Darkwater Secrets

by Robin Caroll

  “He said it was kids pranking.”

  “An expensive prank. Boas are rather expensive. Even the cheap ones are seventy-­five bucks or higher.”

  Adelaide didn’t want to believe her friend, but she accepted that Tracey knew her stuff in this area. After all, some said Tracey was a witch in her own right. That was a rumor, of course. At least, Adelaide was pretty sure it was just a gossip. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why a snake?”

  “Pun intended?” Tracey grinned as she slipped her earrings off and tossed them in the big wooden bowl on the counter. “Snakes are very honored in voodoo and hoodoo. They are believed to hold intuitive knowledge. The main snake, the Grand Zombi, is the temple snake and contains many powers.”

  “So putting one in a mailbox does what?” Adelaide took another sip of the tea that suddenly wasn’t as bitter as before.

  “It can be a number of things—a bonding spell, a hex, a curse, an attraction spell, many different things. Depending upon the witch.”

  Adelaide snorted, then stared at her friend’s face and sobered immediately. “You’re serious.”

  “I am.” Tracey topped off both of their cups with more tea from the pot. “You should know this, Ads. Don’t you remember when we were kids and we snuck behind old woman Josephine’s shed? What did you think they were doing but witchcraft rituals?”

  Chills slithered up Adelaide’s spine, and she grabbed the cup, wrapping her hands around the hot porcelain. “We were kids. We probably have exaggerated what we saw over time and with each telling, scaring each other silly.”

  Tracey frowned at her. “You know better. You know what we saw. I know what we saw. I deal with it in and out at work all day. Everybody asks the cemetery ghost tour if I’ve seen ghosts. Does Marie Laveau haunt the place?” She shook her head. “If they only knew.”

  Adelaide took a sip of tea. She would avoid this topic at all costs, if she could. Tracey believed her ancestors had practiced witchcraft, voodoo, and hoodoo—all subjects that gave Adelaide the heebie-­jeebies.

  While the original Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen, was said to have turned from voodoo practices near the end of her life and dedicated herself to the Catholic church, her look-­alike daughter had gone deep into the dark side of witchcraft. Although not confirmed anywhere, it was said that the second Marie murdered her own older sister, the only other living descendant of Marie and Louis Christophe, Marie Philomene Glapion.

  It was from the murdered sister’s line that Tracey had been born, and she was proud of her heritage. Tracey had even inherited the house on St. Ann Street that was rumored to have been on the site of the original Marie Laveau’s home back in the 1830s.

  Remembering that, Adelaide shivered and took another sip of the quickly cooling tea.

  “Look, just tell Dimitri to be careful. Let me know if he has any other strange deliveries.”

  “I will, but he doesn’t believe in all that. He has a strong Christian faith and disregards everything else.”

  Tracey pulled her curly hair up into a ponytail on the top of her head. “Just because someone doesn’t believe something doesn’t make it less real.”

  “I guess so.” Adelaide set down the cup and stood. “I better get back to the hotel. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a very long day.”

  “I wish you would stay here tonight.”

  “It’ll be an early start, so I really should get back to my place.”

  Tracey stood and hugged her. Tight. “Be careful,” she whispered before releasing Adelaide.

  “Of what?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling I have.”

  Adelaide forced a laugh, even though little goose bumps jumped up on her arms. “Don’t start.”

  Tracey grabbed her arm. “I’m serious, Ads. Something’s going on, and I feel like you’re being set up or something.”

  Now the goose bumps grew goose bumps. “Why do you say that?”

  “How else would your prints have gotten on the knife that killed him? If I’m the only one who knew your link to him, how did the killer know you’d have motive? Something doesn’t add up, Ads, and either way you look at it, the situation doesn’t look good for you.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Don’t shrug this off like you normally do. This is serious. You need to talk to Beau and tell him about your past. He’ll understand. At least it won’t catch him unaware. He will know you aren’t hiding anything.”

  “I can’t tell him.” Adelaide grabbed her purse and headed into the living room.

  “Just why not?”

  “You know why.”

  “It happened almost a decade ago, Ads. I know you won’t discuss it, but you at least need to come to terms with it again. You aren’t a victim, you’re a survivor.”

  “I know that well. The therapist drilled all that into my head.” Adelaide slumped against the back of the couch.

  Tracey took her hand. “It’s going to come out, Ads.”

  Adelaide opened her mouth to argue, but her friend held up her hand. “Despite your best efforts, it’s going to come out. Wouldn’t you rather be the one telling Beau than him finding out? It will look really bad for you if you aren’t the one who tells him.”

  “It looks bad now. My fingerprints are on the murder weapon. If I tell Beau what happened, he’ll see how badly I wanted that scum taken off the face of the earth. He’ll see my anger. My rage. And the wrappings of my motive tighten more.”

  “What happens when he finds out the truth anyway, and realizes you didn’t tell him? It looks like you’re hiding the connection to cover your guilt.”

  “With my fingerprints on the knife . . .”

  Tracey gave her hand a squeeze. “At least if you tell him, you can look him in the eye and tell him you didn’t know him by his real name. He’ll be able to see that you’re telling the truth. That you’re innocent.”

  “Will he, Trace? Because whenever I think of that piece of garbage, I know how I look: angry, murderous even.”

  “It’s Beau, Ads. The boy you’ve known practically your whole life. The guy your dad trusts with his true identity. One of your best friends. He’ll believe you.”

  Adelaide hung her head. “I’m just not as sure, Trace. He’s so dedicated to his job. To justice.”

  “Which is why you need to tell him so he can find the killer and bring him to justice.”

  If only it were that simple.

  Dimitri

  “There are two detectives here to see you, Mr. Pampalon.” Erika from the front desk stood in the kitchen’s doorway.

  The hotel had just finished serving the early breakfast rush. Knowing that his fingerprints on the murder weapon would garner questioning, Dimitri washed his hands and pulled off the chef’s jacket covering his heavy-­starched button down shirt. “Show them to my office, please.”

  He grabbed his suit jacket hanging in the closet and shrugged it on. The crisp lines of the custom-­made suit settled over him. He took a moment to run a comb over his hair and check his appearance in the kitchen workers’ washroom mirror. He probably should have shaved this morning, but he rather liked the gruffness of the dark stubble lining his jaw. Especially since Adelaide had once mentioned she thought it added character to a man’s face.

  It would have to do. Dimitri gave final orders to his sous chef and general kitchen workers as he walked through the kitchen before heading to his office. He let out a long breath before entering and moving behind the desk. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, detectives.” He offered his hand.

  The African American detective stood and shook his hand. “Detective Taton.”

  Detective Savoie stood, gave a sharp handshake, then returned to his seat in front of the desk. “We have a few questions for you, Mr. Pampalon.”

  Dimitri eased into his executive chair, tenting his fingers over the polished mahogany. “Call me Dimitri, please. Mr. Pampalon is my father.” He flashed a smile.

  Adelaide’s detective frien
d didn’t smile back. “Dimitri, your family has owned this hotel for generations.”

  “Is that a question, Detective? If so, you are correct. My great—however many generations back—grandfather built this hotel in the 1840s. It has remained in my family ever since.”

  The detective nodded, holding his little notebook and pen. “Then perhaps you might be able to suggest how someone would be able to get into room 219 without going through the guestroom door?”

  “I guess an agile fellow could make it up to the balcony?” Dimitri smiled.

  Again, the detective didn’t return the sentiment. “I’m thinking he’d have to be very agile to shimmy up that pole to get onto that small balcony. There’s not even a ladder to extend.”

  “I couldn’t do it, that’s for sure.” Dimitri chuckled. “But alas, I’m not as fit as some others. I did, however, recently watch a documentary on parkour. Have you ever seen it? It’s like a sport—running and jumping through an obstacle course, but using the existing environment. Walls, stairs, railings. Looks like fun.”

  Detective Taton interrupted. “You’re telling me you think a parkour enthusiast broke into Kevin Muller’s room and murdered him with a knife from your hotel’s kitchen?”

  Ah, there it was, the mention of the murder weapon. But the detectives were slick—they didn’t flat out ask about it, just mentioned it. Maybe hoping Dimitri would incriminate himself?

  Dimitri hid his smile behind his hand as he slowly stroked his chin. “I’m saying no such thing. I have no idea how anyone got into the room, much less have any idea why someone would murder the guest.” He lowered his gaze to his hands. But he did know someone who had every reason to want the man dead.

  “I noticed you were in the kitchen when we arrived.” Detective Taton crossed his arms over his chest.

  Dimitri lifted his gaze. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Detective Taton asked.

  “Why?”

  Detective Savoie nodded. “Yes, why were you in the kitchen? You’re an owner of this hotel, but I hear that you spend quite a bit of time in the kitchen, at least lately.”

  “My father has requested I learn every aspect of the hotel business. This happens to be the time I’m learning all about the kitchen duties and what all that entails: menu planning, food ordering, purchase orders for drinks, staffing, and various other aspects I won’t bore you with.”

  Detective Taton sat up straighter. “Speaking of staffing, what can you tell me about Ethan Morrison? What does he do here?”

  Good thing he’d pulled Ethan’s employment folder and read the whole thing earlier this morning. “He’s one of the newer hires under the work-­release programs from the probation office. Those petty criminals who have turned their lives around and are looking for a second chance.”

  Dimitri leaned back in his chair and stared at the detectives. “I’m sure you’re aware Ethan has a record. He’s been an exemplary employee here for over a year, working in the kitchen as a dishwasher and vegetable washer.”

  “So he would have access to all the kitchen utensils—forks, spoons, knives?” Detective Taton asked.

  Dimitri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, he would.”

  “As would you?” Detective Savoie asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Back to the question about entry into room 219 . . . aside from a parkour practitioner, can you think of any other way someone would get into the room?” Detective Taton asked. The two partners were like a well-­choreographed routine.

  Dimitri paused. Not everyone knew about the tunnels and passageways, but they were there inside the Darkwater. If he didn’t mention them now, and the police found out that’s how the murderer got into the room, he’d be more of a suspect. Everyone who knew about the passageways would be.

  Adelaide would be more of a suspect than she was now.

  “Dimitri?” Taton asked.

  He let out a slow breath again. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” Savoie asked.

  Dimitri stood. “I think it best if I show you, detectives.”

  Without hesitation, both men were on their feet. “Lead the way.”

  Dimitri led the detective across the lobby and into the service elevators. “Remember, over the decades, this hotel has been renovated many times. During one such renovation at the onset of the Civil War, there was a need for hiding places to keep valuables out of the hands of the Union soldiers and officers. Many of the public places built in hiding rooms.”

  The detectives remained silent as they followed Dimitri from the elevator to a hallway on the second floor.

  “Such rooms were later connected, forming passageways through buildings. Eventually, some of these passageways were widened and extended to connect with tunnels running throughout the city.” Dimitri opened the door.

  A gust of cold, damp air rushed out to greet them.

  “The Darkwater Inn has such passageways that extend through the length of the building, mostly.”

  Detective Savoie’s eyes widened as he stepped into the darkness. “And this runs along room 219?”

  “Yes.”

  Detective Savoie stepped back into the hallway. “I need to call our crime scene unit back out to scour these passageways.” He pulled his cell and texted quickly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone before now?”

  “It’s not something we broadcast, for obvious reasons. If I might request that you be as discreet as you can in your investigation? Most of the hotel employees aren’t even aware of the passageways.”

  “Who does know about them?” Taton asked.

  Dimitri had known this was coming. “My father and I, of course. Adelaide and her assistant. Security. Some of the housekeeping employees who’ve been here for over twenty years.” He shrugged. “There are probably a couple who suspect, having heard the rumors over the years, but they don’t know how to access the passageways.”

  Detective Savoie had his little notebook out again, writing furiously. “While we’re waiting, do you have an explanation for how your fingerprints got on the murder weapon?”

  Wow. That was out of the blue. If he’d planned on catching Dimitri off guard, it worked. Had Dimitri not already known about his prints being on the knife, he’d be stuttering and stammering. Instead, he calmly tilted his head and studied the detective. “I couldn’t say, for sure. As you’ve already pointed out, I’ve been in the kitchen a lot recently and have touched almost all the utensils in the course of my job. I would dare to say that’s the most logical reason why my fingerprints would be on a knife from the hotel’s kitchen.”

  “The murder weapon.” Detective Taton’s stare could penetrate the most hard-­nosed criminal and make them squirm.

  Dimitri remained silent, just stared at the detectives. He would not be baited into an emotional outburst.

  “Did you know Kevin Muller, sir?” Detective Savoie asked.

  How had he and Adelaide been friends for so long? The detective couldn’t have much in common with her. “No, I did not.”

  “You never met him?” Detective Taton asked.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t see him in the hotel? In the restaurant? The bar? He was here with a group for four days—maybe you saw him in the meeting space?” Detective Savoie continued the questioning.

  The detectives were thorough, Dimitri would give them that. “No, Detective. I don’t recall seeing the man you’ve identified as Kevin Muller ever before, here or elsewhere.”

  “I see.” Detective Savoie wrote more in his notebook. “And where were you between 11:15 and 12:30 on Thursday night, Friday morning?”

  Without missing a beat, Dimitri replied, “Trying out a new recipe in the hotel’s restaurant.”

  “At almost midnight?” Detective Taton asked.

  “Yes. I had to wait until the dinner service that ended at eleven was cleaned up.”

  Detective Savoie jutted out his chin. “I’m guessing you don’t punch a timecard to verify your hours, seeing how you’r
e an owner and all.”

  Dimitri snorted. “Of course not. But if you’d like to verify my whereabouts, the waitresses didn’t leave until after eleven.”

  “All of which are your employees, yes?” Detective Taton pressed.

  Oh, this detective knew how to get under his skin. “Technically, that would be correct.”

  The detective smiled. “I see.”

  “However, there was also a delivery from our liquor supplier right around midnight.”

  “They make those so late?” Detective Savoie looked up from his notebook.

  “Sometimes. Since we’re a hotel and open twenty-­four-­seven, they know they can deliver after normal hours. We are in the city that never sleeps, right? They made their delivery and had to have a manager’s signature of acceptance. I signed the purchase order.” Dimitri grinned, flashing all his pearly whites. “I can provide you with the company name and that of the driver so you can verify the signature and the time.”

  “Yes, we’ll need that.” Detective Taton looked less than pleased.

  Detective Savoie’s phone chimed. He glanced at it. “Our team is here to inspect the passageway. Where would you like them to come?”

  Despite being bested in the questioning, the detective was discreet. For that, Dimitri was extremely grateful.

  His father would blow a gasket that not only were the police aware the passages existed, but that they would be open to scrutiny and dissection. He’d find a way to blame Dimitri for the umbrage, of course. Or Adelaide.

  And Dimitri couldn’t have that happen, no matter what it cost him.

  Fourteen

  Beau

  This had to be the worst part of his job that he’d ever experienced, but if he hoped to solve this case and be up for promotion, he had no choice.

  Addy’s eyes were a little wider than usual as she sat behind her desk and stared.

  “You know this isn’t personal, right?”

  “Of course, you’re just doing your job.” But Addy’s tone came out flat.

  Beau couldn’t help it. He had to do his job. Thank goodness Marcel was tied up watching over the team in the secret passages. “I’m guessing as general manager, you’re aware of the passageways hidden inside this hotel?”