Spell or High Water

by Gina LaManna

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I bet that makes it hard to find out who might’ve wanted her dead.” Tarryn gave a dry smile, though her eyes had dampened. “The girl didn’t deserve that. None of us did, but especially not Mary.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” I hesitated, looking at the natural beauty. She’d foregone most makeup, but it seemed the rest of the girls hadn’t bothered to put their beauty routines on hold for something as small as a murder. Could she be trying harder than the others to appear sympathetic because she had something to hide?

  She sniffed, reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue. Making an effort to shield her face from me, she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose before turning back and apologizing. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine, of course. It must be hard for you girls. I have to ask, Tarryn, where were you at eight o’clock this morning?”

  “Sleeping.” She shrugged. “Apparently Mary wasn’t, though, which means I don’t have an alibi. The two of us were roommates. Danielle and Stacey will be rooming with us when they arrive, but their ferry was late getting to the island, so they hadn’t joined us yet.”

  I remembered Danielle and Stacey missing from Coconuts the previous evening. My mind leaped to the worst possible conclusion; it was strange how quickly my brain had devolved into a paranoid spiral now that I knew a murderer lurked in Eternal Springs. “Do you think they stayed away because they knew something bad was going to happen?”

  Tarryn frowned. “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t even met the girls before. They’re sisters, and they’re coming together. Mary said she hadn’t met them but was excited to welcome them. She always did that.”

  “Did what?”

  “Welcomed the girls,” Tarryn said. “That’s why it’s so weird she’s the one who ended up dead. No matter how many pageants she won — fifty-nine if you’re counting — she never let it go to her head. I just don’t think any of the girls could’ve hated Mary enough to ... .”

  “To kill her?”

  She nodded. “That strange-looking woman with all the plastic surgery said she was strangled.”

  I smiled at her description of Abigail. “She was, sadly. It makes me wonder if it was someone she knew. Otherwise how could the murderer have gotten so close without her screaming? One scream and the house would have been alerted.”

  “I just wish she’d had time to scream,” Tarryn said. “I would’ve run out and helped her.”

  Finding myself nodding solemnly along, I looked down at the notebook in my lap now littered with scribbles. “Thanks for your time, Tarryn. Just one more question. Well, two, I suppose. Was Mary acting strange at all? Did she seem different or stressed?”

  Tarryn thought for a long minute. When she spoke, she bit her lip and stared into space. “Not that I can think of. I mean, I can’t say for certain, you know? She pretty much kept her personal life to herself. We were different. I’m from the south, she was from New Jersey.”

  “New Jersey?” I hadn’t heard that from the other girls. “That’s right across the way.”

  Tarryn nodded, shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “And you didn’t hear her get up this morning?”

  “I thought you only got two more questions.” Tarryn stared me down, starting to look annoyed. I’d obviously begun to wear out my welcome. But she sighed and continued. “No, okay? I sleep with a mask on and earplugs. Beauty sleep, you ever heard of it?”

  A part of me wondered if that was a dig, but I tried not to take it to heart. “Okay, I know I said two, but I have one more.”

  “You want to know if I have any ideas about who killed her?” she asked, and I nodded. “I have no clue. Like I said, you’re barking up the wrong tree talking to the girls in the house. Carl would probably know more.”

  “Carl?”

  She gave me a stare that said I hadn’t done my research. “Her coach. Carl Hadley? He’s, like, the most famous beauty pageant coach in the world.”

  “Is he staying on the island?”

  “Your questions just never end, do they?” she retorted. When I gave her a pleading look, she sighed. “Yeah, just down the street. Whatever the heck that hotel is named. Eternal something or other.”

  I knew it. I thanked Tarryn and let her rejoin the rest of the girls while the last few contestants came out to speak with me. Stacey and Danielle hadn’t arrived, which meant I had only six more after Tarryn. I made it through the lineup quickly. There wasn’t much more to learn from the girls except that most of them were a sobbing mess who were seriously concerned their mascara had smudged.

  By the time I let Ciara from Oklahoma rejoin the contestants, I was exhausted. It’d been a long, arduous process to interview each of the women, and while I’d been holed up here I couldn’t help but wonder how far Skye had gotten with her investigation.

  Surely, she’d already heard about Carl, which meant if I wanted to get to him first I’d have to move quickly. I found Billie Jo, thanked her again for her help in wrangling the pageant contestants, and wished her luck.

  “Actually,” I paused with a frown. “Is the beauty contest still taking place?”

  “It’s a pageant, not a contest,” Billie Jo corrected. “And of course it is. The show must go on. Mary would have wanted what’s best for us, and that’s what’s best.”

  Still chewing on that, I left the cottage and headed toward Eternal Springs’s largest hotel. As I walked, I couldn’t keep my mind from lingering on the one thing Tarryn had said that didn’t quite match with anything else: I just wish she had time to scream.

  I suppose that Tarryn could’ve been guessing. It wasn’t a horrible guess, as a matter of fact, but it niggled at me in a way that had me wondering if there was something else to it. The way she’d said it almost sounded as if she’d known more than she let on. Even if she wasn’t guilty, had she seen something? Why hadn’t Mary screamed?

  Six

  Eternal Springs Spa and Report was a fashionable little place that assisted the spa and resort in luring tourists to the island. Luckily, I was friendly with Leslie Harris, the woman who worked the reception desk. She pointed me toward Cottage Number Eight as the lodging of Mary’s former coach, with a whisper to keep things quiet.

  I strolled through the well-manicured lawn with its tropical trees and lush gardens sprawling in every direction. The ocean glistened a crystal blue in the distance while pools of deep, gemstone green lined the walkways. I followed a cobblestone path to a rope bridge, climbed over a small moat that separated the main hotel from the individual cottages, and squinted to locate number eight.

  Number eight turned out to be the cottage closest to the ocean, with the most gorgeous of views. Carl must be making some good money coaching his contestants to be able to reserve prime real estate during one of the peak tourist seasons.

  I wove along the sandy path and hesitated just outside the front door. It wasn’t as if things were exactly secluded out here — we were in part of the hotel and resort — but I was reminded again of Tarryn’s odd observation. Mary hadn’t even had time to scream.

  Quite possibly, this meant she’d known her attacker. She probably wouldn’t have cried out if Carl approached her — realizing only too late that he hadn’t been there to help her, but to end her. I swallowed over the lump in my throat as the first wave of true fear washed over my body. It’d been delayed in coming, the shock of finding Mary’s body had been stunted in a daze of activity. Now that it’d hit, goosebumps freckled across my skin.

  My day had been so hectic I hadn’t had time to think about anything except the mysterious elements surrounding Mary’s murder. The puzzle, the clues, the potential reward for Hex 66.6’s ratings if I could somehow unravel this whole thing. But in doing so, I now realized, I’d have to speak with a murderer. And if the murderer suspected I was onto him or her ... .

  “May I help you?” The door opened to reveal a slim, coiffed gentleman dressed in a sharp suit.

  �
�Carl?” I extended my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss. My name is Evian Brooks, and I’m helping with the investigation into Mary’s death.”

  The gentleman cleared his throat, looking slightly bemused. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I am not Carl. He’s resting now. I’m his personal assistant. May I deliver your message to him?”

  “I really would prefer to speak with him myself. It’s urgent.”

  The assistant cast an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder. “I really think he should rest, Miss Brooks. There was another woman here earlier asking questions and it upset him dreadfully.”

  “Aw, crap. Skye?”

  “You know her?”

  “Sort of,” I said, cringing. I couldn’t complain much because I technically had no authority to go around snooping into other peoples’ business. I could call myself some sort of investigative reporter, but if the cops caught wind of my snooping they wouldn’t be pleased. “We’re both, ah, helping look into the murder.”

  “It’s tragic, but maybe another time when he’s —.”

  “John, who is it?” The voice croaked from another room, sounding quite ill. “Someone about Mary’s murder? I don’t want to talk to them.”

  “But sir, it’s important,” I said. “We’re trying to find who killed her.”

  Silence. Then a long sigh. “Let her in, John.”

  “But sir,” the assistant said, “you told me yourself you wanted to rest.”

  “Let her in. A few more questions won’t kill me.” The room fell quiet at his poor choice of words. Then sobs came from the bedroom, which made Carl’s assistant look quite alarmed.

  “Go on in,” he said. “I’ll bring you both some tea.”

  I wove through the small, bungalow-style cottage toward Carl’s voice. The bedroom turned out to be a luxurious room, adorned in sea greens and pristine whites, decorated with shells and sand dollars and driftwood picture frames.

  “I’m so sorry to barge in,” I said, and I meant it. Stopping at the entrance, I knocked to be polite since the door was already open. “I’ll try to keep this brief.”

  “I don’t see how it won’t be.” Carl paused for a huge honk of his nose into a handkerchief. “There’s not much I can add to what I told the other woman.”

  I inched forward, hands folded before my body. Carl truly looked as if he was in the firm grip of pain. He wore a white linen shirt and had the bedcovers pulled up to his waist. Judging by his assistant’s style, I ventured a guess that Carl normally took pride in his appearance. He probably wouldn’t let his hair go all mussed as it was now, nor would he be caught dead in his pajamas.

  “I’m sorry for my appearance,” Carl said, gesturing to himself. He must have caught me staring. “I would never allow anyone to see me like this, but ... alas, circumstances.”

  “Tell me a little about Mary, please,” I said. “How did you meet, how long you’ve known her, things like that.”

  “We met when she was twenty-one.” He gave a watery smile. “Ten years ago already, can you imagine?”

  I placed Carl to be in his late thirties, possibly early forties, with preliminarily gray hair. Save for the pajamas and rumpled look, he resembled most businessmen we saw in Eternal Springs lounging away on holiday from their office jobs.

  “I picked her out of a contest,” he said with a little grin. “She finished seventh, but I knew she had it in her to be a winner. With a bit of coaching and ten years of practice ... voila.”

  “Fifty-nine wins,” I said, proud of my beauty pageant knowledge. “Quite impressive.”

  “Yes, though sixty ... .” He paused for a sob that wracked his shoulders. “Sixty would have been a huge cause for celebration. Now she’ll never get to see the day.”

  “Did you see Mary quite often?” I asked. “Had her mood changed at all lately?”

  “I saw her every day, sometimes twice a day. We rehearsed questions, practiced etiquette and of course spent hours tooling around on the piano to improve her talent.”

  “What about her mood?”

  “You mean, did she vary from being the sweet, wonderful woman that everyone knew?” He shook his head. “No, never. I don’t know how anyone could dream of murdering her. I heard she was strangled. How ... how horrible! I can’t imagine what that might have been like for her.”

  “I’m sorry to ask this, Mr.—,” I hesitated.

  “Just call me Carl.”

  “Carl,” I said. “But where were you between seven and nine this morning?”

  Carl sat up straighter in bed, turning his eyes to look straight at me for the first time. “Are you asking for my alibi?”

  “It’s standard procedure for anyone near the victim,” I told him. “I’m sorry, but —.”

  “I was waiting for her down at Coconuts,” he said. “You can verify with the bartender who let us in. She never showed.”

  “Coconuts?” I asked. “Isn’t it a little early for drinks?”

  He rolled his eyes. “They’re setting up the pageant, so we couldn’t rehearse in our normal space on stage. The bar has a keyboard for karaoke nights that they agreed to let us practice on before they opened.”

  I nodded, making a note to check his alibi. I doubted he’d lie over something so easily verified, but I’d rather be safe than sorry — and what’s more, I could use a drink after the day I’d had.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” The assistant had returned. “I’m going to show you out, now. He’s not feeling well and doesn’t have anything more to add.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Mary dead?” I asked the coach. “Were any of the girls jealous?”

  Carl’s head sagged into his lap. “I don’t know! I don’t see how any of the other contestants could have the heart to strangle her, but I just don’t know.”

  “Who made the decision for the show to go on?” I asked. “I thought it might be cancelled.”

  “Well, Edwin, of course,” Carl said, blinking his eyes to look at me. “The coordinator. If you haven’t talked to him yet, you should. He’s the one benefitting from all of this. There’s no publicity like a murder to drum up interest, is there?”

  Seven

  After I took my leave from Carl, I opted to skirt the main road in favor of the more scenic route. The day had passed in a blur. I’d been so attuned to the murder that I’d forgotten to do basic things like eat and drink, so I figured a quick trip to Coconuts was in order.

  My growling stomach told me it was almost dinner time, so when I slid onto my normal stool at the tiki bar I wasn’t surprised to find the place was already filling with people. I put in my usual order for fish tacos, and then opted for a special occasion margarita because I was done working for the day.

  As I waited for the food to arrive, I sat quietly, reflecting on everyone I’d spoken to in the last ten hours. I’d interviewed most of the contestants, the medical examiner and Mary’s coach. I’d been grilled by Kenna, accosted by Mason and was half-starved from all my running around the island. I just might have a second margarita.

  Then again, I still had things to do. I really should stop by the shop to offer my grudging thanks to Mason for taking care of my scooter. Maybe if I sucked up extra nicely I’d get some sort of buy one-get one free deal. I was no specialist, but it looked like my poor vehicle had been through hell.

  When my food arrived, I ate it slowly, watching the bar fill rapidly with the dinner crowd. About half of the beauty pageant contestants were here, which gave the room a subdued feel. They picked at their food and tended to not eat, and they looked forlornly at one another with their perfectly made-up faces.

  Publicly they mourned in such a way one would’ve thought they were all sisters. I wondered if any of the beautiful women hiding behind lipstick and coiffed hair and fake-tanned skin had murdered their fellow contestant. And for what? For a chance at winning a stupid beauty contest?

  “Not how I thought the night would go,” Mason said, sliding onto a bar stool next to me. “I
t’s like the party died, wouldn’t you say?”

  I gave him a scowl as I turned his way. “Too soon, Mason. In poor taste.”

  “Sorry.”

  I continued scowling until I realized that I was supposed to be sucking up to the mechanic. Glancing at my plate, I debated offering him one of my tacos, but that ship had sailed. All of said tacos had made their way into my stomach, as had half the margarita.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked. “As a thank-you for your help?”

  Mason looked ready to decline on habit, but he changed his mind. “Sure — Corona, please.”

  The bartender nodded that he’d heard and slid us the opened bottle. Mason caught it, raised his beer and clinked my margarita.

  “What could we possibly have to cheer?” I asked as I took a sip of my drink. “What a disaster of a day.”

  “To dinner with friends.”

  I studied him for a moment, wondering where this burst of friend talk had come from. Mason and I had clashed several times in high school and had not made our way out of it unscathed. I barely remembered what we’d fought over back then, but the touchy balance had lingered.

  “To dinner with friends,” I said, clinked again, and took another sip. “What are you doing here?”

  “I always come in for taco night.” He popped his beer onto the counter with a grin. “I know you do too. You just never see me. It’s okay, I’m easy to ignore.”

  My face colored. The truth was that he wasn’t easy to ignore. It was as if my body had a weird signal that turned itself toward Mason whenever he was in the room, a little siren that alerted me to his presence whether I wanted to ignore him or not.

  “I meant why’d you come and sit next to me?” I asked. “Do I look that desperate for a friend?”

  “I hear you’ve been busy today. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

  “Who’d you hear that from?”

  “Oh, you know … .”

  The answer stormed into the bar at that moment, her red hair snapping and crackling with frustration. “Are you trying to drive all the tourists away?” Kenna tapped her perfectly manicured nails against her clipboard as she stopped directly in front of me and hissed over my beer. “Asking questions, pestering — we don’t even know for sure that this is a murder!”