by Zara Keane
Julie came up to the desk and hung over my shoulder. “Up close, he’s not all that much like Eddie Ward.”
“Yeah, but it was dark and the physical resemblance was near enough that anyone not paying attention would easily assume he was the real deal.” As I stared at the frozen footage of the dead man, a thought occurred to me. “Lenny, do you have all the footage from that day, or just the part around the time of the hauntings?”
“I copied everything.”
“So did I,” Jason said. “Made it easier to find a good fit to splice the real footage with.”
My heart rate kicked up a notch. “Can you check the tape from the main hotel entrance earlier that evening?”
“Sure,” Lenny said. “What time do you want?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Probably not much earlier than when we see them exiting the staff door. Let’s try an hour earlier.”
Lenny scrolled back and put the video on fast forward. For a few tense minutes, nothing of interest appeared on the screen. Guests came and went. Paul Greer helped a guy find a parking spot. Melanie appeared briefly on the steps and then returned to the lobby. And then, just when I was about to tell Lenny to switch it off, I saw him. “That’s our man,” I shouted. “That’s the dead guy.”
Lenny squinted at the screen. “Are you sure? I see a dude in a suit.”
“Exactly. Zoom in on his face.”
He obeyed and whistled. “Well, I’ll be. You have sharper eyes than I do. That’s him all right, but wearing a totally different outfit. Let’s follow him.”
My friend clicked on another file and worked his magic to bring up footage of the lobby. The guy in the suit walked up to the reception desk, had a conversation with Lisa, and headed for the stairs with a key card.
“He was a guest at the hotel?” Zuzanna demanded. “I don’t recognize him.”
“I doubt he stayed long,” I said, my eyes not leaving the screen. “I’ll bet he used the room to change into the postal uniform, and then took the staff elevator down to the kitchen area to hook up with Marcus and the guy in the red cap.” I got to my feet. “We need to get back to Whisper Island and talk to the hotel and Reynolds.”
“I thought you said no police,” Zuzanna cried. “You promised.”
“I promised I’d help you, but you must see that I can’t not tell the police about where we found the missing surveillance footage.”
“No way,” Jason yelled. “No police.”
I ignored him and focused on Zuzanna, who I’d identified as the one with a still-functioning moral compass. “Come back to Whisper Island with us, and I’ll go with you when you talk to the Greers. I’ll do my best to persuade them not to press charges, but you have to promise to give up this crazy campaign. In return, I’ll make sure to tell the police how much you’ve helped by coming forward with the original footage.”
Her lips twisted into an ironic smile. “I didn’t come forward. You forced me.”
“They don’t have to know that. Point is, you provided vital evidence in a murder investigation.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not sorry about damaging the Greers’ business. They’re planning to build on sacred land. That fairy tree is precious, and they don’t appreciate its significance. And there’s the archaeological site underneath…it’s a disgrace.”
“That whole island is a disgrace.” Jason pouted sulkily. “You have no appreciation for animal rights.”
“Says the guy who got a bull shot to death,” I snapped. “Save it, Jason. I have no issue with people who want to avoid animal products, but your methods are harebrained. You can’t seem to tell the difference between beef and dairy farming.”
“That wasn’t him,” Zuzanna said. “That was—”
“Shut up.” Jason leaped to his feet. “Are you crazy? We swore to mention no names. Our friends are loyal to us, and we need to be loyal to them.”
Lenny snorted with laughter. “Whatever. Your black market tech source, Chivers, squawked the instant I mentioned a possible connection with a murder. He gave me a long list of names that I think the police will find very interesting.”
Jason’s jaw descended in slow-motion. “No way.”
“Yes way,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure the police will catch up with the rest of your buddies eventually, but I’m more concerned about finding a murderer.” I checked my watch. “Come on, guys. If we get moving, we’ll catch the ferry that leaves at half-past.”
21
On the ferry back to Whisper Island, the cell phone reception was lousy, and I couldn’t get a working connection to Reynolds’s phone. When Lenny drove out of the car elevator at Carraig Harbour, he turned to me and asked, “Where to?”
“The hotel first.” I glanced in the back seat, where a tense Zuzanna sat next to Julie. “I’ll try Reynolds again on the way.”
Lenny took the road that led in the direction of the hotel, and I hit Reynolds’s number. It rang three times. Come on. Answer.
“Maggie?” His voice was crackly but audible.
“Thank goodness.” The words burst forth in a flood of relief. “I thought I’d never get through to you. I have news. Marcus at the hotel is our guy.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Kramer. He’s a massage therapist at the hotel’s beauty center spa. Have you checked your email?”
“I’ll do it now. I spent the afternoon chasing down leads that proved useless.”
“We had better luck.” I couldn’t keep the touch of smugness out of my tone.
“Is that so?” he asked in a drawl. “Wait…I see an email from Lenny.”
“Yeah. With the help of one of the maids from the Whisper Island Hotel, we tracked down the undoctored surveillance footage from the hotel for the night of the murder. Lenny’s marked the times you need to watch. Have you got it?”
“Hang on a sec.” The sound of keyboard clicks followed. “I’m downloading the footage now. How did you get hold of this?”
I met Zuzanna’s pleading gaze in the rearview mirror. “Please trust me when I say it’s a long story and I’d only waste time by telling you. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
To Reynolds’s credit, he had the sense not to argue with me. “Okay. I have the footage and I’m playing the section you marked. Whoa. I see our murder victim.”
“Yeah. He’s also on the footage entering the hotel earlier that evening, dressed in a suit and tie. Lenny marked the section in his email to you. For now, focus on this segment and look at the soon-to-be dead guy’s companions.”
“He’s talking to a guy in a baseball cap whose face I can’t see,” Reynolds said, “and another guy walked out just before him, and turned back to say something to our murder victim.”
“The visible one is Marcus from the hotel.”
I heard a chair scrape. “I’m leaving the station now,” he said, “and heading for the hotel. What do you know about Marcus?”
“Not a lot. He claims to be German and he’s a borderline sleaze, if that’s worth anything.”
“Claims to be German?” A car door slammed and an engine revved into action. “What does that mean?”
“Günter says Marcus doesn’t speak German like a German. Günter’s guess is that Marcus is Swiss.”
“Switzerland is right next to Liechtenstein, where our mysterious murder victim comes from.” His voice was tinged with ill-concealed excitement. “I ran an Interpol black notice on him and found out the dead man is a convicted diamond thief named Alex Scheffel. Scheffel served seven years for a huge diamond robbery and got out last month. Great work, Maggie. If this cracks the case, I owe you one.”
A smile spread across my face. “I’ll hold you to that promise, sergeant.”
His deep laughter rumbled down the line. “Oh, I know you will.”
“Good luck, Liam. Go catch a killer.”
“If you turn any redder, I’ll use the fire extinguisher on you.” I looked at Melanie for support. “You’re what p
asses as the brains of this operation. You know I’m right.”
“I know I’m not happy at your suggested solution. This creature—” Melanie gestured at Zuzanna, who sat slumped on a chair at my side, “caused considerable damage to our hotel’s reputation.”
I looked from her to her husband. “Your business will thrive once the public knows how you and Paul assisted the police in catching a murderer—and a murderer whose crime has nothing to do with your hotel.”
Melanie pursed her lips. “Given that a member of staff is currently in custody, I hardly think we can claim to have had nothing to do with the crime.”
I sighed. So far, my appeal for the Greers not to press charges wasn’t going well, but I’d wear them down. “May I remind you that you guys owe me a favor?”
“All we owe you is the rest of the fee we agreed to pay you for getting to the bottom of our mysterious ghost,” Melanie said. “No more, and no less.”
I rolled my eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting that I caught your mother’s killer? Not to mention agreeing to say nothing to the police about Paul’s creative accounting.”
Paul’s eyes darted wildly around the room and he tugged at his tie as though it were choking him. “You promised not to bring that up again.”
“Dude, you and your wife owe me big time. Don’t press charges against Zuzanna, and she’ll leave your employ today and not cause any further mayhem.”
“Why do you care whether or not she’s punished?” Melanie demanded. “You barely know the girl.”
“I don’t care what happens to her, but I promised her I’d plead her case if she came forward to the police with the missing footage. I keep my word.”
Melanie pressed her mouth into a hard line. “She caused a lot of trouble for us, staff members, and hotel guests.”
“True, but no one was hurt or injured, and no property was seriously damaged.” I slid a look at Paul, who bore a striking resemblance to a constipated bear. “And if you and your father weren’t so greedy, you could have planned the extension on a piece of land that wouldn’t cause controversy. You had to have known building over that area would upset a lot of people.”
“Extending the other side of the hotel would destroy the symmetry of the building,” Paul whined. “You can see that from the plans.”
“What I see is that there’s no reason you couldn’t have opted to build on the other side of the hotel and saved yourselves and others a whole pile of grief. Can’t you at least meet with your architects again and discuss the possibility of building the extension elsewhere?”
Melanie clucked her tongue. “That’s what I told Paul and his father when they first mentioned this ridiculous building scheme.”
Our eyes met and, for a brief moment, I felt a connection with my teenage nemesis. She was uptight and prissy as heck, but I didn’t envy her being stuck with Paul as a husband.
“So,” I said, looking from Melanie to Paul, “do we have a deal?”
“All right,” Melanie said finally. “If the girl leaves the hotel at once, we won’t press charges. But any more nonsense, and we’ll go straight to the police.”
“You got it,” I said. “Right, Zuzanna?”
The girl stared at her shoes, but nodded.
Melanie unlocked a drawer and removed an envelope. “This is the rest of your fee for your undercover work.”
“Thanks.” I pocketed the envelope and got to my feet.
“And I’ll call the architects today and get them to draw up an alternative plan,” Melanie added, ignoring her husband’s squawk of protest. “I’ve had enough drama to last me a lifetime.”
I gave her a small smile. “You and me both, Melanie. Come on, Zuzanna. It’s time for us to make tracks. I have a race to run tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep.”
22
My triumphant return home after solving not one but two cases was hampered by my car. When I turned in the gates of Shamrock Cottages, the vehicle belched exhaust fumes, and a series of warning lights pinged on the dashboard.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered. “I need you to survive another couple of months.” The last thing I wanted was to have to waste my money from the hotel investigation on a new car.
I chugged up the drive and pulled up in front of my cottage. Noreen was waiting for me on the doorstep, a large carrier bag in her arms.
I got out of my car and regarded my aunt’s bag with a sinking sensation in my stomach. “Please tell me that doesn’t contain more animals.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Noreen said indignantly. “Just my dirty undies.”
I slow-blinked, my house key clutched in my right hand. “Uh, okay.”
“My washing machine broke down and I can’t get a repair person this side of the long weekend.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “It seems everyone has taken off for St. Patrick’s Day.”
“That’s the tradition,” I said and opened my front door. “Want to use my machine?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I had a mountain of laundry to wash before the machine broke down, and it’s only gotten bigger.”
“No problem.” I stifled a yawn and led her into the small utility room off my kitchen where my washer and dryer were located. “Help yourself to detergent.”
“Do you want me to wash your stuff while I’m doing mine? I might as well sort everything into darks, coloreds, and whites.”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I need to wash my running gear before tomorrow’s race.” I fished all my running pants, sports bras, and sport socks out of the wash basket. “They need to go on the sports wash setting, but any delicates you have should be fine in there as well.”
After we’d dealt with laundry, I made hot chocolate and filled Noreen in on the two mysteries. By the time I reached the part about the doctored surveillance footage, she was buzzing with excitement.
“I wish I’d been in on the chase,” she said, a wistful expression on her face. “I missed out the last time as well.”
“For what it’s worth, I haven’t been involved in any chase,” I said dryly. “Sergeant Reynolds will have taken care of the arrest. I just had to make a statement.”
“Still, it’s thrilling.” My aunt beamed. “Life on Whisper Island has been so much more exciting since you moved here.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I can be held responsible for the murder and mayhem that’s hit the island recently. It’s just a coincidence.”
“A happy coincidence. You were here to solve the crimes.”
“To be fair, Sergeant Reynolds played his part.”
“But he can’t talk to people like you can. You have a knack for getting people to open up to you, whether they want to or not.” My aunt leaned forward, oblivious to the hot chocolate mustache she’d acquired. “Have you considered setting up as a private investigator? We don’t have one on the island.”
“Lenny asked me the same question, but I doubt there’s enough work to support me. These last few weeks have been exceptional.”
“There’s plenty of people who could do with your expertise,” my aunt insisted. “I can imagine you’d get clients from the mainland who’d appreciate an outsider’s help.”
“I don’t know about that. There’s got to be plenty of P.I.s around. Why would anyone want to hire me?”
“Because you’ve got a knack,” my aunt repeated. “And you know how to be discreet.
I tried to hide a yawn, but failed. “I’m sorry, Noreen, but I think I’d better hit the sack. It’s been a long day, and I’m participating in the Runathon tomorrow.”
“No problem, love. You go on to bed. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay to put on another load of laundry and then let myself out. I can lock up with your spare key.”
“Sounds perfect.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good night.”
“Night, love. Sleep well.”
“Thanks, Noreen. I think I will.”
A few minutes later, I crawled into bed with the intention of finishing a chapter
of the Agatha Christie book I was reading for the next book club meeting, but the instant I laid my head on the pillow, I dozed off.
When my phone rang the following morning, it wrenched me out of a deep sleep. Groggily, I groped for the phone on my nightstand and held it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Maggie?” Julie sounded distressed. “Where are you? The race is due to start in twenty minutes.”
As if struck by lightning, I sat bolt upright, almost sending Bran flying off the end of the bed. My gaze fixed on my bedside clock. “Oh, heck. I was so tired last night that I forgot to set my alarm.”
“If you hurry, you’ll make it on time. I’ve collected your number from the registration booth.”
I rolled out of bed and rubbed my eyes with my free hand. “Thanks, Julie. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
I disconnected and ran into the kitchen, Bran at my heels. After I’d fed Bran and the cats, I found an energy bar and shoveled it in, and washed it down with water. Noreen had left laundry folded in neat piles on the kitchen table. On autopilot I reached for my running gear.
And froze.
“Aw, no. No, no, no, no.” I held my running pants up, but my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. They were now small enough to fit a child. In my tired state, I’d forgotten to tell Noreen not to put them in the dryer. Swearing, I raced back into my bedroom and located a clean sports bra, regular socks, and a T-shirt. At least I wouldn’t be forced to run in an underwire contraption. Back in the kitchen, I regarded my freshly washed running pants with trepidation. Could I squeeze myself into them? I stretched the material between my fingers. They still had some give. It had to be possible.
After a struggle, I managed to pull the running pants up to my thighs, but they wouldn’t budge past my underwear. Aw, heck. I’d have to go commando. I peeled off the running pants and discarded my panties. On my next attempt, I coaxed the running pants up to my waist and checked my reflection in my bedroom mirror.
They were shorter than they’d been before their spin in the tumble dryer, and tight enough to display an undignified bulge of excess flesh around my midriff. But they fit—more or less—and I had no time to waste looking for an alternative.
