by Keyla Hunter
“What can I get you, Tracy?” he asked with a broad smile. “I know, just the thing,” he said with a tap of his chubby forefinger on his temple. He got me a glass of water with a sliver of lemon. “Didn’t make the water too warm today,” he said and wiped the tip of his nose with the back of his sleeve.
“Thanks for remembering, Doug.” I tipped my glass at him.
“You bet. Easiest customer in the world.” He laughed. “I know you didn’t come into my bar at this time of day for a glass of water. So tell me, what can I do for you?”
“Well you heard that Ryan was arrested for Frank Walters’ death right?” I asked.
“Yes, it was a shame. Always thought that the boy was a good lad, but you never know, do you?” He winced and gazed into the distance.
“Frank Walters, did you know him?”
“Well sure, who didn’t know the great Frank Walters.” I noted a hint of sarcasm, but I was unsure.
“Frank was in here the night before he died.”
“Yes, yes he was.”
“Brett tells me that you were arguing.”
“No, I can’t say we did.” He turned around and picked up another glass and began working on it.
“He said that the security footage showed you grabbing something from Frank and he grabbed it back.”
“Uh, that camera?” He nodded toward a video camera trained on the bar.
“I suppose it was that one.”
“Ah, yes I think I know what he means. It was not an argument as such.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
He sighed, kept the glass down, plopped his elbow on the counter, and placed his forefinger over his mouth. He lowered his voice. “I don’t usually talk about my customers, but since you are asking, he had a bad night at the casino. They say that he had been in a fight and his lucky ring got broken. He was running a high tab here and I thought that he had had enough so I asked him to leave.” He shrugged. “I was doing my job.” He pointed to the Responsible Drinking Policy notice taped to the wall.
“So what happened next?” I asked, leaning in a little closer.
“He got really mad and began to shout. He said that he had only the one drink. I showed him the tab and he grabbed it from me and after he looked at it I took it back from him. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I swear. Look, see.” He flicked through a bundle of chits from the previous night. He handed over a paper marked with strange symbols and seven vertical lines. So Frank must have had at least that many drinks. Doug’s story about Frank’s big booze up checked out.
The problem was that the paper was smooth and not creased. I was sure that the paper that I had seen on the footage had been crushed, but maybe I was mistaken. I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
I heard a rustling from the back. “Who’s back there?” I asked. “I thought we were alone.”
“I don’t know. Let me check.”
He started toward the door leading to the back room when Mike walked in behind the bar. How long had he been there? Had he been listening to our conversation? His face wore no expression so it was hard to say.
“Mikey, come on in. Tracy, meet my son, Mike Mitchell. He’s been away at College studying for an IT degree. He’s working here on a summer internship,” he put a large paw around the bony shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze. The boy flinched, wriggled, and looked embarrassed.
Mike looked up at me and glowered. “Yeah, we’ve met.” Then turning toward Doug, he said, “I need some cash.”
“I’ll get you some later, Son,” said Doug with an uneasy smile. “I’m talking to the lady.”
“Need it now.”
“Take a look. My wallet’s in the back room.”
“Got what was there. I need some more.” He stared at the till.
“Okay, later.” Doug spoke a little louder and there was an edge to his tone. He tipped his head toward me.
As they carried on, I noticed the adoration that Doug had for his son. Mike, on the other hand, never looked straight at his father even once. The boy ducked into the back room again.
“Kids,” said Doug, nodding his head. “He’s not being paid till the end of the month. He needs some cash to tide him over. He’s a hardworking lad. Worked his butt off to get to college. Barb would have been proud of him. God rest her soul. He’s turned out fine.” He pulled out the rag from deep inside his apron pocket and wiped a tear from his wrinkled lid.
“Doug, about Frank Walters…”
“Look, Tracy.” He tossed the cloth down on the bar and spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t know any more.” Glassy eyed, he glared at me.
I sat back in my stool.
He shook his head, rubbed his forehead, and softened his voice. “I mean, you enjoy your drink. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER SIX
Back in my hidey-hole, I began to piece the puzzle together. It seemed that in the last few hours since Ryan’s arrest there were more and more people coming out of the woodwork who could have killed Frank or at least who would have wanted him dead. The more I thought about it, the more baffling it became.
Katherine was still my primary suspect. She could have wanted Frank killed for a number of reasons: He had been siphoning off funds from their family trust for years, he was attempting to gain control of her business, and his infidelities had been going on for a number of years—all of which could all have contributed to her snapping.
What about Gina? Was she being truthful? She said that the insurance policy had lapsed. She stood more to gain if the divorce had gone through if Frank was entitled to a chunk of the business. So as far as I knew, Frank was more valuable to her alive than dead.
Perhaps there was something else that I was missing about Gina. Maybe she was not as devoted as she tried to make out. Heck, she was capable of luring a married man into her bed and destroying a marriage that she was entrusted to improve. In my book, that meant she was capable of anything. I had yet to discover her motive.
Then again, there was Katherine herself who was having an affair. Frank knew about it and Gina had gloated about how he had found out. That would explain the photograph found in Frank’s bedroom. Were there other photos? Probably. Could Katherine have been desperate enough to kill him and ransack his room to find them?
I had to figure out a way of finding out, but Millie had warned me not to go near her again. Katherine was an important guest and whatever I did, I would have to do without offending her. Finding the photos would prove that she was guilty. I’d have to search her room when she was not around. In any case, I would have to make sure neither of them found out.
Gina said that Burns was prank calling the house. Then there was the incident at the casino, but what could have ticked him off so much that would make him kill off a cash cow? I wish I could have heard more of their argument on the playback.
What about the Mitchell boy? He was hiding something, or maybe it was a genuine error on his part? At this point everyone was a criminal in one way or the other, or I’m being paranoid.
It was irritating that I had not come any closer to the truth. Perhaps this evening while the party was going on I could check out Katherine’s room. Yes, that’s what I would have to do. I would have to make a clear plan and stick to it. I sighed, as if the evening was not going to be difficult enough.
I went over to the reception and asked Imogen if Katherine was on the guest list for this evening’s event. Imogen confirmed that she was, and added that she was bringing along a guest by the name of Gerard Huxley. Goodness me! That was her lawyer. Had she no shame? Her husband’s body was still warm and she was flaunting her lover for whom she had killed for not hours before!
In my time at the resort I had seen some pretty strange people doing some pretty strange things, yet everyday something or someone new would surprise me. I wondered why Ryan bothered reading celebrity magazines and the gossip columns. I found the stories
that happened here every day were far more interesting.
What if I asked Brett to help me get inside the room? Then again, he might get all preachy and bury my idea in resort policy. I pictured him saying, “Oh no, Tracy, that’s out of the question. That would infringe upon our guests’ privacy.” Stuff that. It was best that I left him out of my plan. Playing by the book would never get Ryan out of this mess.
I would do this on my own, as I always did. I went over the plan in mind once again. I would borrow a master key from Housekeeping and once I confirmed Katherine was at the party, I would go to her room and search through her things. That should be simple enough.
Natalya Chaykovsky thumped a wooden-handled hairbrush on my head. Its sharp bristles scratched my scalp as she yanked it through my hair.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, Trace, but don’t you ever brush your hair?” she shouted over the loud whirr of the hairdryer.
“I do, I mean I did this morning.”
I watched our reflections in the mirror. She tossed her head and the lamp that dangled overhead picked up the shimmering highlights of her straight, silky, blond mane. “I’ll have you looking stunning before you know it. Just sit still.” She pulled through another knot.
“Ouch-ouch! Gentle, Nat, come on…”
“Trace, if you want to look good, you’ve got to pay the price. No pain no gain, capisce?”
I pursed my lips but didn’t retort and let Nat to do what she did best. I tapped my foot to the rhythm of an old Bee Gees’ album that blared in the room. An odd choice for Nat, I mused, but let it go.
It had been a long day, and I had mixed feelings about this evening’s event. The resort’s parties were spectacular, but I was always the one behind the scenes. That was where I belonged and that was where I was most comfortable. This evening, however, I was Cinderella and I was going to the ball.
“Okay, that will have to do,” chimed my fairy godmother. She glanced at the time on the large white clock in her bedroom. It was almost six o’clock and I needed to get ready and back to the resort within the hour.
“Oh thanks. I love it,” I said, twisting my neck from side to side. Nat had piled soft curls on top of my head and left a few ringlets hanging carelessly around my shoulders.
“Hey, they pay me the big bucks for what I do.” A look of amusement crossed her face. Then looking at my hair, she scowled. “Hold still, miss.” She pulled a tail comb out of her belt and used the pointed end to pull out a couple of strands close to my temples and rubbed a glob of pink stuff that smelled of strawberries on her hands applying it to the strands she twisted around her pinky. “There…” She held my chin straight. “Perfect.”
I smiled my approval.
“Okay, now what are we going to wear? I’ve picked out two dresses that are absolutely right for you.”
“Anything that would go with this.” I dug into my bag sitting on her dressing table and pulled out a lip gloss. It was baby pink and my favorite.
“Uh-uh, you’re not.” She looked like she would bash my head in had she not spent the last half an hour working on my hair. “Look, Trace, let’s choose the dress and then figure out the rest okay?”
I sighed. “But I need to like the dress. No cleavage, okay?”
“Once in a while you need to give those ladies some air.”
“Nat… I’m serious.”
Giggling, she opened her double-door built-in wardrobe that was chockfull of clothes and pulled out a silver dress that sparkled and shone, which I thought would go with my pale pink lipstick. “Wow, that’s gorgeous,” I said.
“You’ve not seen the other yet.”
Her bright blue eyes had a naughty look and I held my breath.
Nat pulled out a bright red box and opened the lid, which had the words Valentino Garavani embossed on it. She removed the smooth white tissue packaging and held up an emerald green evening gown. Rhinestones and crystals embellished the keyhole halter neckline that anchored the ruched bodice and tiered skirt of wispy chiffon, accentuated by a finely pleated empire waistband.
I stared and gulped. “You’ve never worn it… I-I couldn’t possibly…”
“You like it? It’s yours. It’s meant for you, Trace. It matches your hair and eyes so well. It’s your color. Look…” She held the dress against my body and twirled me toward the mirror.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just okay ?”
“I mean, I love it. But are you sure?”
“Yes, it was a gift.”
“A gift? A gift from whom?”
Nat looked away. “I’ll explain later. Long story… There’s no time now.”
“But, Nat…”
“Later, okay?”
“Thanks, I love it.” I took Nat’s hand and squeezed it. She looked as happy as I felt. I took the dress from her and undid the clasp from behind. I let the towel draped around me fall to the floor and raised the dress over my head.
“Tracy, stop! That’s not the way. Step into it you dingbat.”
“What would I do without you? And, Nat, thanks for taking care of Katherine Walters.”
“It was nothing, really.”
As I eased into the dress, she poked around looking for powders and potions in her large vanity case that sat on the dressing table.
“Hey, is that guy Brett going to be there?”
“Who? What? Brett, yes he’s going to be there.”
“Who told you?”
“I have my sources, Trace.”
“Millie, it’s gotta be her.”
“Hey, admit it, you kinda like the guy.”
“What? Remember when he joined, you did say he was… what were your words? Eye candy .”
“You are mad. That wasn’t me, that was you.”
“Did too. C’mon, Trace. I know that look. When your earlobes go pink, it’s a sure sign.”
I clapped my hands over my ears. “They have not!”
“C’mon, Trace, loosen up. I can see you guys together. Admit it…”
“Okay… maybe a little crush… That’s all. Not thought of anyone like that since Amon.”
“Amon- shmamon. Are you still seriously thinking about that guy? That was doomed from the beginning. He was such a baby. Did not have much… substance. This guy seems more… mature.”
“You mean old?”
“Thirty eight is not old. It’s perfect.”
“O-M-G. How do you know how old he is?” Her eyes darted to the laptop on her bed. “Did you actually Google him?”
“Just looking out for a friend. Besides, there’s an awful lot of information out there. You should try it sometime.”
“Natalya Chaykovsky, you are impossible.”
“Tracy Turner, you are blushing.”
“Am not. Okay, what do you think? A size too small?” I asked, holding my breath.
“You can’t hold your breath all night.”
“Take this. It’s shapewear. Holds everything in.”
“What have you got to hold in?”
“Trust me, we all do.”
“Back too deep?”
“Oh gosh, live a little, woman. And lose these,” she said, pulling off my glasses.
“Hey, I can’t see past my nose without those,” I said, popping them back on.
“Okay already, stop glaring. Sheesh.”
“I’ll carry them in my pocket.”
“Are you crazy? These dresses don’t have pockets.” I turned toward the full-length mirror. I felt like I was in a dream.
“Okay, I’ll carry them in my bag.”
“That old thing…” She laughed. “Take this.” After rummaging through her closet, she thrust a muted silver clutch that was the size of a paperback novel. I was trying to think of all the things that needed to be crammed in there.
She dabbed my lips with a mixture of dark orange and pink lipstick that she had prepared. “One bit of advice, don’t talk to Brett about the case tonight or about Amon. I mean we all know that Ryan’s
not into girls, but droning on about your guy friends or your ex are a big turnoff.”
“Nat, it’s not a date. It’s only a… a thing. A meeting. He knows that. We agreed.”
“You what?” She groaned. “Look forget the past, enjoy the moment. Just for tonight, okay?”
The thought of tonight reminded me of my plan to stake out Katherine’s room. I wondered what I would find, and the prospect was exciting.
“Thinking of Brett?”
I smiled and shrugged. I didn’t want anyone finding out my secret.
Ribbons of orange, red, and yellow swirled and intermingled to create a dazzling spectacle of unique shades in the sky. It signaled the day was done and the sun was beginning its much deserved retreat.
A sea of heads had already gathered at the Ethereal room by the time I got there. I weaved my way through a group of women, who looked like an assorted pack of marshmallows with their blown up lips, puffed up boobs, and bellowing dresses.
Dark blue, red, and white drapes symbolized the colors of the tournament and fanned down from the ceiling of the banquet room. The world’s golfing elite vied for the coveted trophy glistening in the center of the room. The fiberglass display case floated in the air like magic, suspended from an overhead beam by an invisible thread.
A live band played in the corner of the room. They were one of a series of entertainers that had been booked for the evening. A vaguely familiar jazz number that I knew but couldn’t identify rippled through the room. My foot began to tap to the music and my head joined in the beat. Despite the plan that I had for the night, a sense of relaxation began to creep over me.
I found myself being drawn closer to the bandstand, and I was just a couple of feet away. From time to time, I tottered up on to my tiptoes on the gleaming white marble floor and searched for a familiar face in the crowd.
