Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1)

by Keyla Hunter

  In front of the room were startling white sofas and arm chairs arranged in three groupings around circular dark brown leather ottomans. White shaggy rugs and free standing lamps dotted the space and gave the impression that it was more a sitting room than a loo. It was the long vanity at the other end of the room that gave it away.

  I was always in and out of the toilet so fast that I wondered why anyone would need such luxuries. Having joined the resort, however, I realized their value. The seating arrangements were a must-have for the women who used them as safe havens to grumble and weep away their less than perfect lives.

  One of the wooden pocket doors of the stall receded in a smooth motion and officer Ormand emerged. He shook his head from side to side and muttered, walking to the vanity to wash his hands. I giggled to myself. Had he just contaminated the crime scene?

  He walked toward Millie who sat on one of the sofas. He was careful to avoid stepping on the dark gray sticky insulation-like tape that indicated the positioning of Katherine’s body as it was found. A pool of blood and speckles of splatter marred the whiteness of the brilliant marble floor with a bloody sneaker print leading away from it.

  A shiver ran down my spine. Was this what her life had come down to? Her smiling face and lilting laugh from an hour ago came to me in a flash. Her partner, Gerald, was talking to Officer Curtis. His face was as white as his hair and his eyes bloodshot and sunken. I wondered where he had been when this happened.

  I overheard snippets of Millie’s conversation as she spoke to the officer, who was now back on task.

  “The sneaker’s a size ten. A similar print was found in Mr. Walters’ en suite. Both were partial prints, so it’s not conclusive. It seems that we have a serial killer on our hands.” His voice was loud and his chest swelled as he spoke.

  She cocked an eyebrow and spoke softly. “That’s a bit premature wouldn’t you say, Officer? You were also quick to arrest Ryan Evans.”

  His eyes grew large. “This could be an accomplice. We are looking for anything that might have been stolen. We’ll need to search her room.”

  “A serial killer and a thief? A rare combination don’t you think?” Millie raised her eyebrows and slapped her hand to her face. “I think I’ll need to speak to your captain. This is getting us nowhere.”

  Then it struck me. Ryan was in custody and he was still not off the hook. I took a deep breath in. The air was heavy with the blend of soap and perfume, but it didn’t mask the odor of fresh blood. My tummy began to churn again.

  “Burns, still on our radar?” said a familiar voice. I turned around; it was Brett. “In Mexico? Okay, good, I still want eyes and ears on him…” His voice trailed off when he saw me listening, and he snapped his phone shut.

  “Burns. What about Burns?” I asked.

  Brett turned around toward me, his eyebrows furrowing. “Where have you been?”

  “I told you the rest…”

  He placed a giant paw on my upper arm and pulled me over to the side of the room. “What are you doing here?”

  My back was to the wall and his hand weighed down on my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  He scanned the room and mumbled, “You are not supposed to be here.”

  “What? I told you about Burns.” I nudged his hand off and cocked my head to the side.

  The softness in his eyes was replaced by a cold hard stare. “Authorized personnel only,” he said pointing at the yellow tape.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and bit down on my lip.

  “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “this is much bigger than what we first thought. You need to go.”

  I felt the temperature rise and stared back at him.

  His eyes still trained on mine, he drew himself up to his full height. His voice was definite and words deliberate. “You need to leave it to me and the cops to figure this one out. Okay?”

  “But why? Th-that’s not fair.”

  “This has nothing to do with what is or what is not fair.” He paused, his eyes softening continuing to look into mine. “Tracy, please, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I can look after myself. I’m not a child.” I shrugged his arm away. I turned my back to him and fought the tears welling up in my eyes. I felt exhausted and humiliated. He didn’t trust me. I didn’t like being treated like an imbecile.

  I turned back toward him. He was talking to Heath Jarvis, the young officer who looked like he’d just stepped out of cop school. He said, “As far as I can see it’s the same type of slug that killed the two.”

  “Are you certain? Let me see,” said Brett. They flicked through photos on his mobile phone together. “You’re right, could be.”

  The officer shrugged. “Gotta take it downtown to be sure. What about that?” He pointed to a video camera in the room.

  “Disabled. A guest complained about it around the time it was installed, so we disabled all the cameras in the restrooms.”

  Brett saw me looking at him and his voice was gruff. “Tracy, I need to ask you to leave. This is a crime scene. If you don’t go, I will have to ask Officer Jenkins here to escort you out.”

  The shame that I felt threatened to choke me, but I spoke in an even voice. “I was going anyway. There are reporters outside. Millie will probably have to make some kind of statement. I need to work out what we say.”

  Men, they are all the same: Either they are big babies or they want to be your daddy. To think I was beginning to like this guy. I felt like stomping out, but that would have proved his point, so I tried to smile instead. The ability to pull off a fake smile was an asset in my line of work. It was one of those things, however, that I had not quite got the hang of. My attempt was weak, but sufficient.

  I noticed that Millie had disappeared. As I stooped back under the crime tape, I began to work out in my head what I thought she should say in her speech to the media.

  I heard the beep-beep of my phone. My spirits rose. Maybe it was Brett apologizing. Reaching down my leg, I realized that my phone wasn’t in its customary spot in my pocket. I was still in my ball clothes.

  Careful not to drop any of my clutch’s contents, I withdrew my phone and looked at the screen. The message was brief and to the point:

  FROM UNKNOWN

  Stop snooping about, bitch, or you’re next.

  My head darted from side to side. Everything looked hazy and moved in slow motion, as if I was in a drunken stupor. So was the person who killed Katherine still in the room? Was he watching me? Was the message some sort of twisted joke?

  The officer said that the same type of bullet was used to kill both Frank and Katherine, so they must have been killed by the same person. It couldn’t be a coincidence. All this while I thought that Katherine was the killer. She despised Frank and didn’t try to hide it. He was blackmailing her and the photos I had found proved it. I couldn’t have been wrong on that.

  Katherine was killed in the ladies’ room. A man would have easily been noticed if he walked into the ladies’ room. Could this mean that the killer was a woman? What about Gina? Maybe it was her. She seemed to hate Katherine enough, but she genuinely cared for Frank so it didn’t make sense that she killed them both.

  Perhaps it was someone who worked in the resort, someone who knew that the camera was disabled. What about Doug? What was he doing in Katherine’s room? What was his game?

  With my bag tucked under my arm, I drew the phone back up toward my face. Yes, the message was still there. It had not been my imagination. It was a concealed number so it couldn’t be traced. Perhaps there was a way around it.

  My spirits rose. I could ask Brett to track down the number for me. He was in security and would know how to get the job done, but what would I tell him? “A psycho sent me a creepy text. Can you find out who it was?” I saw his sniggering face telling me “I told you so…” or worse, accusing me of being delusional.

  No, I couldn’t trust him with this. I couldn’t trust anyone. Whoever sent me the message knew
I was working on this case. There were only two people who knew for sure: Millie and Brett. It couldn’t be Millie, so that only left him. I shuddered at the thought.

  I looked down at the text again. I had done that several times now, and when I shut my eyes, the words flashed in front of me. I wanted to scream. I wasn’t afraid, I was petrified. My legs felt weak and threatened to buckle under me, so I sat at the edge of a deck chair on the poolside and waited for a moment or two.

  The silence of the night was broken by a loud growl. It startled me and I realized I had nothing to eat since this morning’s muffin and a couple of bites of my sandwich. My belly rumbled once again.

  Good gracious! It was a quarter past nine and there was no sign of the night coming to an end any time soon. Where could I get a decent meal at this time of night? It was not like I could hop over to one of the restaurants and grab a bite. That would be a good chunk out of my wage. The thought of a greasy Macker’s Happy Meal made my tummy do a double take. I would wait till I got home.

  I still had to plan Millie’s statement to the press and needed a place to think. I looked around the flood-lit pool area. The revelry of the day had passed and all was quiet now. In the distance I heard the gentle rush and violent crash of waves. The sound was soothing, and the warm breeze that it carried over beckoned me toward the cobblestoned path leading to the private beach.

  A few steps down the path, I heard a rustling in the bush allamanda. The hairs on my nape rose up at attention. I stopped in my tracks and froze. There was more crackling and a flash. Eyes glowered through the bushes, and I was transfixed. They were large and translucent and moved closer. I held my breath.

  “Frisky, you scared me. Don’t ever do that to me, girl.” Millie’s cat bounded over to me. I walked forward but she slinked ahead and began rubbing against my shins.

  “You are putting on some, aren’t you?” I patted her bulging belly. “Millie’s wondering where you are, girl.”

  I heard a grating sound from up ahead.

  “Hello? Who’s out there?”

  Frisky purred and turned her head upwards.

  “You don’t want me going there? Okay, have it your way. C’mon let’s get you back to Millie. She was worried sick about you.” I slipped my phone into my bag, bent over, gave her a quick kiss, and tucked her under my other arm.

  I heard another noise. This time it was a scraping sound. I squinted into the night. The swaying trees caught the light of the full moon and cast shadows in the darkness. Was I being watched? What if the killer was waiting to catch me alone?

  I hated that a few words had put the fear of death into me, but even if I stopped my search now, how would he know that I had? I worked here after all. I knew more than Brett or the police put together, but I couldn’t go to them either, not after the way Brett spoke to me and those officers were too obnoxious for words. I had to keep searching and expose the killer myself. I also needed to do it fast. That was the only way to dig myself out of this hole.

  “I sure am glad you’re here, girl,” I whispered into Frisky’s ear. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be wandering about at this time of night.”

  Which reminded me that I had promised to meet Millie in fifteen minutes, to prepare for her talk to the press. Speculation was bad for business, so she thought it best to conduct the meeting at night before the press began spinning their own yarns. Back to my day job, except that of late it seemed that I was working around the clock.

  I was the first to arrive. Frisky jumped out of my hands and vanished into the corridor. “Come back. Fris-keeee…” Too late she was gone.

  I took my phone and searched for a message from Millie. She was running a little late and would be here in five minutes. In all the excitement, I had forgotten the letter and photos concealed inside my clutch. I opened one of the cupboard doors and placed my bag on an empty shelf, turned the key in the lock, and stuffed it into my bra strap. I was certain that these held the answers.

  I stifled a yawn as the last of the reporters left the room. Millie had arrived with five minutes to spare for prep. In that time, she jotted down what she would say on index cards.

  Millie’s delivery was a calming influence on the reporters that had gathered. She kept a cool head and kept the story succinct. When a couple of reporters fired the big guns, she doused the flames with responses that were the right mix of candor and humor. She was months away from her eightieth birthday, but her mind was still sharp. The resort couldn’t ask for a better spokesperson to keep a lid on a bubbling media cauldron.

  She pushed her glasses back on to the bridge of her nose and smiled at me. I mirrored her movements. Her warm, confident smile reminded me of my grandmother’s. In my childhood she and I would sit together for hours talking about this and that, like we were old friends. She passed away a few years ago, but I still missed her very much. Getting to know Millie helped me to fill the void.

  “You did well today, Tracy,” she beamed. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Me? What did I do? You were the one who was fantastic.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without your coaching, Tracy. It’s okay to give yourself a little credit once in a while.”

  “Thank you, Millie. It means a lot. It honestly does.”

  Then I remembered how I had sneaked through the dead woman’s room, the sirens, her miserable body slumped on the restroom floor, and the terrible text. My shoulders hunched over and the back of my head began to throb.

  “What’s the matter, child? Are you ill?”

  “No-no. It’s nothing really. It’s been a long day, and I need to get some rest.” I managed a weak smile. “We all need some rest, especially you. You’ve been on your feet all day. You go now. I have a few things to take care of.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want you here alone, child.”

  For a moment I was tempted to show the photos that I had found and to read the letter with her, but that would mean I would have to tell Millie about what I’d been up to that evening. I was not certain how well she would react to my antics. She had warned me to stay away from Katherine that afternoon.

  If I show her the text message, it would upset her and I didn’t want to put her through that. Millie was smart, but she was also an old lady who loved me so much. I didn’t want her to be scared for me or to pity me. I would hate that, so I said nothing.

  “Tracy, is there something that you are not telling me?”

  “N-no, it’s nothing. There are a few things I want to catch up on.”

  “Can’t it wait for the morning, child?”

  “No,” I said, my voice sharp. She looked puzzled, and I softened my tone. “It’s just that I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t finish up tonight.”

  She sighed. “Alright then, have it your way.” She patted me on the shoulder “Good night.”

  “Sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “It’s your Saturday on?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Good night.”

  I wound up the official company screen and switched off the podium lights. I went to the door and peered outside. The corridor was empty. She was gone. I closed the door behind me and went to the cupboard where I had kept the clutch. I fished out the key from my person, unlocked the door, and took it to the table.

  There were about twenty photos, and I sifted through each one in turn. Despite her precariously contorted positions, Katherine seemed deliriously happy. I felt a pang of guilt for suspecting her. Everything I learned about Frank pointed to the fact that he was a no-good two-timer. In Katherine’s case, perhaps this was her only infidelity. Of course, it didn’t make it right. Still, it was sad that when she finally found love, her happiness was short-lived.

  Seeing her in these photographs and remembering her smiling face at the party, it was hard to believe that she was a cold-blooded killer. So the question that arose was who wanted both of the Walters dead?

  Reaching inside the bag, I picked up the crumpled letter that was fold
ed in four. I laid it on the table and ran my palm over, smoothing out its creases. The Regency logo and the words Eden were printed across the top portion of the paper. It was the resort’s day spa letterhead.

  The words were like cobwebs sprawled across the paper and were hardly legible. I placed my glasses onto the comfortable spot on the tip of my nose and read:

  * * *

  Dear Doug,

  If you have got this letter, it means that I’m gone. I’m writing to you to ask for your forgiveness. I had not always been a good wife and I have kept this secret for too long.

  I don’t know how to tell you this, so I will just say it. Mike is not your son. He is Frank’s. I’m so sorry.

  At times I thought you knew, especially because we were told that we couldn’t have children. But then when Mike was born you called him our miracle baby and you loved him and did everything for him. I have thought of telling you many times before, but I didn’t want to take your only happiness away from you.

  You must promise me that you won’t be angry with him. He is a good boy. You have raised him well. He should not be blamed for my mistakes.

  I’m free of my misery now. You have always been good to me, through my illnesses and the bad times. I’m sorry, Doug. I should have been a better wife to you and a better mother to our boy.

  I hope that you will find a place in your heart to forgive me and keep loving our son as you always have.

  Barb.

  * * *

  Once again, Doug’s name came up. So was he angry at Frank for fathering the boy? Was this his motive for killing him? Why did he kill Katherine? Had she found out?

  It was hard to believe that he was angry at Frank for that. He seemed to love the boy. When he spoke of his son, he would swell with pride. When he talked with him, his eyes had a deer-like gaze. When Mike asked for money Doug didn’t look annoyed. In fact, he seemed to bend over backwards for the boy.