by Vicki Delany
“The two people who got out? Did they see anything?”
“They say no. They were outside when they saw flames. They tried to get inside to see if anyone was trapped, but it was too late.”
I put down my burger and looked out to sea. A sailboat passed on the horizon. A fishing charter headed for a nearby dock. People swam in the calm turquoise water. Others splashed in the surf. Children built sandcastles. A jogger ran by. The beach was crowded with lounge chairs, red-and-white umbrellas and pink-tinged tourists.
“Any motive you know of?” I asked. “Had someone been fired lately and wanted to get even?”
“No one I’ve been told about. Thanks for the tip about Rhonda and Bosleigh. Once I mentioned that, everyone said they had a difficult relationship. They fought all the time. Not physical abuse. Nothing reported to the police anyway. But lots of throwing things and loud public temper tantrums. On both sides.”
“You think he killed her?”
“He was seen at the hotel half an hour or so before the fire started. A couple of hours later he killed himself.”
“Are you sure his death was suicide?” His eyes shifted to one side. “Officially, yes. The gun was on him. He left a note. She got what was coming to her.”
I shuddered. “Ugly.”
“Yup.”
“You said officially. Does that mean you don’t agree?”
He lowered his voice. The tables were spread well apart. The four men at the table next to us had a pile of beer bottles collecting in front of them. They paid us no attention. “The Blue Water Vista Resort is an important one. Some prominent politicians have shares in the company that owns it. They don’t want rumors of an arsonist on the loose.”
“If it was a personal killing, then no one needs to worry. All the better if the arsonist conveniently kills himself.”
“I have no reason to doubt that conclusion, Ashley. The fire does appear to have targeted Rhonda and only Rhonda. Her boyfriend was at the scene, and he was volatile. And, I might add, he was known to have criminal associates. He appears to have killed himself shortly after.”
“What about the so-called suicide note? Printed or handwritten?”
“Printed. I’ll admit that bothers me. Doesn’t mean he didn’t write it. But something in his handwriting would be better.”
“Darlene thinks Rhonda was having problems at work.”
He dipped the last piece of conch into the spicy sauce. “What sort of problems?”
“She didn’t say.”
“We all have problems at work, Ashley. No one kills us over them. At least, I hope not.”
“People say Ralph wasn’t the sort to have regrets. He was too self-centered.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about that?”
“I went with Darlene to her aunt’s house last night.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’m her friend.”
“Look, Ashley. You helped us that last time. The police chief thanked you. But I’ll remind you that you almost got killed over it.”
“Almost getting killed wasn’t the worst of it. I had to go onto the open ocean in a small boat.”
“Don’t make light of it.”
“I’m not. Boats and I are not friends.”
“Don’t listen to hearsay. Particularly about someone you’ve never met. Suicide’s difficult to deal with. Family and friends often have trouble coming to grips with it.”
“Get you anything else?” the waiter asked.
Alan pushed his empty plate away. “No thanks. I have to get back to work. Thanks for suggesting lunch, Ashley. I enjoyed it. Do you want a lift?”
“I’ll walk back.”
He put money on the table and got to his feet. “Stay out of this, Ashley.”
I watched him make his way across the sand. He looked so out of place among the sun-lovers, in his crisp uniform and heavy black boots.
SIX
I STOPPED IN at the office when I got back to tell Darlene what Alan had told me.
“They’re going to let it go?” she said. “Say Ralph killed her and then himself?”
“The police think they know what happened,” I said. “So, yes, it seems they won’t be looking much further.”
“They’re wrong.”
“We don’t know what evidence the police have. Alan was vague, I’ll agree. But it’s not his job to lay out all the facts in front of me. Ralph left a suicide note.”
She sputtered. “I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”
“I don’t know what else we can do,” I said. “Alan Westbrook is a good cop.”
“I don’t know if he is or if he isn’t. They closed Rhonda’s case mighty quickly.”
“Because the evidence pointed to Ralph. He was seen at the resort not long before the fire began.”
She raised one eyebrow. “That so?”
“It is.”
She let out a long sigh. “Maybe you’re right, Ashley. If no one else cares what happened, why should I?” She waved a hand at the pile of papers on her desk. “I got trouble enough of my own.”
I gave her a wave and left her to it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool with my book. At home in Toronto I’d never seemed to have enough time to really get into a good novel. That was something I planned to do here.
I read for a while and then paddled in the shallow end of the pool to cool off. When I got out of the water, I saw Darlene heading my way. She dropped into the seat next to mine.
The strong sun beat down on my head. I eyed her nylon stockings, gray suit, white shirt buttoned to the throat. “Aren’t you hot in that?”
“No. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. That would be fun. Where shall we go?”
“The restaurant at the Blue Water Vista is supposed to be good.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Darlene.”
“I called Teddy,” she said.
“Rhonda’s brother? Why did you do that?”
“He knows something, and I wanted to find out what that something is.”
“Did you?” I asked.
“Yes. He was cagey, and it wasn’t easy. He wouldn’t say much. But he did tell me Rhonda suspected someone at the hotel was up to no good.”
“Up to no good can mean anything. It can mean stealing rolls of toilet paper.”
“Yes, but it can also mean corruption at the highest levels. Teddy told her to take it to the police,” Darlene said.
“Did she?”
Darlene shook her head. Her earrings rattled. “Of course not. Not Rhonda. She never let anyone tell her what to do. If he’d told her not to take it to the police, she would have gone straight there.”
“I don’t think —”
“I’ve been thinking things over. That Blue Water Vista Resort’s the newest on the island. It was all anyone was talking about while it was being built. Lots of folks said it shouldn’t have been allowed. Not up at the top of the cliff like that. Best views on the island. Then they cut the path down to the beach through a protected area so people who are too lazy to walk can go up and down in golf carts.”
“You think someone was paid off?”
“Everyone thinks so. Everyone knows so. The minister of state security herself took a personal interest in the place. She’s been known to have dinner at the resort regularly.”
“I thought this country was pretty much free of corruption.”
“Pretty much. Doesn’t mean the occasional palms don’t get greased now and again. Happens everywhere.”
“I suppose it does. I also suppose the commissioner of police reports to the minister of state security,” I said.
“That would be the case. See why I don’t trust the police in this case?”
“I don’t see what political interference could have to do with a hotel kitchen fire.”
“Neither do I. Which is why I need to find out more.You helped the cops that other time, As
hley. You pretty much solved the case for them.”
“I didn’t do anything! I happened to know some of the people involved, so I could ask the right questions.”
“And I happen to know the people involved in this. I don’t want to do it alone. I’m asking you to help me.”
“If I don’t help you, you’ll poke around on your own?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And you say your cousin’s the stubborn one. Okay. I suppose dinner can’t hurt.”
“I’ll pick you up at quarter to six. I’ve made us a reservation. Dress nicely. It’s a mighty fancy place.”
The road to the resort wound around a steep cliff. Darlene’s old car struggled up the hill. Far below, waves crashed against the shore in sprays of white foam. At the end of the paved road we turned into a long sweeping driveway lined by royal palms. When Darlene pulled under the portico by the front door a valet hurried to help us. The buildings were painted a blinding white, trimmed with deep navy-blue. The grass was thick, the trees were tall, and the flowers were lush. We walked into a lobby that was all white marble and blue ceramic tiles. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling. Beautifully dressed men and women drifted across the large open space.
Darlene looked spectacular in a sleek gold- and-black sheath dress. She wore gold hoops in her ears and a thick gold necklace around her throat. Her black sandals had four-inch heels. I looked okay in the red dress I’d last worn to my oldest brother’s birthday party.
We swept through the lobby. The hostess greeted us with a smile. “This way, please, ladies,” she said.
The dining room was open to the soft, warm night air. The infinity pool glowed in the light of lamps lining the walkway. A handful of lights shone from boats bobbing on the ocean.
We were shown to a table for two. White linen. Crystal glasses. Candle in a hurricane lantern. We sat down, and the hostess placed large leather-covered menus in front of us. I glanced around, admiring my surroundings. The room was full. Most people were older than us and well dressed. Jewelry sparkled in the candlelight. Staff moved quietly and efficiently. Trevor Bellings, the food-service manager I’d seen at the fire, stopped the hostess. He whispered something to her, and she nodded. Tonight he looked very spiffy in a black suit and a bow tie the shade of the resort’s logo.
I opened my menu and tried to keep panic from crossing my face. A glass of water at this place would probably be more than I could afford. My job doesn’t pay much. I guess they think I should be thankful just to be allowed to live here.
Darlene leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Have what you like. Aunt Antonia’s paying.”
“How’d you get her to do that?”
“I told her the truth. That I’m not convinced Ralph killed Rhonda. Don’t worry about how much it costs. Aunt Antonia is not exactly short of funds.”
I’d like to be able to report that Aunt Antonia’s money helped us solve the crime. But all it did was give us a great meal. I started with the Caesar salad and then went on to have a steak. Darlene had the conch chowder followed by tuna with fresh fruit salsa.
“This steak,” I said, “is like eating butter.” She closed her eyes in appreciation. “I’ve lived on this island most of my life, and I have never had fish as good as this.”
For dessert I ordered chocolate mousse, and Darlene had ice cream. I entered a world of pure chocolate-and-cream goodness.
At last we patted our lips and leaned back with sighs of pleasure.
If we’d ordered a bottle of wine, we really could have run up the bill. But Darlene was driving, so she stuck to sparkling water. I’d enjoyed one glass of white wine with my salad.
At the next table, the waiter poured a splash of red wine into a man’s glass. He waited while the guest had a sip.
The guest spat it out. “That’s disgusting.”
“Sir?” the waiter said.
“I’ve had many a bottle of that vintage in my day, and believe me, that swill is not it.” He spoke in a broad Midwestern accent.
“My apologies, sir. I’ll fetch another.” The waiter hastily removed the offending glass and bottle.
“Ready to go?” Darlene said.
“Yes. Why did we come here? Other than to have the best meal I’ve ever eaten, that is? We didn’t learn anything. Did we?”
“They seem to have recovered fast from the death of a chef and a fire in the kitchen,” she said.
“It’s the height of the season. They have to keep business going.”
“I don’t know any of these waiters. They must hire mostly off-islanders.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s not unusual either. We don’t have the population to keep the tourist industry going by ourselves.”
Darlene paid the bill. Thank you, Aunt Antonia. And we left.
When we got to the lobby, Darlene excused herself to go to the restroom. While I waited, I admired the art on the wall. Most of the paintings were of white sand, turquoise water and blue skies.
“Quite the disappointment,” a woman said.
“We were warned this was an expensive island,” a man replied.
“Still,” said a second woman. “You’d think they could get decent tomatoes for those prices.”
“They don’t have much agriculture here,” the man said. “Everything has to be imported.”
“Then they shouldn’t call the tomatoes heirloom, now should they. And that lobster was like the stuff I get from the supermarket at home.”
“I enjoyed my pasta,” the man said.
“Gerald has no taste,” the first woman said to the other. “Pile the plate high enough, and he’s happy.”
“You say that as though there’s something wrong with it,” Gerald said. The women laughed.
Darlene drove me home and we said good night. I walked through the garden to my room. The night air was soft on my skin. Insects chirped, and trees whispered in the light wind. I’d enjoyed the dinner very much, as well as Darlene’s company. I hoped we would become good friends. But something bothered me. Our meal had been fantastic, but others had complained. The man at the table next to us about the wine. The woman in the lobby about the tomatoes.
I got into my pajamas and made myself a cup of tea. Then I sat at the table with my iPad. I checked the Blue Water Vista restaurant on Trip Advisor. It had a lot of reviews, and they were pretty much split between five stars and one. Meaning people either loved the restaurant or hated it. Although hated might be too strong a word. The one-star reviews said the service was excellent and the food good, but that it wasn’t worth the money and not the high quality advertised.
I scrolled through the older reviews. About two months back the bad comments started, and the reviews before that were mostly four- or five-star.
You can’t trust online reviews. It was possible that one or two bad reviews had then caused other people to leave the same. Still, something seemed to have changed in the last two months.
I went to the local newspaper’s page. The main article linked the previous day’s two deaths. Ralph Bosleigh and Rhonda Michaels. Without coming right out and saying so, it strongly hinted that Ralph had murdered Rhonda and then killed himself.
I finished my tea, closed my iPad and went to bed.
SEVEN
“YOU’RE SAYING THE restaurant’s cheating its customers?” Darlene said.
“I think it’s possible,” I said. “That man next to us knew the wine wasn’t right because he’d had it before. Most people wouldn’t know that. Most people don’t know much about wine, although they pretend they do. If it’s expensive, they figure it must be good.”
“How was your wine?”
“It was good. But I only had a glass, not a bottle. And I wouldn’t know the difference between a really, really expensive wine and just an expensive one.”
“You can’t make an accusation like that based on a few reviews, Ashley. We’ve had bad online reviews of this hotel. Most of them are made
up out of nothing. A year ago a man tried to get out of paying his bill because it rained the whole time he was here. That wasn’t our problem, so he had to pay. He took revenge by posting a review that said the maids were servicing customers in guests’ beds.”
“It got me wondering, that’s all.”
“I’m not complaining about my dinner. Are you?”
“Gosh no. It was great. But…”
“But what?” Darlene asked.
“The manager of the dining room is an English guy named Trevor. I met him, and some of the other senior staff, at the fire. I saw Trevor last night, and he saw me. Maybe he recognized me, so I got the good stuff. Same with you. You said most of the staff aren’t from the island, so they wouldn’t know you. But you look like an islander, Darlene. You talk like one too.”
She let out a long breath. “I’ll admit it sounds dodgy. But I can’t see killing over cheap bottles of wine and imported tomatoes. Can you?”
I had to admit, I couldn’t.
“Aunt Antonia won’t want to keep paying us to investigate,” Darlene said. “Not if all we’re doing is eating.”
“How’s she doing?”
Darlene’s earrings rattled as she shook her head. “Not good. She and Rhonda fought like cats and dogs. They always did. But they were blood. None closer. Mother and daughter.”
I decided to give my own mother an extra call that night. “Does the rest of the family have any thoughts about Ralph? If he did it, I mean.”
“Teddy’s sure of it. He says they should have seen it coming.”
“But you don’t agree?”
“I don’t know what I think anymore. The police say Ralph did it. Teddy says Ralph did it. Who am I to keep saying he didn’t?”
I tried to relax by the pool with my book, but I kept thinking about Rhonda. Rhonda and the meal Darlene and I had enjoyed the night before.
Rhonda had been a chef at the Blue Water Vista. The chef would have to be involved if the restaurant was cheating on the food.
