by Jade Astor
Ange appeared in the hall, her face ashen, still clutching her cell phone. “Rikki warned me he was on his way. She thought he was coming over to arrest me.”
“Not yet,” Darian said. “Thanks to Argo. Don’t worry, he doesn’t have much of a case, it sounds like. Everything will be fine.”
“You don’t have to sugar coat it for me.” Ange’s voice shook. “Just because I’m innocent doesn’t mean I won’t go to prison.”
“Not on my watch, you won’t,” Argo said.
“How could Kyle do this to us—to you, Mom? He practically lived over here when we were teenagers.”
“We don’t know it was Kyle,” she reminded them.
“No? Who else could it be?”
“That’s a good question. Lanislaw won’t answer it for us, so we’ll work it out ourselves.”
“That’s the right attitude. Count me in.” Ange brightened and started toward the front door. “The way I see it, we should start at the scene of the crime. That means back to the hotel. Let’s go.”
“Whoa, Mom. Wait a minute. You need to stay put. We don’t need you getting into more trouble or running into Lanislaw. He might not be so hesitant to pull you in for questioning if he catches you invading his territory.”
“But I want to help. You can’t expect me to just hang around here, doing nothing!”
“Sorry, but though I agree with you about the hotel, Darian’s got a point,” Argo said. “We don’t want to goad Lanislaw. Besides, you can help us more by staying here and getting back on the computer. Those web searches you ran on Gabrielle have already turned up a couple new leads. Maybe we’re overlooking something else.”
“You’re awesome at research, Mom. I’ll bet there’s more you can tease out with one of your patented deep dives.”
“Okay,” Ange agreed glumly. “I guess I could do that.”
“Perfect.” Argo turned to Darian. “Lanislaw’s given us twenty-four hours. Let’s get cracking.”
“I’ll call Rikki and tell her you’re coming.”
“Thanks. Don’t leave the house until we come back,” Darian warned Ange over his shoulder as he followed Argo to the car. “We’ll fill you in on anything we find out. I promise.”
“You know I’ll hold you to that promise,” Ange said. Darian was glad to hear her snap the deadbolt in place behind them.
“I‘m not crazy about leaving her home on her own,” Darian said as Argo drove them back to the hotel, the needle edging the speed limit the whole way. “What if she does uncover a clue and runs out to investigate it without telling us first?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Argo agreed. “Mostly because it sounds exactly like what you would do.”
Darian had no response, given that statement’s obvious truth. Instead, he reviewed the current list of suspects in his mind. As far as he was concerned, Kyle was gradually inching his way to the top of the list. Hopefully, Lanislaw saw it that way, too. If he were half as sharp as Argo seemed to think, he had to see how unlikely a killer Ange was. Like most academics, she was far more likely to deliver a cutting remark than go after anyone with a literal sharp instrument. At one time, he might have said the same about Kyle. But the events of the last few days, particularly his former friend’s eagerness to point an accusing finger at Ange, made him rethink his assumptions.
Rikki, looking stressed and exhausted, met them in the parking garage and motioned them toward a metal service door.
“Let’s take the back way to my office. Less chance of running into cops.”
“I take it they’ve been thick on the ground today,” Argo said as they settled into chair in Rikki’s office.
“Driving me crazy, if you want the truth.” Rikki paused to massage her forehead. “I can hardly believe this is happening, and during the holiday season, of all times. We’ve managed to keep Carl’s death quiet for the time being. We don’t have long before the press gets wind of it, though. Once that happens…well, let’s just say it’ll be a miracle if the hotel has a single guest left by the following day.”
“We’ll do our best to help Lanislaw wrap things up before then,” Argo said.
“Yes, Ange told me about the twenty-four hour deadline. I’m not sure if that makes me feel more or less panicked. She told me you talked about Maizi crashing the party. I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming about that, but things are complicated. With Gabrielle gone, it seems likely she’ll be taking over the hotel at some point, and I just…”
“We understand,” Darian said. “You were caught in the middle.”
“I really didn’t think Lanislaw would consider Ange a suspect. How was she holding up when you left the house? On the phone, she tried to act like the whole thing was no big deal, one step away from an academic exercise, but we all know better.”
“We’re keeping her busy doing what she can on the computer,” Darian said.
“Ange isn’t the type to wallow in despair,” Rikki said, making a visible effort to remain positive. “It’s one of the many things I’ve always admired about her.”
“Where is Kyle?” Argo asked, changing the subject.
“Lanislaw invited him to the police station to assist with his inquiries about Carl. I told him to go home after that. I think some time off would be a good idea, and not just for him.”
Darian tried not to wince at the thought of their own lost vacation time. Would he and Argo ever get to spend time together doing anything other than working on a case? Then again, he supposed the ‘together’ part was what counted.
“Speaking of Carl, Ange agrees that the most sensible approach would be for us to start at the very beginning. Carl helped set things in motion the day he confronted you on the beach. We know now that, with Kyle’s help, Carl was squatting in vacant rooms all over the hotel. That brings up an obvious question. Had he discovered or overheard something in one of those rooms? Was that the sword he was dangling over Gabrielle’s head?”
Rikki frowned. “I can’t imagine what he could uncover in an empty room.”
“A drug stash?” Darian ventured. “Someone hiding out who wasn’t supposed to be there, either?”
“I assume you keep track of which rooms are occupied and when,” Argo said. “Some kind of spreadsheet, maybe. Is there a way you can track the rooms he might have stayed in? It’s a good a starting place as any.”
“I can get those records, yes.” Rikki turned to her computer and spent a few minutes studying the screen. “We’ve been pretty much booked solid since November—the usual holiday rush. Even the few cancellations filled up again quickly. I do see one exception—the luxury suite on the top floor. Carl wasn’t nervy enough to park himself there—was he? Besides, you need a special elevator key to get up there.”
“Does Kyle have one?”
“I suppose he could find one if he wanted to.”
Argo leaned forward to examine the document she pulled up, which showed a grid listing various room numbers and reservation dates. Rikki was correct. There weren’t many blank spaces. “Luxury suite? Restricted access? Sounds like exactly the sort of place he’d enjoy crashing in. What can you tell us about it?”
“It’s VIP quarters, same as any upscale hotel offers. It was part of Gabi’s big remodel when she first took over. Her strategy was to attract wealthy clients who would use it whenever they were in town.”
“And did she find a lot of takers?”
“A few. Mostly stuffy older men. Not my favorite type of client, though common enough in the hotel business.”
“Traveling bigwigs,” Argo surmised. “They’ll pay good money for secure places to plan corporate coups and hammer out contracts. Not to mention entertain without their spouses.”
“That’s not unheard of in hotels, obviously,” Rikki agreed. “Our staff prides itself on discretion as well as excellent service. Comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, then.” Argo punctuated his statement by rapping his knuckles on Rikki’s desk. “T
he suite might be standard issue, but I’d like to examine it. I assume you can arrange that?”
“Yes, if you like. No one’s staying in it now. Gabrielle’s friend, Gerald Lampson, was supposed to be there for another two nights, but he left after the murder.”
“Zara told us about that,” Darian said. “Lampson flipped out because the cops questioned him. I assume Lanislaw cleared him, though, if he was allowed to check out and take off.”
“We shouldn’t assume anything,” Argo reminded him. The three of them stood up, Rikki jingling her keyring. They headed back down the same uncarpeted hall they had used to access Rikki’s office, this time stepping into an extra-wide service elevator with a few buttons greyed out. Rikki’s key remedied that situation, and before long they emerged on the hotel’s top floor.
Darian expected swanky décor, but even he sucked in a breath at the king-sized beds, designer furniture, and plush hand-woven Oriental carpeting. A full kitchen gleamed with acres of stainless steel, and one of three enormous bathrooms featured a black-marble hot tub.
“Wow. I can’t blame Carl for grabbing a couple of nights in this place,” he said, gazing with wonder at the crystal chandelier over their heads.
“Maizi said the hotel was in financial trouble,” Argo said, doing a slow circuit of the sitting room. He paused to examine every vase, painting, and sculpture–all of Darian suspected were originals, not knockoffs or prints.
“Why would Gabrielle pour so much money into this one area? And where did she get it?”
“She mentioned outside investors,” Rikki said. “People she met when she ran her castle tour business. Nothing untoward about that. She had the potential to turn a tidy profit once she lined up the right clients.”
“Makes sense,” Argo muttered, still absorbed in the room’s artistic effects. Darian had never known him to be a connoisseur of such things. Was he trying to identify them as stolen goods? Or fakes? He seemed careful not to touch anything, though. Wary of leaving fingerprints for Lanislaw to scrape up, maybe. “Okay,” he finally announced to Rikki. “I guess we’ve seen enough.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” Rikki said as they rode the elevator down again. “I admit I’m disturbed at the idea of Carl, and possibly Kyle, romping around in there, but it doesn’t appear they disturbed or stole anything, thank goodness.”
They found Zara waiting outside her office door.
“I came to tell you the cops have released the men’s locker room, so the employees can using it again—assuming anyone’s brave enough. The steam room will be off-limits until further notice, though.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Rikki said. “No matter. We’ll have to work around the restrictions. Make sure no one goes into detail about why the sauna’s closed. Equipment malfunction is as good an explanation as any, if necessary.”
“Right-o,” Zara said. As she turned to go, an image flashed in Darian’s mind—Zara at the Christmas party, huddled by the hors d’oeuvres table with Gabrielle and Lampson.
“Zara, wait,” he said, stopping her in mid-pivot. “I want to ask you a question. It’s about a particular guest, Gerald Lampson. He checked out of the luxury suite early, you said.”
“That’s right.” Zara glanced at Rikki, as though seeking her approval before saying more. Rikki encouraged her with a brief nod. “He didn’t want to stay on after what happened to Gabi.”
“And the police let him go? Lanislaw gave him permission?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t he? Mr. Lampson said he didn’t know anything about what had happened, and I guess he had proof. He did leave his contact information with that Lattersnob guy.”
“I don’t suppose you have a copy?” Argo flashed Darian a look of approval. Darian forced himself not to smile. It still gave him a little thrill when Argo showed overt approval of his investigative methods.
Again Zara sought Rikki’s authorization. “Give Darian and Argo whatever they need,” she said. “It’s important we figure out exactly what happened that night. Not just to get justice for Gabrielle, but to protect Ange, too.”
“Right. Sure. I understand. The problem is that Mr. Lampson wrote it on the back of a business card and handed it to Lanislaw. He didn’t give me a copy, and I didn’t see what he jotted down. Sorry. His cell phone number should be in the system.”
“I’ll see if I can pull it up for you.” Rikki unlocked her office and slipped inside, leaving Argo and Darian alone with Zara.
“You spent some time with him at Gabrielle’s holiday party,” Darian said before she could make her excuses and hurry away. This time Zara frowned.
“Yes, I remember.”
“Again, I’m asking these questions because I want to help my mom. Did Lampson ever say anything that might lead you to believe he and Gabi had any sort of conflict or disagreement?”
“No, not at all. He and Gabrielle went way back. He introduced her to her husband, you know—the one who left her this hotel. Apparently he met Gerald in Europe years ago. Mr. Marchetti—Gabrielle’s husband—was fascinated by royalty. A lot of Americans are, I guess.”
“So he didn’t share any personal information about his connection with Gabi? Looked like the two of you got close at the party. Or at least he seemed impressed with you.”
“Well, I did show him around because Gabi wanted to make sure he had a pleasant experience at Mermaid Towers. She hoped to coax him into investing, she said. He has his own castle, you know, that he rents out like a hotel for select guests.” Zara scrunched her face in disgust. “I know what you’re really asking, Darian, and the answer, unfortunately, is yes. He got a bit handsy, if you know what I mean.”
“So he propositioned you?”
“Not exactly.” Zara’s outrage turned to a blush. “I mean, maybe he was working up to a suggestion of some sort, but I shut it right down. Obviously such things go on in all hotels, including this one, I’m sure. But not with me. I would never endanger my reputation or my career. I have too much self-respect to go along with a stunt like that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Darian said. Heat rose to his cheeks as Zara excused herself. “Guy’s a pig,” he told Argo. “Wish we had some reason to set Lanislaw on his trail.”
“Don’t give up too soon,” Argo said. At that point Rikki returned with a folded piece of paper bearing Lampson’s cell number. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I have no problem maintaining discretion about how I got this. Meanwhile, I’ll pass this along to Deputy Cutler and let him work some magic. Be right back.”
After taking the paper from Rikki and pulling his own phone from his pocket, Argo ducked out of sight down the hall. They waited for what seemed like hours.
“What happened? What do we do now?” Darian asked when he finally returned. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight glint of triumph in Argo’s dark eyes.
“Now,” Argo said, “you and I take a drive.”
Chapter 13
“What is it with the sea creature motifs around here?” Argo asked as they drove toward a cluster of upscale guesthouses whimsically named Seahorse Shores. Spotting their car, a buff-looking security guard with a tight white t-shirt featuring a seahorse stepped in front of the entrance with a tablet computer in hand. “Is Florida actually a remnant of the lost continent of Atlantis?”
“The names create atmosphere,” Darian said. “Tourists enjoy the nautical theme, especially the ones who aren’t brave enough to scuba dive.”
“Overdoing it, if you ask me.” Argo snorted. “We don’t paint a moose or a black bear on everything back home.”
They pulled up to the attendant, who asked their business, consulted his tablet screen, and waved them through the gate with a welcoming smile. It, too, was emblazoned with a metal seahorse painted in startling shades of pink and green.
“Speaking of tourists, this place takes privacy seriously, doesn’t it? The seahorses here must all be thoroughbreds.”
“That’s why
I called him ahead of time and made an appointment. What do you expect from a guy who owns a castle?”
“Good point. Maybe Gerald is some kind of minor royalty. I’m still kind of amazed he agreed to talk to us. How did you manage to convince him?”
“All the credit goes to Cutler. He’s having a ball being in charge of the station. Hope I still have a desk when I get back.”
“I don’t think you should worry,” Darian said. He wondered what exactly Cutler had been able to do over the phone to gain them entrance to a place like this, but he supposed flashing a badge, even metaphorically, could open doors in spite of technical details like jurisdiction.
In any case, Argo didn’t elaborate and he decided not to press the issue. They pulled into the compound, which consisted of a row of pleasant cottages facing the ocean. Guests lounged on the powder-white sand, enjoying pitchers of colorful drink under equally vivid umbrellas. A few rode the sparkling green waves on floatation devices shaped like dolphins and starfish. It was in most ways a typical Floridian scene, though something about it struck Darian as odd. It took him a moment to pinpoint the reason.
Everybody on the beach was male.
“What is this place?” Darian asked, bewildered, as Argo found a parking spot beside a sleek red Lamborghini.
“Not sure, but so far I like it.”
“Why is a married tourism executive staying here?” Darian marveled as a guy walked by, wearing a bathing thong apparently made of dental floss. Grinning, the guy slowed and offered them a hospitable wave. Another mostly naked dude with a rainbow towel draped around his shoulders joined him. Clasping hands, the two strolled across the sand to the water.
What in hell was going on?
Moments later, Gerald Lampson himself appeared in the doorway of a nearby cottage and motioned to them.
“Sheriff Sullivan?” Lampson, barefoot and wrapped in a black terrycloth robe, stepped forward and extended a hand. His hair was wet and he smelled of salt water and sunscreen. Up close, he wasn’t exactly handsome, but his confident demeanor, curly silver hair, and charming British accent gave him a charismatic air. And, of course, apparent wealth often made people seem more attractive.
