Chapter 14
I was rattled by everything that had happened in such a short time. I might not have liked Torrey but he was a human being and someone had offed him in a most peculiar way. Knowing that the murderer was likely going to be at tonight’s party, shake my hand or give me a warm embrace and maybe even, if I was wrong and it was a man, take me for a turn or two around the dance floor, was just plain creepy.
Then there was Alana. She would be lying around her suite alone, anguished, hurting. My heart went out to her, yet she was, statistically, the most likely suspect. Earlier, in her suite, hearing her sobs floating down from the bedroom fairly convinced me that she was innocent. But what if murderers had regrets and second thoughts? Couldn’t that happen, too? And what if murderers made sure their phony sobs were heard by gullible girls like me? I couldn’t help but wonder.
By the time I walked back to the tin-roofed, Grand Floridian cottage that French and I shared on the resort’s lake, I was not a happy Sapphire Resorts camper. Rick and Koenig were using me when it was convenient and, otherwise, considered me somewhere between laughable and deplorable. They were more like enemies than allies. If they knew I had a pantyhose box from French’s desk under my bathroom sink, they might clamp some cuffs on me and lead me to my own private cell right next to French’s 8x8.
Then it hit me. I had to laugh at myself. I was a woman. I wore pantyhose. No one was going to think twice if I had a pantyhose box under my bathroom sink, even if French’s fingerprints were all over it.
Only I knew it might have the murderer’s fingerprints on it, as well. Was there a crash course in fingerprint identity that I could take? Or had I already smudged them beyond recognition? What a bad mistake I had made, if that were true. Maybe I did deserve to go to jail. I told myself it didn’t really matter. The murderer would probably do or say something tonight to give her or himself away.
Ten minutes of meditative sleep would lift me out of my slump. I needed to be sharp tonight. As I drifted off counting backwards from ten to one, I cheered myself with the thought of Jake and Lily flanking me at tonight’s gala.
Jake and I met in an eighth grade English class. Throughout high school, we were like Siamese twins, joined at our twisted brains. Physical opposites, he was tall and fair-haired, with broad shoulders and long legs. He was a cliché—unavailable to girls—and t'was such a pity.
Lily and I met at Silver Pines during the pre-opening of the resort. Both executive wives with a renegade streak, we enjoyed similar lives and had the same irreverence for things hotel and corporate. Soon, we were as close as the eyes of a halibut.
Jake, Lily and I shared a black humor and, together, we had more fun than was allowed. Tonight, the mood might be more serious. If we were on our game, we might solve a murder.
I awoke a short while later, feeling refreshed. I made myself a cup of tea and, for what seemed like the tenth time in a twenty-four hour period, I freshened up, put on my face and coiffed my ‘do.’
Now for the gown. Layers of royal blue chiffon cascaded from my shoulders into a deep V just above my waist, tightly cinched by an obi sash of the same fabric. The chiffon continued in a long, loose skirt that swirled at my ankles, showing off my dyed-to-match, peau de soie heels. The color accented my thick, auburn hair, and the proportions of the ensemble accented my small, but shapely, shape.
Diamond drop earrings and an oval, rhinestone-studded Judith Leiber bag completed the ensemble. For once, appraising myself in the full-length mirror, I didn’t feel too short, too fat, too plain or too anything. It figures. I’ve never looked this good, might never look this good again, and French isn’t here to see me.
* * *
Knots of beautiful people in floor-length gowns and black tuxedos stood chatting in the ballroom, still holding their champagne glasses from the pre-gala reception.
Each weighty ceiling chandelier was polished to glittering perfection. The house lights were low, and the table top decor of softly draped metallic satins picked up the golden light of tea candles in crystal holders. The white rose and orchid centerpieces were positioned to reflect their richness on gold-trimmed mirrors. The china, flatware and wine glasses offered an invitation to an elegant evening. Jake rose as I approached our table for ten. Lily and he had left a seat open between them.
Any one of the seven little dwarves who would be seated at our table could be a killer. As I waited for people to arrive, my heart beat in a hurried, uneven rhythm. It wasn’t every night you purposefully set out to trip up a murderer.
There would be plenty to drink, a new wine with every course of the meal, then cordials and brandy with dessert. I wasn’t a big drinker at any time, but tonight I would go through the motions, putting various glasses to my lips but not taking one sip. I wanted all of my senses to be acute and engaged.
Had French been next to me where he belonged, we would be seated near the Torreys, but not necessarily at the same table. They were usually surrounded by local politicians and high society. The Torreys also imported a cadre of senators, philanthropists and middling to major celebrities wherever they went. They were in the outer social register ionosphere and we orbited nearby.
Tonight, our table included upper level Sapphire Hotels execs and some local bigwigs, with whom we were friendly. Here came Giorgio and Iris Pappas, an older couple from Orlando. She was all gussied up in her sequined gown, her Olympia blue eye shadow, her heavily penciled brows and her hairpiece, that she had probably been wearing since her go-go days in the 60s. Giorgio was wiry and happy. Iris was plump and happy. They were both disappointed to hear that French had been unavoidably detained in Coral Gables.
Then the Messinas arrived, Frankie and Linda. Frankie had worked for Sapphire forever. My skin felt prickly whenever Frankie got near me, but Linda was like cool water, Eurasian, an exotic Ingrid Bergman. Her shiny black hair was pulled back into a thick, glamorous knot at the nape of her neck, which was festooned with large, perfectly matched, cultured pearls. I wanted tobe Linda when I grew up. Except, what was she doing with Frankie? I always wondered about that.
Frankie was slick bordering on smarmy. Immaculately attired at all times, he knew everyone and had only wonderful things to say. Still, anyone could tell that he would chop off and sell Linda’s beautiful black braid for a penny, if he thought it might get him one eyelash closer to Redmund Torrey. Then, there were the whisperings that he came from a big Sicilian family, and we all knew what that meant...
I watched him with alert eyes, as he seated Linda and then stretched out his heavily bejeweled left hand to me, giving my right hand the old backwards sissy shake, which I have always hated.
“Maya, you look absolutely radiant tonight!” he cooed, giving me an appreciative yet very proper smile, as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt. Tainted at his core, Frankie was all about looking good on the outside. “Where’s French?” His hands went to his bow tie, checking to see if it were straight.
“Called away on business,” I answered, going into my little spiel for the night, while I hid my upset behind a trouper’s resigned smile.
The Luzis, Vacaar and Mona, were also guests at our table. They were Sapphire Resorts people, stationed in the Midwest. Vacaar was a Regional VP with his eyes set on bigger sights. He was a sharp guy, who had come up from nothing in an Albanian village on the Adriatic.
He rushed over, leaving Mona chatting with someone else, and greeted me formally with a slight accent, “You look beautiful tonight, Miss Maya. Where is that husband of yours?”
“Oh gosh, he’s on special assignment with Torrey in Coral Gables. I guess it’s just us chickens tonight.” I was almost ready for my Oscar.
“If you need me to step in to make announcements, speeches, anything at all, you give me a nod.”
His wife walked over. He said with a grin, “Why, look, Miss Maya. Here comes my beautiful daughter, Mona. Say hello to her, would you?”
Mona flashed that megawatt smile and her long, tanned legs pee
ked out from the slit on the side of her sequined, ruby, sheath. How a compact guy like Vacaar ever scored a retired, super model wife like Mona was a mystery to everyone. He never took his eyes off her. Maybe that was part of his charm for her. As I air kissed Mona, I stole a sidelong glance at Vacaar. What would a man like Luzi stand to gain by Torrey’s death? Was there anything in it for Mona?
Chapter 15
“Look who’s here!” Jake and Lily whispered into my ears at the same instant, causing me to bounce up from my truffled risotto appetizer. There stood Alana Torrey, framed in the grand entry doors to the ballroom and bathed in soft chandelier light. Shimmering like liquid gold as she approached, she glided, she floated. No other woman moved with her poise.
She was a goddess in motion. Her gown was a slender silhouette, champagne colored, dripping with bugle beads that swayed ever so gently with each step. Her bag matched her shoes and gown. Her clear complexion was complimented by her crown of thick, shoulder-length, rich girl hair. She was regal and that was the reason she reigned as the queen of Sapphire Hotels and Resorts. The only things missing were her scepter and crown.
“Oh my gosh!” slipped from my lips, as I looked at her in wonderment.
Lily asked in a whisper, “Bollocks, has she come downstairs to join us at this party, no matter what? ‘The show must go on’ and all that rot?”
“Stunning!” came from Jake’s mouth. His gaze was almost envious.
She either has the discipline of ten Olympian athletes or she’s not distraught because she knows who murdered Red—she did!
As she approached the table next to ours, I rose and intercepted her.
“Alana! I never expected to see you here tonight,” I said, giving her an air kiss and a little hug.
Her whisper in my ear was soft but clear. “I want everything to appear normal. Just because Redmund isn’t here doesn’t mean I can neglect our guests. Besides, I want to find that murderer as much as anyone else—more than anyone else. Maybe someone won’t be able to look me in the eye tonight. It wouldn’t help Redmund for me to stay up in our suite, crying like a whiney baby.”
I smiled at her and said, “Got it.” She and I understood each other. She was a steel magnolia and I stood in awe of her.
Sitting at a nearby table were the Trotters, Philip and Chloe. Philip was second in command to Torrey and, as such, Torrey’s right hand man. He was Executive Vice-President and he oversaw the entire Sapphire Hotels and Resorts nation, all ninety-two properties.
“Alana, come sit next to Chloe and me right here,” I overheard him say as he stood up to greet her, ever the British gent. As always, he was solicitous of Alana. Certainly more so tonight, I observed, since she’s alone.
He’s so ambitious. He and his sparkling wife, Chloe, were both as polished as ivory chess pieces. Philip relied on his British accent and his Southern belle wife to push them both forward in life. The two of them stood to gain a lot with Torrey gone.
After the entrée, it was time to dance. Jake excused himself to pick a beauty out of the crowd, while Lily and I chatted about this and that, all the while observing those around us, as though we worked for the CIA. Many of the servers and security people passing through the room were Rick’s deputies. While serving soufflés, they were also taking mental notes, I supposed.
“May I have this dance?” a deep, rich baritone enveloped me. I looked up into the warm brown eyes of Brett Fitzpatrick, one of my favorite men of Sapphire Resorts. His wife, Diane, could be a bit of a pill. Maybe I would be, too, if my husband had shoulders so wide he had to go through doors at an angle and women threw themselves at him. And he were constantly catching them, midair.
“Of course, my friend!” I answered, thrilled to jump to my feet, not only for a needed stretch, but also for the chance to look at all those potential murderers from a different angle.
“Maya, you are beautiful and as light as a cream puff in my arms and probably twice as yummy,” Brett said to me, smiling with both his lips and his chocolatey eyes.
“Brett,” I said. “You are a shameless flatterer, and really corny but, hey—don’t stop!” We both laughed.
French had told me long ago that Fitz was like a big, snuggly teddy bear. Women loved to hold him close and he loved to be held.
What does Brett have that makes a gal want to melt into him? What makes him cuddly, while Torrey’s vibe was always lecherous and icky?
Brett kept me swirling and dipping, my gown floating gracefully along behind me, until I felt like a professional ballroom dancer. At a slow point in one of our sweeping turns, I cast a glance at a nearby table. There sat Brett’s wife, Diane, giving me the old stink eye.
Didn’t she know that I love my French? That I have no designs on her old teddy bear of a husband? Not every woman is trying to get into his tighty whites. I tried to beam my thoughts to her as I waved and smiled.
She sat there with a dark cloud wrapped around her bitter little shoulders. I haven’t walked in her shoes, I reminded myself. I don’t know what it feels like to suspect that every attractive woman I see might have recently enjoyed my husband’s charms. And I liked it that way. That was part of what was so lovable about French. He was true blue. He was mine. There wouldn’t be anybody fluffing his covers but me. No need to stare, glare or share when it came to French.
Brett interrupted my thoughts. “So what do you think of those two slackers, Torrey and French, sneaking off to Coral Gables like that and leaving us here all alone to fend for ourselves?”
I shrugged my shoulders, as if to say, “Who knows? Who cares?” Maybe Fitz would say something revealing.
“Well I, for one, miss them both terribly, even if you don’t.” he said, laughing at his own joke. With them gone, he was the alpha male at this event, free to pick and choose female company as he saw fit.
Could a man like this kill his boss? He seemed too relaxed to care enough about prestige, power or personal issues to ever want to pull off a murder. My take on Fitz was that he was a very happy man. But Diane, now that was another matter altogether. She had been beautiful once, but now, like a good wine gone bad, she was sour, after a few too many years with Mr. Wonderful.
Chapter 16
The dance broke up well before midnight, no thanks to me or my friends. We could have gone on. No one even offered to have an after-party party in a suite, something that used to happen with regularity, like teen acne on Friday evenings before a date.
I left the party scratching my head. Who was the murderer? She or he had to be among us. There was no other answer, was there?
Lily and Jake said they would come by my house for a few minutes after the room cleared out. Right now, Jake was flirting with someone. With the house lights up, Lily was checking out all the gowns and shoes, as the last of the guests filed past her to their rooms.
As I left the dance, I passed Rick Wells in the ballroom lobby talking with some partygoers. We made eye contact and gave each other an almost imperceptible shrug that said, “Nothing solid on the radar. Talk to you soon.”
I walked toward the porte cochère and the path that led to my home, wondering where I had messed up. Why had I come up empty with no idea about who the murderer was? How much longer would French have to sit in jail? I felt agitated and depressed at the same time, my mind cluttered with opposing thoughts and my heart heavy. I felt a headache starting at the base of my skull.
As I walked the path to my home, one of Rick’s men followed me in a golf cart. Just as I arrived at our garden gate, click! It unlocked. He must have buzzed me in via remote control. I gave a little half-wave of thanks without turning around.
* * *
The kettle was starting to boil and I had already changed into something casual when I heard a commotion outside. Racing around the corner from the kitchen to the entry, I saw six people silhouetted near the lamp posts of our entry gate. One of them was wearing a long gown.
I opened the double doors onto the still-moist Central Florida n
ight. “Hey, hey—what’s going on?” I asked, as I half-jogged toward the group.
“Mrs. French, we caught these interlopers trying to force their way onto your property, ma’am.” a man in a hotel uniform answered.
“Bill, is that you?” I asked. I recognized him as one of Rick’s men and I heard Jake’s and Lily’s excited voices.
“We tried to explain that we’re your friends.” Jake’s voice rose above Lily’s.
“They didn’t believe us, Maya. They drew their damned guns, the bloody cretins. Do they think we’re in the Wild West here?” Lily huffed, indignant.
“Okay, okay. No harm done. It’s just a little misunderstanding!” I tried to calm everyone.
“Guys, these two are my friends and I invited them over for a nightcap. I’m okay. They’re okay. You can put your guns away,” I told the four “groundskeepers.” The kerfuffle was over.
“Thank you, thank you. Thank you for protecting me!” I said sincerely to the PD guys in disguise.
PD guys in disguise, I thought as Jake and Lily followed me into the house and the undercover men disappeared into the bushes. That Rick! Imagine making these guys in groundskeeper uniforms hide near the water’s edge at night, when our little lake is Water Moccasin Heaven. What the heck is he thinking? And what are they thinking? Not about their own safety, that’s for sure. I hope I conveyed my gratitude properly to those men.
Jake, Lily and I sat around the great room coffee table in overstuffed chairs and sipped our fresh brewed tea, spiked with a generous shot of Myers’s Rum. They were filling me in on what they had seen at the party. They talked over each other like kindergarteners at show and tell, vying for my attention. In the end, there was silence. We stared at the walls and furnishings.
“So, it boils down to this—” I looked at both of them in turn, “neither one of you got the goods on anyone, right?”
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