A Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery Collection

by Shéa MacLeod

  “You don’t know anything, Becky.” Kyle slammed a glass down on the bar so hard it cracked. “I loved her more than you could ever understand.” And with that, he stormed out of the bar and across the lobby to disappear down one of the corridors. It was all very dramatic. A little too dramatic. I could only surmise that the “nasty woman” Becky referred to was Natasha. So, Kyle had a girlfriend before Natasha. Someone he’d dumped to be with the diva. Could it be the sobbing waitress?

  I edged closer to the bar, dragging Cheryl with me. I eyed Becky, the female bartender. “Men, eh?”

  She snorted. “You have no idea. He’s a womanizing jerk, that one.”

  I nodded to the still sobbing waitress. “That his ex-girlfriend?”

  “No, that’s Tiffany, Andrea’s best friend. Andrea was Kyle’s ex-girlfriend.”

  I frowned. “Was?”

  Becky leaned over the bar, voice low. “We just got word. Andrea was killed tonight. Isn’t that sad?” She glanced over at Tiffany. “Sorry, better go calm her down before my boss freaks out.”

  As she walked away, I grabbed Cheryl’s arm. “I think the dead woman at Don CeSar was Kyle’s girlfriend.”

  She frowned. “Did you hit your head? Natasha’s been dead for days.”

  “No, no,” I said impatiently. “His girlfriend before Natasha. From the sounds of the argument he just had, I’m guessing he dumped whomever it was for Natasha. Now not only is Natasha dead, but so is the old girlfriend, Andrea.” Which begged the question: why would someone murder both of Kyle’s girlfriends? It was an odd coincidence, if you asked me. Vendetta maybe?

  Cheryl frowned. “Are you sure?”

  ‘Not one hundred percent, but pretty sure. Let’s talk to Becky some more.”

  “Becky?”

  “Bartender.” I nodded to the woman who’d been arguing with Kyle. She was patting the tearful waitress, Tiffany, on the back and shoving tissues at her.

  Cheryl perked up. “I could use a drink.”

  We sauntered over and took seats on two of the empty barstools just as Tiffany managed to get herself more or less under control. She hurried off with a sad wave to Becky. We ordered our drinks, the usual blackberry bourbon for me and wine for Cheryl. I glanced around casually.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” I asked Becky. She looked to be about thirty and was on the slender side with a colorful full-sleeve tattoo of a dragon on her left arm. “It’s just so...awful. I can’t imagine how you all are coping.”

  “Some of us worse than others, as you saw. The police were just here,” Becky said with a shake of her head. “They were trying to find next of kin for a body they’d found—all she had on her was her work ID.”

  “Which led them here,” I guessed.

  She nodded. “Turns out it was Andrea. She worked here. Poor thing.” She sighed.

  I clucked sympathetically. “That’s so sad. Where did she work? Maybe we met her.”

  “I doubt it. Andrea works in the spa. She’s a massage therapist, but she was off most of this week. It’s just terrible. And after Kyle dumping her and everything.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I feel badly for her family.”

  “Well, in this case I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t have any. She was raised in foster care, I guess. No relatives to speak of.” Becky shook her head, her face hardening in anger. “She was so young. So sweet. Nobody deserves to die that way.”

  “What way?” Of course, I’d already guessed, but I needed confirmation.

  Becky leaned across the bar. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but it’s just so shocking, you know?”

  I nodded. “I get it. I promise, my lips are sealed.”

  “Well, according to Lyn, our assistant manager, the police say somebody hit her over the head and then pushed her down the stairs over at the Don CeSar. Isn’t that awful? Poor kid.” She shook her head.

  “That’s dreadful,” I murmured. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but inside I was dancing. Because I now had confirmation that Kyle’s ex-girlfriend, Andrea, was the murder victim at the Don CeSar. What she’d been doing there and why she’d been killed were questions that still needed answering, but I’d no doubt that somehow or other, Andrea’s and Natasha’s deaths were somehow related, and I was going to find out how.

  I HALF EXPECTED COSTA to show up at my room that night, pounding on the door and accusing me of murdering poor Andrea. That seemed to be his general modus operandi. After all, I was pretty certain I was still on his list of suspects for Natasha’s death, and Costa wasn’t a stupid man. He’d no doubt already figured out the two killings were related.

  Instead, I had a rather rocky night’s sleep, followed by a peaceful morning cup of coffee. I even made it to the first lecture of the day: The Future of Historical Fiction.

  I know. Scintillating, right? And it was actually interesting, the little bits I heard as my mind wandered to other things. Like murder.

  I’d already more or less cleared Kyle of Natasha’s murder. That meant he was probably innocent of Andrea’s, as well—if the murders were connected, as I believed. Still, I made a mental note to check if he had an alibi.

  I was also certain that Jason and Piper were innocent of Natasha’s murder, and they had zero reason to kill this Andrea girl. I’d need to check their alibis, too, though. Had to be thorough.

  I still needed to talk to the other three suspects in Natasha’s death: Yvonne, Greta, and Avery. Though I couldn’t imagine why any of them would kill Andrea, a woman they didn’t know. Unless Andrea knew something about Natasha’s murder, of course. But what? Had she witnessed it? Or had someone told her something? I needed to find out more about this Andrea.

  I decided the best way to find out more about the victim was to speak to her coworkers. So I promptly made myself an appointment at the spa for a massage. All in the name of research.

  The resort spa was one of those soothing, Zen places with world music—the kind with pan flutes and whatnot— playing softly over the sound system and scented candles burning in every nook and cranny. The decorator was inordinately fond of seagrass baskets and blue paint. Everywhere I looked, things were painted in varying shades of blue, mostly of the sky and seafoam variety. Even the artwork—which was modern in the extreme—consisted of slashes and splashes of cerulean and sapphire.

  I was greeted by a young woman wearing a baby-blue smock and a serene smile, who showed me to a curtained alcove where I could undress. I was given a matching powder-blue robe and a pair of spa slippers and paraded down a wide corridor into a treatment room with a massage table and more scented candles that were probably supposed to smell of the ocean, but really smelled like bathroom spray. And, you guessed it, blue everywhere.

  The woman said in a soothing manner that I should disrobe and climb onto the table face down and that my therapist, Rose, would be with me in a moment. I nodded agreeably and, once she left the room, disrobed and climbed on the table. I was determined to enjoy this to the fullest. A massage while interrogating? Best multi-tasking ever.

  The door opened, and I turned my head to watch Rose pad in. She was dressed in a blue smock like the first girl and had her sunset-red hair up in a sloppy bun. The kind that always looked so cute on someone like Rose, but made me look like a homeless person with bad fashion sense.

  “And how are we today?” she asked in well-modulated tones. The sort of tones that made me want to ring a person’s neck. Maybe Andrea had been killed by a client for being annoying. I smirked and told myself not to be an idiot.

  “A little tense,” I admitted. “It’s been a long week. This spa comes highly recommended.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely. By whom?”

  “Someone who works here. Andrea something?”

  Her face fell. “Oh, that’s so sad.”

  “Sad?”

  Her blue eyes widened innocently. “Didn’t you hear? Andrea has passed.”

  I frowned and played dumb. “Passed what?”

&nb
sp; “Into the Great Beyond.”

  I widened my eyes as if in surprise. “You mean she’s dead?”

  “Shhh. We don’t like to use words of negativity here,” she said serenely. “This is a happy place.”

  Actually, it was one step up from a mortuary, but to each her own. “Sorry.”

  “Now, why don’t you relax so we can begin?” She rubbed some unscented oil in her hands and began smearing it on my back before gently kneading my muscles. I nearly groaned in delight. I really needed to get a massage more often.

  In any case, massage or no massage, it was time to get to work. “Well, I’m really sorry. About Andrea, I mean. I didn’t know her or anything, but she seemed really nice.”

  “Oh, she was lovely. The sweetest person,” Rose assured me. “I’m certain her light will shine brightly upon us from the stars.”

  Alrighty then. “Of course,” I agreed cheerfully. “But it’s just so sad. She was so young. How did she die?” I moaned as Rose hit a particularly sore spot right below my right shoulder blade.

  “Breathe deeply,” Rose reminded me. I complied, hoping she’d say more. She didn’t disappoint. “I really shouldn’t be talking about something so negative,” she said, “but it’s shocking, you know? They say,” she lowered her voice as if imparting a great secret, “that Andrea was murdered.”

  “Oh, that’s ghastly,” I agreed softly, voice barely above a whisper. “That poor dear. Why would anyone want to murder that sweet girl?” I knew nothing about Andrea except that Becky the bartender had liked her and Kyle had dated her, but I figured saying nice things about Andrea would get me far with Rose and her positivity.

  She didn’t disappoint. “Well, if you ask me, it’s something to do with the murder of that writer lady.”

  “Natasha Winters?”

  I could feel her shrug. “I guess so.”

  “What would Andrea have to do with Natasha’s murder? Did they know each other?”

  “I don’t think so, but the night before she died, Andrea told me she knew something.”

  “About the murder?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Knew what exactly?” I asked eagerly.

  “She didn’t say,” Rose said.

  Disappointment flooded me.

  “But I’m guessing she knew something about the murder. Something she didn’t tell the police. That would be just like Andrea. She doesn’t like to get people in trouble.” Her tone turned dark. “Even if they deserve it.”

  “You think she knew who the killer was?”

  I felt Rose shrug again. “Who knows? And now she’s gone, we’ll never know, will we? Now, deep breath. Let’s focus on you.”

  I got no more information out of Rose. But my mind was in a whirl. Andrea had claimed to know something about the murder, and now she was dead. The question was: what did she know? I needed to find out and fast.

  Chapter 14

  Checking the Angles

  I CAME OUT OF MY MASSAGE feeling like melted butter. Relaxed didn’t even begin to describe it. I was all ready to go park my backside in one of the beach cabanas—one of the ones that hadn’t contained a dead body recently—when I found my pathway blocked by a grim-looking man in a rumpled suit.

  “Detective Costa, good morning,” I said brightly, glad I was wearing my sunglasses so he wouldn’t see my death glare. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I might have said it a little more sarcastically than necessary.

  His eyes narrowed, and he glowered down at me like he’d very much like to handcuff me and throw me in a deep, dark hole somewhere. “I think you know why I’m here, Ms. Roberts.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Why were you at the Don CeSar last night? The truth.”

  I shrugged and turned to pad in the opposite direction of the beach. I had no idea where I was going, but I wasn’t going to stand there and let Costa get all up in my personal space, accusing me of things I didn’t do. I was getting mighty sick and tired of it. “Cheryl and I were taking a walk on the beach last night. We saw a crowd near the hotel and were curious. That’s all. Nothing sinister.”

  “You sure take a lot of walks on the beach,” he said. I turned and slid my glasses down my nose to give him an exasperated look. “We’re in Florida. On the beach. That’s what people do. Especially after they’ve been sitting in lectures all day.”

  “I just find it interesting that you spent the afternoon at the hotel for a ghost tour and nearly managed to get yourself killed, only to turn around and return in the evening. Right after someone else is killed.”

  I snorted. “You actually think I’d be dumb enough to kill someone at the very spot I nearly got murdered? And on the same day no less?”

  “In my experience, murderers often do dumb things.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Clearly, you haven’t met any good murderers.” Neither had I, as far as I knew.

  “Are you admitting something, Ms. Roberts?”

  I whirled on him. “Don’t be an idiot,” I snapped. “You know darn good and well I had nothing to do with either of the murders. And if you think I did, well, you’ve got fewer brains than I gave you credit for.” Okay, so snapping at a homicide detective who suspected you of murder probably wasn’t the best plan, but he was really getting on my last nerve.

  “I don’t suppose you have an alibi?” he snarled, his eyes shards of ice.

  “Well, how do I know? When did Andrea die?”

  “So you know the murder victim!” He all but shouted Ah ha! It would have been funny if I hadn’t been so annoyed.

  I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “No. I didn’t. But this is a small island. Word travels fast. By the time we got back to the Fairwinds last night, everyone here had already heard the news. Believe me, I’d have to be stupid and deaf not to know who the victim was. Now, time of death?”

  He sighed. “Ten minutes past seven in the evening.”

  “That’s very precise.”

  “A guest heard a scream and, a moment later, saw the victim tumble down the stairs. So, yes. Very precise.” He eyed me suspiciously, waiting to pounce on me for a weak alibi, no doubt.

  “Well, if you must know, I was sitting in a lecture hall listening to the last talk of the evening. There were a least a hundred other people in there. I was sitting next to Cheryl the whole time.”

  “I see.” Clearly he didn’t think Cheryl was much of an alibi, but he couldn’t argue with the other hundred-plus people who’d been sitting in that room. At least some of them would have seen me. I was not exactly easy to miss.

  “Well, then, thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Roberts.” He nodded, turned on his heel, and strode off abruptly, leather soles smacking on the concrete.

  “Jerk,” I muttered under my breath.

  “I hope that wasn’t aimed at me,” a voice said cheerfully from behind me.

  I whirled to find Lucas standing there in a pair of board shorts, flip-flops, and nothing else. It was a sight to see, believe me. My heart was doing ridiculous things in my chest. Like backflips.

  “Oh, hi. How much of that did you hear?” I couldn’t help the slight flush of embarrassment.

  “Enough to know that you put that detective in his place,” he said with a wide grin. “That man has been harassing you a little too much. And for no reason.”

  “He seems to think I’m a killer just because I found Natasha’s body.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And besides, you have an alibi for the second murder. Surely he’ll take you off the list of suspects now?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said dryly. “I think the man is determined to find me guilty. And if not me, then Cheryl. In fact, I think he’d be happy to lock both of us up just on principle.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said soothingly. “I’ve worked with a lot of police over the years, doing research for my books. He’s just doing his job. He has to check all the angles, you know.”

  I
sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s frustrating, though. Pompous jerk. Anyway, where are you headed?”

  Lucas grinned that charming grin of his that made my internal backflips rev up a notch. “Thought I’d find a cabana, preferably minus a dead body, and relax for a bit. Want to join me?”

  Did I? Be still my heart.

  I GAVE A BLISSFUL SIGH as I sank back into the shade of the cabana. White canvas flapped gently in the light breeze off the ocean. It was still humid as all get out and way too warm for my tastes, but the shady cabana kept the temperature somewhat bearable. The heat melted the tension, which Detective Costa had resurrected after my massage. I tried not to think of my gorgeous companion too hard...or the tension might return yet again—but in a good way, I supposed. Instead I pretended I was alone on a tropical island. All I needed was a fruity drink with an umbrella in it.

  “So, you really are determined to see this thing through?”

  Drat. There went pretending. I sighed and lifted my sunglasses to stare at Lucas. He was looking relaxed and delicious lounging on the cushions like a Greek god.

  “Of course. Costa seems determined to find us guilty of something. I have to clear my and Cheryl’s names before we end up locked away with the key tossed in the Gulf.” The only thing we were guilty of was meddling. Which could be construed as being against the law. Sort of. I mean, if you wanted to look at it that way. But Costa was determined to be an idiot, so I had to save myself.

  Lucas nodded. “All right. So what’s next?”

  I knew he wanted to help, but it was weird involving him. I barely knew the guy. Still, it might help to have someone besides Cheryl to bounce ideas off of. Plus I was pretty sure Cheryl was getting tired of my shenanigans. This might give her a break for a bit. Let her recover.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure. Here’s what I know.” I gave him a quick rundown of what happened at the hotel the night before and what I’d learned about Andrea from Rose. “I need to find out more about Andrea. Like, did she have a new boyfriend? A best friend? Somebody she might have told what she knew about Natasha’s murder or whatever it was she was hiding.”