Booked For Murder

by CeeCee James

  “I’m so sorry.” I told the young man with a ball of pity in my gut.

  “He’s a legend. He really cares about his games but cares even more about the players and his fans. He was an awesome guy. I wonder what happened.”

  I wondered the same. Tears began to flow down the many faces around me, leaving clean tracks through the blue, purple and green face paint. The poor man had hundreds of fans, and they seriously cared about him.

  My cell phone vibrated with a text. My stomach sank as I read it.

  Chapter 4

  My boss was not happy with me, which he expressed succinctly with his text message—I thought you said you could handle things.

  I didn’t see how I could be blamed. We had signs at the pool stating there was no lifeguard, and the man was not in good health. I saw with my own eyes how he’d been sweating, and he’d apparently been eating a granola bar when he died.

  Mr. Phillips arrived approximately thirty minutes after the coroner left. He hemmed and hawed, and did a lot of scowling, while I followed his pacing, waiting to be addressed with something other than his first blustered comment of, “How could this have happened?”

  Finally, he left for the evening with the demand that I be up early to make sure the second day went off without a hitch.

  Because the show must go on, and one accidental death wasn’t going to stop it.

  The next morning, I awoke to yet another text from my boss—Take flowers to Mrs. Olsen. Extend our sympathies.

  The flower arrangement was waiting for me at the front desk. It was beautiful. I fluffed up the baby’s breath around the vibrant oranges of the tiger lilies, blues from the bird of paradise, and pinks and whites of the hibiscus flowers, all colors that seemed such an odd contrast to the grim event for which they had been ordered for.

  Leaning in to smell a lily, I girded myself to confront the poor woman. I was not looking forward to the awkward exchange.

  I’m so sorry we found your dead husband floating in our pool. We aren't going to charge you for the room that your husband will never return to and here are some lovely flowers.

  My throat tightened at the thought. Good heavens. Honestly, what would the woman say to that?

  At the foot of the counter was a leather suitcase. After the police had pilfered through Mr. Olsen’s room for evidence, housekeeping had come along and packed it up. I glanced at the suitcase and closed my eyes. I was to transport it back to her house. Hopefully, the flowers would act as a buffer.

  Who was I kidding? The idea of even interrupting her mourning was a horrible thought. What if she broke down crying? I’d never been very good at that stuff and already felt about as helpful as a hangnail.

  I sighed. Well, come what may, it was up to me to return the items to the widow.

  I had the house number and plugged it into my phone’s GPS. Laughter coming from the convention room jangled my nerves as I typed. Today was the last day of Comic-Con, and the sounds emanating from the convention room seemed almost vulgar.

  I couldn’t understand it. A man was found dead, and these people were still enjoying their fantasy worlds. He was supposed to be their hero. Then again, I guess it made some sense to escape from the reality of death to a world where you got a do-over if you died.

  Address routed, I slung my purse over my shoulder. After a little finagling, I hefted the vase in my arm and gripped the suitcase handle in my other hand. I took a few steps before I realized the arrangement nearly blocked out my view of what was ahead of me, and tried to peek around the flowers.

  Standing in front of me was Jake Phillips. I gasped and abruptly stopped, causing my ankle to slightly turn as the suitcase to bumped into my heel.

  Jake lifted an eyebrow in that arrogant way I was already getting to know so well. “Ms. Swenson,” he said with a slow dip of his chin.

  “Oh. Hello, Mr. Phillips.” Baby’s breath tickled my nose. I resisted the urge to blow it away and instead cleared my throat and tried to look dignified. “I’m just on my way out to deliver these to Mrs. Olsen.”

  He glanced at the luggage and then the huge bouquet. “Do you need a hand?” His dark eyes looked mysterious with those words. He gave a tiny smile.

  I swallowed. I was unprepared for how that smile affected me. Sank right into my belly and stirred up butterflies. What’s the matter with me? “No, I think I have this. Thank you.” As fast as I could, I marched out the door.

  The revolving door took a moment to navigate. My cheeks flushed as the suitcase jammed in the doorway, causing the door to stop. I pushed the door to free the luggage and pulled the case in after me, clutching the flowers like an oversized piñata. I swear I could feel his eyes on me. I couldn’t help a quick glance and shivered with embarrassment. A corner of his mouth was turned up in amusement.

  I couldn’t even throw a confident smile back. The flowers nearly filled my mouth in the tiny space. With mincing steps, I waltzed the door around until it spit me out on the other side. Shaking my hair off my shoulders, I gripped the suitcase and walked to the parking lot with confident steps.

  My little car wasn’t much, but at least I didn’t have a car payment. I threw the suitcase in the trunk, with a belated thought that I needed to treat it with more respect, and then packed the flowers on the passenger seat floor. With a sigh, I slid into the driver’s seat and once again examined the GPS map.

  The drive to the house was uneventful. I punched the code into the wrought iron gate and held my breath as it swung open.

  This was my first time in this neighborhood. Everything about it screamed luxury. The cars in the driveways, the paved bricks on the road, the gorgeous trees and landscaping.

  And the houses, my mouth hung open at the expansive porticos, the white pillars, stonework and bargeboard on the gables.

  Mrs. Olsen’s house was similarly spectacular. I pulled into the driveway and took a deep breath. Other than my car, there was just one other parked near the garage. That seemed odd. Where are the people comforting the grieving widow? Family and friends? Perhaps there were more vehicles parked inside the garage.

  At the front door, I bit my lip. It’s now or never, girl. I balanced the vase against my hip and rapped hard on the door. The flowers seemed to grow heavier as I listened for footsteps.

  There was a rustle of movement and the mumblings of at least two voices before the sounds of someone approaching. The door opened, revealing a young woman.

  “Yes?” she asked, her eyes quickly taking in my face and the flowers in my hand.

  “I have something for Mrs. Olsen.”

  She opened the door wider. “I’m Mrs. Olsen.”

  My mouth nearly dropped open. Luckily, I caught it in the nick of time. I’d been expecting a housekeeper and was caught off guard at her response. I was also slightly stunned at how beautiful she was. In my mind, I’d pictured a woman in a flowered shirt and wide, sensible sandals in her late fifties, with red, puffy eyes, not this tanned blonde woman in fitted slacks and a peach-colored silk blouse. After all, Mr. Olsen had been balding and at least eighty pounds overweight. Not to mention appearing at least twenty years older than the woman before me now.

  She tucked a lock of hair around her ear and smiled, her eyes startling me with their brilliant shade of blue. Colored contacts maybe?

  “Hello, there,” she breathed. She glanced at my hands, and I remembered why I was there.

  I straightened. “Mrs. Olsen. On behalf of the Oceanside Hotel, we wanted to personally express our condolences.” My head dipped in my best expression of sadness. “And I’m here to return …” I paused. Would she start crying at my next words? “Your husband’s effects.” I lightly tapped the handle of the suitcase to draw her eyes down.

  “Oh,” her face went blank. Tears seemed to magnify her eyes, and she blinked hard.

  A lump rose in my throat. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

  She raised her chin and lifted her arms, seemingly unsure if she should take the flowers or grab the
suitcase.

  “Where would you like them?” I grabbed the handle of the suitcase.

  “Please,” she sniffed and took a step back, “just set them on the side table over there. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, and I know this isn't much of a consolation in this difficult time.” Did I seriously just call her husband's death ‘difficult?' I held the flowers in front of my face so she couldn’t see the heat I felt in my cheeks. The suitcase wheels caught on the lip of the threshold and nearly caused me to trip forward, before riding smoothly on the wood floor.

  “They’re very beautiful,” she said, standing back against the wall as if she wanted nothing to do with either of the items in my hand.

  Moving carefully to the table, I finally was able to safely set the heavy vase on the dark lacquered wood. I slid it away from the edge and braced myself to maintain a neutral face before turning back towards the widow.

  “If there is anything else I can do for you, please just let me know.” I couldn't help but scan for the other voice. Surely if she had a visitor, they would be in the sitting area. It must be someone who didn't want to be seen dealing with their grief.

  A wall of family portraits caught my eye. On a shelf above them sat a flag in a triangle display case. I quickly glanced away, but not before one of the pictures caught my attention.

  Mrs. Olsen cleared her throat. “I appreciate the sentiments, as well as the floral arrangement. I do not, in any way, place blame for my husband's demise on the hotel. So please, there is no need to spend so much time and effort on appeasing me.”

  I blinked at her words. I hadn't considered that she would put the hotel at fault. Why would she?

  Chapter 5

  Why on earth did Mrs. Olsen mention that about blaming the hotel? The man likely had a heart attack. The questions swirled around in my head all the way home. I was in a near panic when I parked. Suddenly, my job performance wasn’t looking so good. Someone dies at the first event I oversee, and now there’s mention of “hotel” and “blame” in the same sentence. It didn’t matter that she said she wasn’t going to do it. Those declarations could turn on a dime with a word from the right attorney.

  As I walked back toward the hotel entrance, a bright flutter of color caught my eye. What the heck? Yellow by the pool. I stalked over there, my heels digging into the grass, and looked through the fence.

  Three plainclothes policemen were there, along with Gary, the maintenance guy. Gary fiddled at his baseball cap as he watched the officers.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” I called out, feeling slightly powerless on the wrong side of the chain link fence. The gate was locked on this side, with the only other entrance being through the hotel.

  The officers glanced indifferently at me and then proceeded to ignore me. My eyebrows raised. I tried a different tactic. “Gary!”

  His head jerked in my direction. My tone must have gotten to him because he came over quickly.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered. More like hissed. My fingers curled through the chain link.

  “The police are suspecting foul play,” he murmured.

  “What? Last night, they said it was a heart attack?” The idea was frightening coming so soon after Mrs. Olsen’s declaration.

  Gary pulled off his baseball cap and ran his hand over his sweaty head. He puffed out his cheeks. “They’re saying now that they’re going to drain the pool.”

  “Drain the pool?” Shock filled me. I thought this investigation was over and done with, an open and shut case. I had customers who specifically booked this hotel for its well-known serpentine slides. “Why on earth would they do that?”

  I studied the police again. Two male officers were conversing by one of the drains. A female officer continued to stretch more yellow caution tape.

  It was obvious the police weren’t going to acknowledge me. I needed to get in there. Spinning around, I quickly made my stab-walk way back to the front door.

  Sierra was at the front desk and gave me a frosty look as I entered. “Took you long enough,” she said.

  “Did you know the police were out at the pool?”

  She looked at her nails. “Mmmhmmm.”

  “And you didn’t think to call me?”

  Arching an eyebrow, she gave me a smirk. “It’s your job to know. You’re supposed to be in control around here.”

  I knew Sierra wouldn’t forgive me for taking her job, but would she actually sabotage my job? I didn’t have time for this and marched down the hall and out into the pool area.

  One of the officers looked at me as I approached.

  “Hi,” I said, with my hand out. Police shake hands, right? The officer walked over with a cool glance at my hand. Okay then. I dropped it and continued on. “I’m Ms. Swenson, the manager here. Is the investigation still going on? I was told last night it was pretty cut and dried.”

  The female officer glanced over at the sound of my name. She hurried over. “I’ve got this, Vic,” she said, addressing her partner. He gave me another unreadable look and walked back to the edge of the pool.

  “Maisie?” she asked, slightly hesitant. Surprise filled me at the use of my first name, and I studied her. She was taller than my five and a half feet. Hard to see her hair and eye color under her hat and glasses, but it looked like a shade of brown.

  “Yes?” I answered, feeling a hint of trepidation.

  “I’m Detective Kristi Bentley. Ruby’s sister?”

  My mouth dropped open. Kristi Bentley? The last time I’d seen her, she was only twelve years old. The Bentley parents had a messy divorce, and she left to live with her dad while Ruby had stayed back with her mom.

  “Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed as surprise and joy joined the chaos of emotions tumbling inside. “It’s been so long!”

  She smiled, pleased to be recognized. I knew in other circumstances we would have hugged, but here we had to stay in our professional roles.

  “So, Detective Miller,” she pointed to the officer she’d called Vic, “will be conducting interviews with anyone still at the convention that attended last night. We’d like to request use of one of the meeting rooms to question the possible witnesses and determine who may have known the victim.”

  I couldn't help shivering at the word, victim. “I’m completely shocked. How do you know he was …” I swallowed hard, “a victim?”

  “Unconfirmed at this point. But people don’t usually die with granola bars in their throats.”

  “Oh, my.” Her words brought a vivid picture, and the pool area spun around me.

  “You feeling okay? Need to sit down?” she asked.

  The air felt chill against my skin even though I knew the temperature was well into the upper eighties. I shook my head and tried to calm my queasy stomach.

  “So, you’re going to drain the pool?” I asked, steering the question back into topics I could handle.

  Her brows knotted in confusion. “No. Where did you hear that?”

  My gaze darted to Gary, which she followed. With a sigh, she leaned in closer to me. “I need to tell you, that guy hasn’t been very helpful.”

  “No?” I was surprised. Gary was fairly slow, but usually very dependable.

  “No.” Her voice held no room for doubt. “I thought we were going to have to threaten him with hampering an investigation. Maybe you could talk to him and tell him to cooperate with us?”

  I nodded. He probably was trying to protect the well-faire of the hotel’s main selling feature—the pool with its two famous slides—but we definitely didn’t need more bad press here.

  “As far as your question goes, no, we aren’t draining the pool. We did find something interesting.” She glanced at her partner to be sure he was busy then whispered, “We found the victim’s wedding ring at the bottom of the pool.”

  “Are you sure it’s his? It could be anyone’s. We clean the pool every night and find all sorts of things.”

  Her eyebrows rose with certa
inty. “Yep, his wife mentioned it was missing and described it to a T. But that’s hush-hush, so keep it to yourself.”

  I nodded.

  She clapped me on my shoulder. “We’ll be in touch.”

  I walked back indoors feeling numb. The first big event that was completely on my shoulders now involved a murder. Sierra scowled at me again from the desk as I walked right past her.

  I needed a moment to clear my thoughts.

  Bingo greeted me as I stumbled like a zombie into the suite. I walked over to my desk and slumped into the chair.

  My computer stared at me, waiting to be brought back to life.

  “You working on one of your stories?” Momma called. After a minute, she came through the archway carrying a glass of iced tea. “I brought you something to drink.”

  I accepted it and raised it for a sip. A lipstick mark marred the edge of the glass.

  “Looks like you took a mouthful, Momma.”

  She shrugged. “I nursed you with these puppies right here.” Momma pointed to her still bountiful chest. “You can share a drink with your mother.”

  My eyes fluttered closed, not needing to ever be reminded again of my nursing experiences. I took a gulp of the iced tea, as I tried to process the latest events.

  “They think it’s murder, Momma.”

  Momma harrumphed and crossed her arms over her paisley silk bathrobe. “I saw those policemen running around down there when I took Bingo out. You think it’s true?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m in shock still. I was just talking to him not an hour before.” The cold chill returned.

  “Probably his wife.”

  “My stars! Why would you say that?”

  “It's always the wife. She probably has another man or wants some money or something along those lines. You know how folks get with money.”

  I watched as Momma eased herself into the chair adjacent from me. Bingo padded after her and flopped between the two of us. I smiled as his big brown eyes rolled up to look at me. We got lucky to have such sweetie pie. Always a spot of joy no matter how crazy the day.