by K. T. Tomb
“Paulson?” Steve said, puzzled. No one had seen him steal his way into the room during the hustle and bustle, except Mike Morton.
Agent Daniels checked the man’s pulse and looked up at the bewildered hotel executive shaking his head.
Head Concierge Paulson lay dead on the floor of the presidential suite of the Samsara Resort.
Epilogue
Chyna, Evan and Phoenix sat side by side on one side of the huge conference table in Steve Masterton’s office suite.
Steve was at the head of the table looking haggard and sinking slowly, but steadily, into a bottle of single malt scotch.
Seated across the table was Agent Daniels, Agent Roberts and a well-bandaged Mike Morton. Everyone there was tired but they waited patiently just the same.
“Alright, Agent Daniels,” Masterton said finally. “Let’s have it. I’m tired and the suspense is killing us all.”
“Well, we listened carefully to everything that Mr. Morton had to say during our interrogation and based on corroboration from Miss Stone, I think we’ve pieced this together somewhat.”
“Is he innocent?”
“It would seem so.”
“I told you that from the beginning, you asshat!” Mike shouted at him.
The two agents tensed at the outburst. Mike was still in handcuffs and still quite angry.
“There’s no need for all that, Mr. Morton. We’re just here to clarify everything that’s been going on. I know it has been a long night but please bear with us a little longer.”
Agent Roberts stood up and in a gesture of good faith, he removed the handcuffs from Mike’s wrists.
It was Masterton’s turn to tense up. Daniels continued talking.
“Mike says he tried to tell you his suspicions about Paulson and his gruesome activities many times but you never seemed to have the time to talk to him or come down to the site despite his numerous requests to see you. The last man who died on the site…”
“Marshall Kelly,” Masterton interrupted.
“Yes, exactly,” Daniels said surprised.
“I doubt I’ll ever forget that name. That was the last conversation Mike and I had on the site. I wasn’t proud of the things I said that day… I really was being an asshat. He was arrested shortly after that.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He tried to tell me something was going on, perhaps even tried to tell me who was responsible. But I didn’t give him a chance. Instead, I brought up his indebtedness to me and the company and told him to get back to work and finish building my hotel. That was the end of it.” He put his head in both of his hands. “I’m so sorry, Mike.”
“Mr. Masterton?” Chyna began. “It’s not entirely your fault, There was a lot more at stake here than met the eye. Beside Paulson had everyone, especially you, eating out of the palm of his hand.”
“What role did you play in all of this, Miss Stone?”
“After the investor’s cocktail party, I started to get the feeling that there was something connecting the tragedies during the construction to the present day resort. The vase in the alcove tipped me off.
“You see, before Paulson joined the Samsara staff training program he was an assistant on the Arawak dig site. I had to fire him when I caught him trying to steal an artifact. The vase had gone missing before that and the shard proved it was from the site. Shortly after he began working for you, your workers started disappearing or dying under suspicious circumstances.”
“So far I haven’t heard anything that puts Paulson’s finger inconclusively in the cookie jar, so to speak.”
“Not exactly,” Chyna continued. “After seeing the vase, I had Pheonix check the inventory of everything that had been recovered at the site and sure enough, another piece came up missing. An Aztec medallion, one of the few pieces I’d found that was propagating my theory of Aztec involvement with the Arawaks on La Isla Samsara. It was the same medallion, Agent Roberts had seen slip out of Paulson’s shirt during their first interview in his office.”
Just then Daniels spoke up. “The nail in Paulson’s coffin, excuse the pun, was that Mike had caught Paulson coming off the construction elevator right after Marshall fell from the scaffolding. The elevator was set to open only on the fifteenth floor and Paulson had no reason to be on it unless he was up there to push Marshall from the scaffolding.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell…”
Mike looked up from the spot he’d been analyzing on the table in front of him with a sad look on his face. “You ran me off, Steve. If I went to the authorities behind your back you would have buried me and my family under my debt to avenge the embarrassment caused. Didn’t you wonder why I sank so deep into the bottle after that?”
Masterton shook his head in dismay. He stood up from his chair and went over to where Mike Morton was sitting.
“Forgive me, my friend, please.” Mike stood up and hugged Steve tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know, you are,” Mike said, sobbing. “But you’re still an asshat!”
***
When Karl woke up, he examined his environment.
Rebecca’s naked body was still entwined with his and their vodka still stood on the table beside them. Karl smiled. They had managed to polish off more than half the bottle between their endless sessions of lovemaking and talking, but somehow he felt no effect of the alcohol. Maybe that’s what Rebecca meant by having control; he felt strangely powerful at the thought of having control over his drinking.
Karl could hear sirens outside the window. He got up and went over to take a look outside. The weather was good, the sea was calm and the sun was actually shining. The disruptive shutters had been retracted from the window and Karl threw the glass pane open to let the crisp, clean breeze into the room.
“Rebecca,” he said, “Get a robe on. Something’s happening downstairs.”
They both threw on bathrobes and hurried from the room toward the elevator.
In the lobby, they saw paramedics and other volunteers walking the hallways, speaking with storm victims, and taking the temperature and blood pressure of those that had been injured. They stood to one side and watched as several gruff looking men were lead out by uniformed policemen and placed, handcuffed, into a waiting prison truck.
It wasn’t long after that the service elevator doors chimed open and three gurneys bearing the telltale black body bags of the local coroner’s office were pushed past them.
A paramedic approached Karl with a medicine kit. He stooped down, set the kit next to himself and opened it.
“My name’s Ralph. Everything’s going to be all right, sir. Keep still and don’t move while I take your vitals.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. We’re not hurt at all. We just heard the commotion and came down from our room to see what was happening.”
“Is the storm over?” Rebecca asked, numbly.
“Yes, it is. The eye of the storm is calm, and then the backside is as bad as the front but Freda’s well on her way to the Bahamas now.”
More paramedics passed by with stretchers. There were semi-conscious people lying on them. All the men seemed to be wearing handcuffs on their wrists in front of them. They set the patients down in front of the lobby doors to wait for the ambulances to take them to the hospital.
Karl’s head began to throb, and he wondered if it was the after effects of the vodka finally kicking in, but when he looked up at the clock on the wall he realized he was a victim of starvation.
“Come, darling,” he whispered to Rebecca, “We should get something to eat. It’s almost noon.”
The surprise registered in her eyes as she looked at him tenderly.
“I missed you, Karl. You know that, right?”
The paramedics picked up the stretchers one by one and eased them into the waiting ambulances. The sky was a bright blue and cloudless, almost as if no clouds had ever existed. Iin the distance Karl spotted remnants of the storm; a rainbow.
“This is going to sound weird, but
I used to hate rainbows.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Something to do with the Bible, the story of Noah’s Ark.”
“I know that one. That’s a favorite one of mine. It’s all about the renewal of hope after the darkest of days.”
“There is new hope for me, now that I’ve won back your faith in me, Rebecca. In all our fifteen years of marriage, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you like I love you right now.”
“Ever had … regrets, Karl?” Rebecca asked. “Because I think I do. Many regrets, many ‘should haves’ I’ve struggled with. But after everything you showed me last night, I hope I can finally put them aside. With Noah’s Ark, it was supposed to be about ridding the world of wickedness and making things right again.”
Karl’s body sank into the chair at the table, looking deeply into her eyes.
Seriously, Becky. Is that all I am to you? A source of amusement? Don’t I do anything right?
The words from the day that he and Rebecca had left the plane in Kingston, echoed in Karl’s mind. Then he remembered what she had said to him a few moments before as they stood side by side in the lobby and he smiled.
Maybe I’m starting to get a few things right, Karl thought.
The End
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K.T. Tomb enjoys traveling the world when not writing adventure thrillers. She lives in Portland, OR. Please find her at:
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