Booked For Murder

by CeeCee James

  I parted one of the bushes and peered through the fence.

  Jake Phillips was climbing out of the pool by the ladder. He stepped over the yellow tape and grabbed a plastic bottle to take a drink.

  Of course. His brother owned the hotel, so he probably thought he was above the law. The spinsterish-teacher feeling gripped me hard, and I almost stomped over there shaking my finger with a loud harrumph. Then he turned in my direction, and I ducked out of sight. Nice going. So professional. Way to be a peeping Tom.

  I shook my head and softly clicked my tongue to Bingo, who had been patiently waiting at my feet with his tongue lolling out, and we continued along the path.

  Reaching the dog area, I opened the gate, followed Bingo through, and closed it behind me. Once inside, I removed Bingo's leash. He was off immediately, trotting back and forth to catch the plethora of scents permeating the grassy space. I glanced at my watch. We had just about an hour until the evening sprinklers came on.

  My eyes followed the basset hound as my brain wandered back to my conversation with Caleb. Something about him niggled at my subconscious. What was it? And who was the man who’d come into the room?

  The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. Why had it seemed the two men had exchanged guilty glances? And what was the story behind Caleb, anyway? He could afford to come to the Comic-Con and buy costume supplies and all the games, but he sure didn't dress as if he had a lot of money himself. Did his dad pay for this trip? How were they competitors? The picture on Google sure didn’t seem like there was any bad blood was between the father and son. But it was odd that it didn’t label their relationship.

  And maybe the biggest question of all, who inherited the successful developer’s wealth?

  Suddenly, my mouth dropped open. I remembered the picture on the wall when I’d brought Mrs. Olsen the flowers. That was it! Caleb was in it, only he’d looked awfully angry.

  “Are you speaking with your dog telepathically?”

  I let out a very girly squeal as my body jumped at the sudden male voice. I turned to the gate and saw Jake leaning on his forearms, watching Bingo. His dark hair was damp and his muscular chest bare. The towel wrapped around his waist left little to the imagination. I knew he was wearing swimming trunks, but I couldn't help the blush that rushed into my cheeks.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

  “I was lost in thought. I guess I've been a bit jumpy with all the excitement lately.”

  “That's understandable.”

  “Yes.” Crossing my arms, I turned and focused on the dog. Where was Bingo anyway? “Was there something you needed?”

  “Oh, no, I was just taking a swim while all the young, rowdy folk were still crowded into the conference.” He brushed his hair back and forth with his hand to dry it.

  “I’m confused … is the pool open? I know it had been closed earlier and saw the yellow tape.”

  He winked at me. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” Then he pointed out into the park. “It looks like your little furry friend’s found something.”

  Just then Bingo trotted up with something hanging out of his mouth.

  “Bingo, what you got, boy?” I winced at the high pitch of my voice. Jake was going to think I was one of the weird people that used baby talk with animals. And since when did I care what he thought?

  I walked over to Bingo and crouched down. Gently, I reached into his mouth for whatever it was he had found. Please don’t be a dead mouse. Please don’t be a dead mouse. As I started to pull it out, I couldn’t help my noise of surprise.

  Chapter 8

  “Bingo! Let it go.” An apprehensive feeling curled in my chest as I continued to remove the slobbery object hidden by the dog’s flappy jowls. Relief flooded me at the feel of something metallic. A necklace or bracelet maybe?

  “So, what does he have?” Jake asked from the fence.

  “I don’t know.” I finally freed it from the dog and stood to untangle it. It was a bracelet—one of the medical alert types. I turned it over to read the name. The gray dusk light made it hard to see. “It’s some kind of jewelry.”

  I brought it to the fence to show Jake. He took it from me and examined the links.

  “Looks like the clasp snapped in half.” He held it up to show me.

  The clasp was broken, twisted almost beyond recognition.

  Jake whistled. “The kind of force it must have taken to do that must have been huge. These bracelets are heavy duty.” He lightly tossed it in the air and then handed it back over to me.

  “I guess I better take this to the front desk in case someone’s looking for it.” I rolled my eyes. “Wow. That sounded about as obvious as asking if there were gumdrops in a candy store.” My eyes widened. Yep. I just blurted that last sentence out loud because inward Maisie thought it would be funny.

  I smiled and straightened my shoulders, trying to recover. The corners of Jake’s lips lifted slowly into the first big smile I’d ever seen him make.

  Well. Two points for inward Maisie.

  I coaxed Bingo out of the park and sidled past Jake. He’d barely stepped back from the gate, and I passed through a scented cloud of his shampoo or cologne.

  For the first time in a long time, a man had me tongue-tied. Usually, I was the one who was in control, catching men off guard as they approached me. But this time, the tide had definitely turned.

  I lifted my hand in goodbye and continued down the path, determined not to look back to see if he was watching. We meandered around the corner with me allowing Bingo to take his time.

  It was just as I was pushing open the sliding glass door of my own suite that a thought occurred to me. What was he doing swimming out there? Was he looking for something? I glanced at the bracelet in my hand. Was he looking for this?

  “Took you long enough,” Momma called. She had her apron on again and her red hair tied back in a handkerchief. I slid the bracelet into my pocket and unlatched Bingo’s leash. He immediately rambled over to Momma, who held a vanilla wafer in a trembling hand.

  “What have you been up to, Momma?” I sniffed the air. Nothing burned. “You have a good nap?”

  “Yes, and now I’m getting ready to make my special potato salad.” She had a gleam in her eye as she announced this. She knew that I, along with everyone else who’d had a bite of that salad, had been after her secret recipe for years. “So, you should just get along now.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Scat.”

  Kicked out of my own home. Whatever. The potato salad would be worth it. I walked over and kissed her on her forehead, and she made motions like she wasn’t about to take it before gripping me hard around the waist. “I do love you,” she mumbled into my arm. “But don’t be thinking you can sweet-talk me out of my recipe.”

  “You better not take it to the grave with you,” I warned, as I left the kitchen in search of my heels.

  She followed me out. “Fiddlesticks. I’ll do what I want.”

  Finding them, I slid my feet out of my sneakers and tried not to whimper as I stepped into my work shoes. “Whatever, Momma. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t burn the place down.”

  Momma’s mouth fell open in mock surprise. “Girl! I’d never dare sass my mother the way you do!” She harrumphed some more and disappeared back into the kitchen. Two seconds later, the sound of clashing pans echoed through the suite, and a stray bowl rolled through the kitchen entryway.

  “You okay?” I called.

  “You just get on out of here now. I’m fine. I’ve been cooking since before you were old enough to suck a lollipop. Shoo!”

  The last “shoo” got me, and I scooted out of the suite. You never knew with Momma. She used to threaten to come after me with a sewing needle, and she might just do that now.

  The hotel hallway was quiet as most of the guests were out for their dinner. Interestingly enough though, as I neared the front desk, I could hear the convention still going live and strong. />
  This time Clarissa was working the desk.

  “Hi, Clarissa. How’s everything going tonight?”

  “Oh, you’re just in the nick time.” She swiveled on her stool towards me. “We’ve had some noise complaints—two actually—about room 418.”

  “Have you sent anyone up there to check it out?”

  She shook her head and flicked one of her blonde tresses over her shoulder. “I just got off the phone with the latest complainant.”

  I sighed. “Okay, I’m headed up there.”

  Halfway down the fourth floor hallway, I could already hear the yelling. Lovely. I hated these domestic disturbance types of calls. I plastered on my most no-nonsense face and gave two hard knocks on room 418’s door. The noise I made was loud enough to halt someone in the middle of a rather colorful phrase of words.

  At the break in the yelling, I called out, “It’s Ms. Swenson with the hotel. Can you please open the door?”

  “Great, now look what you've done.” A male voice grumbled.

  “Excuse me,” I continued when the door remained closed. “I’ll be forced to use my room key if I need to, but I’d rather have you invite me in. There have been complaints.”

  “This is so your fault.” Anger threaded through a female’s voice which moved closer to the door.

  Good. They’re taking me seriously. I stepped back. As the hotel door opened, I couldn't say I was surprised that the source of the trouble involved two familiar faces—the same scantily clad girls who’d been fighting in the conference hall a few days before.

  It was the same woman who’d been dressed like an Amazon at the door. I remembered they’d said they were friends so I could understand them booking a room together. However, seeing the anger etched in lines around the young woman’s face at the door did beg the question: With friends like this, who needs enemies?

  She stared at me, one hand on her hip, the other holding the door half-shut to prevent a view of the room. “What? Sorry we were being loud. It was just a disagreement.”

  “We’ve had several complaints. How about you let me in so I can make sure no one is hurt.”

  She flinched. “Whatever.” She turned and walked back in the room, leaving the door open.

  As I followed her, my eyes were immediately drawn to a young man standing by the window. His arms were crossed, and he was glaring at the floor. The blonde-haired young woman was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. She had a pile of crumpled tissues in her lap and was furiously squeezing another tissue into a ball with her hand, sniffling occasionally. There was a tall, clear bottle of vodka on the small table.

  “Ok, I know the two of you are under 21, and I am assuming he is, as well. Is this the only alcohol you have in here?” I walked to the table and picked up the bottle, wondering how they obtained it.

  “Yeah,” the boy mumbled.

  “I'm taking this unless you’d like the police to come get it.”

  “Just take it! And tell him to leave! He should go down to the pool and drown himself, just like he did that poor man!” the blonde yelled angrily.

  My entire body froze. Did I hear that right?

  The young man started protesting loudly, “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”

  In an instant, all three were shouting again. I tried to shake off the shock.

  “Hey. HEY!” I yelled. Their screams trailed off as they looked at me. “You need to stop the screaming right now, or the police will be coming. I’m sure none of you would pass a breathalyzer test.”

  The Amazon sat on the end of the other bed. Her eyes focused on the boy at the window.

  “Ok,” I continued, catching my breath. “Accusing someone of murder is a pretty big step. Why don’t one of you tell me what this is all about.”

  “My girlfriend wants to break up with me because she thinks I’m cheating on her with this wench.” The young man pointed to the teary blonde and then to the Amazon brunette.

  “Names please. Real names.” Weariness descended on me. More drama.

  “Her name is Danielle,” His lip curled in disgust at the dark-haired girl. “And she’s just trying to start trouble because she lost her chance to play mistress to that pervy old bas—”

  “Whoa! Whoa, whoa.” I held my hands out, knowing my eyes had to be bugging out. I turned to the blonde-haired girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Cynthia,” she answered amidst sniffles. “And the truth is Andy really is cheating on me. He probably did kill that man!”

  “Oh for—!” Andy burst out cursing.

  “Knock it off!” I yelled, feeling at the end of my rope. I pulled out my phone. “If you don’t behave yourselves and answer my questions, I will call the police. And I’ll have you know I’m good friends with one of the detectives.” The silence was immediate. “You,” I pointed to the dark-haired woman who’d answered the door. “Name and tell me what's going on.”

  “Danielle. Cynthia thinks Andy’s cheating on her because he and I have been texting a little bit. Just ideas about our cosplay costumes,” she ended hurriedly. She glared at her friend. “So, she tried to get me back by spreading the rumor that I was hanging out with Uncle Norman—you know, the guy who died. I don’t put up with that kind of crap.”

  “Is there any truth to the rumor?” I asked Cynthia.

  Her mouth twisted to the side as she thought. “Well, Norman is—uh, was—known for buying presents and stuff. He liked to hang around us. All of us.”

  I felt queasy. Norman Olsen suddenly sounded very slimy. “So why would you accuse your boyfriend of murder?”

  She glanced at him and then down at the twisted pile of tissues in her lap. “That wasn’t nice. I was just mad. I don’t want to lose him.” Her lip trembled as she looked over at him. I wasn’t sure she would be able to form more words, but finally, they tumbled out in a gasp. “I don’t want to lose you, Andy. Not to her. Not to my best friend.”

  Andy didn’t budge from his hundred-yard stare at the carpet. “I never did anything wrong. It was Danielle that sent the pictures. She’s the one that was flirting with me.”

  Danielle rolled her eyes and flopped backwards on the bed. “Please make this drama stop!”

  I was with her on that one.

  “Do you have anything to add, Danielle?” I asked, feeling like I was stuck on the set of a bad high school movie.

  “You want to throw me under the bus, Andy? Fine.” Danielle sat up with a steely glint in her eye. She turned to me. “I’ll tell you why Cynthia thought Andy could have killed Uncle Norman.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Because Andy recently got fired from Olsen Studios.”

  Andy’s eyes held something dangerous as he watched Cynthia that chilled my blood. Getting fired could definitely fuel hatred. But, was it enough of a motive to kill the man?

  After getting the young adults to promise to keep it down in the future, I headed out of the room with the bottle of liquor under my arm. I didn’t have much faith in their vows. I only hoped they would make it through the night without having the police called.

  I felt bone-weary as I headed down the stairs to the suite. Somehow when I’d applied for this job, I never anticipated the creative route the job description would take. All I needed now was some dinner and my soft bed.

  And maybe Bingo for some basset hound snores.

  Chapter 9

  Checkout day. I couldn’t describe the relief I felt this morning. Today, all the guests would be gone from the Comic-Con, and maybe I could get back to establishing some sort of decorum and order around here. Dead bodies and investigations tended to disrupt that.

  I left Momma eating a bowl of steel cut oats to go walk Bingo, who’d been scratching at the sliding door. It was early enough that the grass was still damp from the morning dew. The air smelled crisp, and Bingo’s tail wagged in pleasure at being outdoors.

  Inside the doggy park, I bumped into a female guest who was walking her tiny shih tzu. I left Bingo on the leash unti
l the two dogs made their introductions. When they finished sniffing each other, I unlatched Bingo and watched him walk the park with his nose along the ground, even though he’d just sniffed the entire park the night before.

  I heard the familiar tap-tap-tap of a ball bouncing on the tennis court. Someone’s getting their morning exercise. I felt a tiny bit jealous, wishing I had a partner. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine Momma would enjoy it too much.

  Or move too fast, for the record.

  I tried to watch, not getting a very clear view through the bushes. Just the ball going over the net. I walked to the bench and sat down. The sky was just the right color of pale blue, heralding a beautiful day ahead.

  The shih tzu’s owner was crouched down, throwing a rope toy for her dog. I worried briefly that Bingo would attempt to retrieve it, but he was busy on his trail.

  “Oh! Great shot!” a woman yelled from the courts. Male laughter followed. I leaned back and peered through the hedge.

  My eyebrows raised. It was the kid from Caleb James’ room, the one he’d acted like I should have known.

  What was he still doing here?

  But what had me surprised was who the tennis player’s partner was—the Amazon woman from room 418, Danielle.

  Things seemed a little too coincidental to me.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” The voice at my elbow made me start. I turned around to see the shih tzu’s owner watching through the hedge, too.

  “Oh? You know him?”

  She stooped down to pick up her dog. I couldn’t help but wince at the muddy paws against her shirt front, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Of course! Mark Everett! He’s the Wimbledon up and coming contender. Pretty famous around here.” She scratched her dog’s head. “You can book a game with him if you want. He works for the hotel.”

  At that, my mouth dropped open. Of course. I knew the hotel had a recent contract with a local tennis instructor as a bonus for the guests. But, in the short time I’d been here, I hadn’t made his acquaintance yet.