigating, he might throw me in jail just to keep me out of the way. I didn’t think he trusted my promise not to investigate anymore either. Knowing Reid, he was going to drop in unannounced as soon as he could get a helicopter to himself.
I couldn’t let Andrew, Danielle, Ashley, or Granny see me either. If Reid decided to punish whoever butted their nose into his case, I wanted my family to have plausible deniability.
That gives me until breakfast. Worst case, dawn.
One way or another, the answers I was looking for were in the executive suite. I just needed time to find them.
Chapter Twenty-One
The restored power brought back the natural rhythms of life at the Paradise. I figured that gave me two chances to search the executive suite without being seen: during dinner and after midnight.
Neither was a perfect solution.
Danielle was still keeping Ashley out of the Jepsen’s sight, which left us one pair of hands short at dinner. For a fish fry, that wasn’t the worst thing. In nice weather, we set up the entrees, sides, and condiments outside on the front porch. There was plenty of room to stand and mingle. Between the extra-wide railing on the porch and the swing seat tucked in the corner, there were enough makeshift seating options for a handful of guests.
As dinner services went, it was low-touch. I could easily slip away, but I wouldn’t have much time until they missed me.
The other option was late that night after everyone had gone to bed. I would have all the time I needed once I got into the executive suite—as long as I didn’t turn on the lights.
But that solution wasn’t without risk either. I’d already bumped into Tabitha Jepsen after-hours, and I had no reason to think she and Kenneth would stay separated tonight.
Dinner it is.
I left the executive suite and went downstairs to help Danielle with dinner. The sweet high notes of a jaunty tune from Melody and Alexis Jepsen’s favorite musical rang down the hallway. Danielle looked over her shoulder.
“Hey, get the platters ready for me, would ya?” There was so much sweat pooled on her forehead her linen cap was transparent.
“Where am I setting things up?”
“The front parlor,” Danielle said. “It’s still warm and muggy outside, and most of them are still there anyway.”
Ugh. Sneaking back upstairs would have been much easier with everyone outside. But gambling on everyone staying in their rooms that night was too risky. I had to do it at dinner. It wasn’t impossible, I just had to pick my timing with care.
She disappeared into the hall to grab wine for Catherine and beer for Kenneth. I poured glasses of sweet tea for everyone else, loaded everything onto the serving cart and headed for the parlor.
Danielle was spreading a blue-green checked tablecloth over the card table when I got to the parlor. She had me put the platters and sauce dishes on the table, then gestured for me to pass out the drinks while she arranged them.
Catherine and Kenneth already had their drinks, so I moved right to the sweet tea.
“Thank you for this,” Jeremy Jepsen said as I passed him his glass. “Not just the picnic, for everything you and your family have done.”
“It’s our pleasure. Anything we can do to make this a little easier.”
“I appreciate that.” He turned to Danielle. “Be sure to send me the bill for all the extras. I mean it. Even the extra days in Hal’s suite.”
My sister tried to seem calm as she smiled and thanked Jeremy, but I heard a slight tremble in her voice. Without that money, Nicholas Lloyd wouldn’t have much trouble buying the Paradise. Andrew and Danielle wouldn’t have the financial resources to fight him off.
Danielle retreated to the kitchen to start dessert—beignets with powdered sugar. I stood near the door and waited in case anybody needed anything. Once I was sure everyone was preoccupied with food and conversation, I crept into the hall.
Only a few feet separated the staircase and the doorway to the kitchen, but the stove faced away from the stairs. As long as I didn’t make too much noise, Danielle wouldn’t notice me.
My plan worked until I got to the alcove off the staircase that led to the wine closet and downstairs half bath. The bathroom door swung open. Emily Jepsen stepped out and locked eyes with me.
“Don’t tell me I missed dessert service already!” she said, sniffing the air. “It smells so good I don’t wanna miss out.”
I shook my head. “No, Danielle’s still working on it. I thought this would be a good time to give the rooms a once-over. Just making sure your last night is comfortable.”
It seemed like a harmless enough lie, since I’d already refreshed the rooms.
“Our room doesn’t need tidying up,” she said. “But I’ll be sure to tell Jer you were so attentive.”
Emily went back to the front parlor to join the others. I went upstairs as fast—and quietly—as I could. I didn’t stop until the executive suite door was shut behind me.
Since the lights were on in the hallway and everyone was still downstairs, I figured it was safe to turn on the bedside lamp. Besides, I could get in and out of the room faster if I wasn’t looking in the dark.
With Reid arriving in the morning, I didn’t dare touch Harold Jepsen or the bed. The detective was suspicious by nature, and I wouldn’t have a good way to explain why the bedding had clearly been tampered with.
It’s fine. Focus on the things you can explain but didn’t check last time. Things that will make Reid think you’re an airhead but not tampering with his investigation.
I started with Harold’s luggage. Catherine Jepsen could easily have asked me to pack that up before we realized anything was out of the ordinary.
Inside the designer hard luggage case I found one pair of khaki slacks, one pair of knee-length khaki shorts, three pairs of polo shirts, one button down shirt, and one navy blazer. The standard uniform of a businessman on vacation. None of it seemed to hint toward
what happened to Harold Jepsen that night.
I put everything back in the suitcase, closed it, and tucked it back in the closet before moving on.
Where next? The toiletry bag. I could have been picking it up when I saw the wound.
Kneeling on the carpet, I peeled the top of the medicine bag open and carefully rifled through its contents. Eye drops, allergy medication, and the anti-nausea medicine his wife had mentioned. Again, nothing out of the ordinary for Harold Jepsen’s type. In fact, given how severe his family claimed his issue with alcohol was, I was surprised there were no hidden flasks.
Wait… didn’t Catherine say her husband carried an epinephrine autoinjector?
I was sure she had, but there wasn’t one in the medicine bag. Then again, Emily Jepsen said her brother-in-law’s allergies weren’t that severe.
She also embarrassed Ashley in a room full of people. Maybe emotional intelligence isn’t her strong suit.
Tabitha and Kenneth both said Harold was controlling especially when it came to keeping up appearances. Even if he had been faking the severity of the allergy, Harold Jepsen wasn’t the sort of man who would let the facade slip. Not even while on vacation.
Maybe he left it behind?
I shook my head, dismissing the thought as soon as it arrived. If Harold Jepsen had forgotten his epinephrine autoinjector, he would have unleashed unholy chaos onto everyone until he got a replacement. He definitely would have gotten a replacement the first night in Paraiso.
If the epinephrine autoinjector was missing, it could only have been because someone took it. A prank gone wrong? Nobody in the Jepsen party seemed like the prankster type, not even the youngest daughters.
There was only one reason to take the epinephrine autoinjector. There was only one way the act would have any meaning.
I scooted over to the wine bottle and leaned close to the carpet, taking a big whiff of the stain. It had oxidized, but the sweet twang smelled slightly different from wine. More like none-too-carefully fermented fruit juice.
A Dead And Stormy Night Page 10
