“Not one more word,” I snapped, grimacing as I tried to alleviate the weight on my tailbone. “I can’t deal with you when I’m in pain.”
“We’re both in pain, Charlie,” she drawled. “It’s pain you caused. I told you this boat was a bad idea. In fact ... yeah. I’m done.” She tilted to the side and rolled out of the boat, landing on her feet in the manmade lake and causing my eyes to go wide. “You’re on your own. Sayonara. Adios. Arrivederci.” She saluted as I continued drifting forward, a huge grin on her face.
“You can’t just leave me,” I complained, grabbing onto the nearest palm frond in an effort to stop my forward momentum. “We’re supposed to be a team, working together for the greater good and all that.”
“You never said we would be doing it in a paddle boat. I draw the line at paddle boats. I have standards.”
I found that hard to believe because she was standing in thigh-deep water with her hands on her hips. “Get back in the boat.”
“No.”
“I mean it. I’ll leave without you.” That wasn’t really a choice. The current, which seemed light and easy at first glance, was wreaking havoc on my almost nonexistent upper body strength.
“Go. This adventure isn’t for me. I’m heading back to the tiki bar. You can find me there when you reclaim your mind.”
“Ugh.” I let loose the palm frond, groaning when it smacked me in the face. This was so not the way I saw this afternoon going.
BY THE TIME I RETURNED to the paddle boat rental dock my face was red from too much sun and my hair was wider than it was long thanks to the humidity. The man standing at the kiosk asked if I’d had a good time. I could only glower.
To give myself time to recover, I moved into a shady alcove under one of the footbridges and fanned myself. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the nearby windows and scowled. I looked a total wreck.
“I hate this day,” I muttered as I tried to comb my fingers through my hair. I was so lost in the task I almost didn’t notice the two women wending through the shortcut that led toward the resort store. That would’ve been a mistake, because it happened to be the two women I was seeking.
“I like the ocean, but this weather is ridiculous,” Priscilla complained as she patted her curls. “No one should have to deal with this much humidity.”
“Things could be worse,” Abigail said pragmatically. “You could be shark food.”
Priscilla burst out laughing. “I know. Am I the only one who thinks it’s poetic that she died that way? She had no problem eating people alive when she was running her business, and now she’s dead because she was eaten alive.”
While Abigail didn’t appear to think it was as funny as her friend did, she didn’t admonish her. “Do we know she was alive when she hit the water? I haven’t heard anything since news spread that her body was discovered in the shark net. I mean ... I know those special investigators are here. Have they said anything?”
“I haven’t talked to them. That young one, the chick who keeps running around with the really hot guy, has been poking her nose into things. I saw her talking to Sarah Hilton and Lily Harper Hart a few hours ago. She seemed to be digging for information, but I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying. You know how Lily is. The second she saw me, she wouldn’t stop staring.”
“She’s definitely obnoxious,” Abigail agreed. “She thinks she’s better than everybody else because she writes mysteries and gets along with people. I could get along with people if I wanted. I just don’t see the reason.”
“I’m with you. People are overrated.”
I shrank back when I realized Priscilla was looking at her reflection in the window. I didn’t want her to see me — that would be uncomfortable as all get out — so I hunkered in the shadows to avoid detection.
“One thing I will say, those investigators seem to be looking at people instead of sharks,” Priscilla continued. “I find that interesting. That says they believe Shayne was killed before she went into the water ... or maybe was pushed into the water. They’ve been looking for suspects.”
“There’s no end to suspects,” Abigail noted. “If I were them, I’d focus on Leslie. Everyone knows she’s nuts.”
“She’s definitely nuts, but I think she’s too obvious of a suspect. I’d focus on J.D. Wells. He’s got that shark book coming out and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. You just know he’s going to try to book gigs on talk shows to make a big deal about his book and how Shayne’s death fits with the story.”
“Yeah, but there’s no way he could’ve carried her out to the water,” Abigail said. “He would’ve needed help, and that’s too risky. Besides ... why would he kill her? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to kill that wife of his who spends all her time sitting around knitting? That would be a better story for his purposes.”
“Maybe he likes his wife?”
“Who could like that woman? She’s ridiculous ... and says stupid things. Do you know she came up to me the other day and asked if JAFF was about Jane Austen characters? I mean ... It’s called Jane Austen fan fiction. What does she expect?”
“Maybe she was nervous and trying to make conversation. She bugs me, but I don’t think she’s evil or anything. Now, if we’re talking about evil, look at Clark Savage. We all know he hates women.”
“Oh, he is a good suspect.” Abigail smiled. “I bet you’re right. He killed her. We should start spreading that rumor to see if it sticks.”
“I’m all for that. Let’s get out of here. I could use a drink.”
I waited until I was certain they were out of sight before straightening, ignoring the odd look the paddle boat guy gave me as I watched them disappear inside the building. I was hoping they would have information to help me narrow the field. Instead, they merely gave me ideas regarding multiple people who were already suspects.
There had to be a way to figure this out.
Eighteen
Even though Abigail and Priscilla said absolutely nothing of value, they gave me something to think about. When a woman is disliked by everyone, that means the person who decides to kill her must have an impressive motive. It has to be a motive beyond everyone else’s motives.
With that in mind, I headed toward the front desk.
I had a plan, but it wasn’t exactly easy to pull off. I had to wait for an opening when no one was loitering close to the clerk. Then, when I stepped forward, I instantly made eye contact and burrowed into her brain.
It’s less invasive than it sounds.
No, seriously.
“What room was Shayne Rivers in?” I kept my voice low so as not to draw attention.
The clerk, a young woman with bright eyes my magic managed to dull, merely blinked. “Shayne Rivers?”
“She’s an author. The one who died.”
“Oh. She’s not registered under that name.”
Of course she wasn’t. I searched my memory. I couldn’t remember her real name. “What name is she registered under?”
“Elsie May Haymark.”
Someone had to be messing with me. “Seriously?”
The clerk nodded, solemn.
“Okay, what room was Elsie May Haymark in?”
“Seven eighty-four.”
“I need a keycard to get in that room.”
“Of course.” She didn’t put up an argument. I pushed her hard enough that I knew she wouldn’t. I didn’t have time to waste. I learned I had the power to push people by accident when I was in high school and wanted to get out of gym class. At first I thought it was a fluke. Then I realized I could do it at will ... as long as the person I was trying to push didn’t put up too much resistance. If that happened, no matter how I tried, I never got my way. Thankfully, this woman either didn’t care or couldn’t muster the strength to push me out of her head.
The young woman created a keycard quickly, handing it over without argument. “Have a nice day.”
I accepted the card, a bit of guilt
rolling through me. “I want you to have a nice day,” I stressed. “No matter what happens, don’t feel guilty about this.”
“I never feel guilty.” Her smile didn’t waver. “That’s why I keep dating married men. If I felt guilty, I’d stop doing that.”
I frowned. I didn’t have time to waste, but ... . “Why do you date married men?”
“They have money.”
“They also have wives.”
“You can’t make a man cheat. That’s on them.”
I was keenly disappointed. Here I thought she was a mild-mannered soul, but she was something else entirely. “I want you to stop dating married men.”
Instead of agreeing, she frowned. “Why would I do that?”
Hmm. That was interesting. She had no problem acquiescing when I was trying to break the law. When attempting to correct her morals, though, she put up a rather impressive resistance.
“Well, just keep in mind, the next married man you sleep with is going to give you herpes. You don’t want herpes, do you? It’ll limit your dating options.”
She frowned. “That sucks.”
“Yes.” I bobbed my head. “Start dating men your own age. Single men.”
“They might have herpes, too.”
She had a point. “Invest in condoms ... and better taste in men.”
“Whatever.” She waved me off. “Have a nice night.”
“I will.” I was ready to leave, but I forgot to ask the most important question. “Has anyone been in Elsie May Haymark’s room since her death? I mean ... other than the police?”
“No. It’s supposed to be closed until the detectives release her room. They’re not ready to do that yet.”
“Well, that’s good. I was never here. Make sure you remember that.”
“I will.”
“Make sure you remember the part about catching herpes, too.”
“I’m on it.”
I hoped that was true.
I FOUND SHAYNE’S ROOM without trouble and was happy to see there was no police tape barricading the room. Breaking in was one thing. Crossing police tape was another. I was a good girl at heart. Er, well, at least some of the time.
I knocked just to be on the safe side, but wasn’t surprised no one answered. I let myself in, making sure to draw the curtains tightly to ensure nobody could see light from the hallway, and then proceeded to search the room.
It was a typical hotel room, double beds in the first room I entered. I thought it was weird the beds were so close to the door until I realized she had a beach view, and the living quarters were on that side of the suite. It made sense, even if it was a bit backward.
Most of Shayne’s personal items were in the bedroom. I wished I’d had the forethought to bring gloves, but explaining that if caught would’ve been difficult. Instead, I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and clutched it between my fingers as I searched through her suitcase.
Clothes. Toiletries. Shoes. Socks. Nothing of interest. I even checked the zipped pockets to be sure. After that, I headed to the living room.
Shayne’s computer was open on the table. I hit a key and the computer sprang to life, which meant it was idling rather than shut down. It didn’t ask for a password, which I was thankful for. There were three windows open when I sat in the chair. I decided to approach them in order.
The first was a bibliography of sorts. It listed all of Shayne’s published works and had sales figures beside the entries. I used the washcloth to hit a few keys and saw that she made an okay living, although I had no idea how she managed to raise a family of five on fifty grand a year, especially if her husband didn’t work. She had Tieks in her suitcase. Those were expensive shoes. Obviously her book sales didn’t allow her to purchase them.
The second window was a spreadsheet that listed her various sources of income. I found that much more interesting. Once I figured out exactly what I was looking at, it was easy enough to read. It seemed Shayne’s income from books was the smallest pot she was dipping from. The funds she had listed were varied, and she was making a solid six figures a year from her newsletter services and another six figures from something she referred to as “coaching.” I made a mental note to ask Lily what coaching might be and snapped a screenshot of the numbers with my phone so I could peruse them later before moving to the final window.
That’s where I hit pay dirt. It was her email, and it seemed she had at least eight business addresses funneling to the same central address.
I was flabbergasted when I read some of the messages. The sheer bulk of them were from her clients, and after skimming a few I moved on to the emails that boasted the more interesting topic headings. For example, “I hope you die a horrible and flaming death” was an obvious curiosity.
That particular email came from a woman named Debra Wakefield. Shayne apparently took her money and then never came through on a promotion. After a good fifteen emails back and forth, Debra lost her temper and promised to file a lawsuit. Shayne responded by wishing her well and then mentioning that her child would probably need surgery soon, so a lawsuit wasn’t exactly helpful. The tone was cold and condescending, and I could tell why people disliked her.
Another email was from a woman named Rory O’Sullivan. She started out by calling Shayne a “feckin’ muppet” and promised to kick her in the pink bits should they ever cross paths. The woman was in Ireland, so I figured it was a long shot she was our killer. Still, I photographed the message and moved on.
I spent two hours going through Shayne’s emails. She’d been bombarded with hate messages, which would’ve been enough to cause most people to shut down. Not Shayne. She answered each email with a hateful message. It was almost as if she fed on people’s hate.
It was fascinating ... and perplexing.
The setting sun told me it was getting late, so I gave the room another cursory search before leaving. I took the washcloth with me so I had something to use on the door, and made sure to wipe down the handle when I exited. I left the washcloth in the vending area and then headed toward the elevator, my mind busy.
Part of me felt sorry for Shayne. Being hated by that many people couldn’t have been easy. It had to take a toll mentally. Of course, the way she responded to people was equally hateful. I very much doubted people singled her out to go after simply because she was successful, something she continuously wrote back in her return emails.
“I’m sorry you’re so jealous, but I can’t change the fact that I’m more popular and famous than you.” That was one of her favorite mantras ... and it grated. I didn’t know the woman, but her attitude reminded me of every high school girl I’d ever hated.
The lobby was full of people when I entered, although none of them belonged to my group. I decided to text Jack to see what he was doing for dinner when a waving hand caught my attention.
Sarah, a bright smile on her face, gestured for me to join her. Even though I grew tired of talking about pimento cheese, I found her interesting. I wasn’t sure when it happened, but I was convinced she was one of the few authors I could trust.
“What’s up?” I asked when I approached. “Are you guys eating here?”
“We had a few afternoon meetings today,” she replied. “They don’t go late. I just wanted to make sure you’re aware we’re having karaoke at the bar with the big fiberglass shark in the middle of the resort once we’re finished.”
Karaoke? I gulped. “Um ... .”
“It’s a lot of fun,” she said hurriedly. “It’s nowhere near as lame as it sounds.”
“I don’t think I’d be very good at karaoke,” I hedged. “I mean ... I’m tone deaf.”
“You don’t have to sing.”
That was true. Of course, listening to other tone-deaf people sing wasn’t much better than struggling through nonsensical verses of old eighties tunes either. “I’m not sure what we’re doing, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You definitely should. All your suspects will be there, and I’ve always
thought you could learn a lot about people by the songs they sing for karaoke. You should give it a shot.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Thankfully, the decision was taken out of my hands when Jack appeared on my right and graced Sarah with a bright smile. “What should we give a shot?”
“Karaoke,” Sarah replied without hesitation. “Charlie says she’s tone deaf, but I bet she has a nice voice.”
“I bet she does, too.” Jack’s grin was obscenely wide, which meant he was up to something. “I’ll make sure she shows up for karaoke. When is it?”
“It starts at eight. It’s at that bar that’s smackdab in the center of the resort.”
“We will be there with bells on.”
Sarah snorted. “Yeah, I bet. You’re going to do something mean and trick her into singing. That’s written all over your face.”
“Do I look like a mean guy?”
“You look like an angel,” she replied. “A fallen one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it however you want.” Sarah gathered her items from the table. “I need to get going. I look forward to seeing you later. Make sure you pick a good song.”
I finally found my voice. “I won’t be singing.”
“Never say never.” She waved at me over her shoulder and then disappeared into the crowd.
I could feel Jack’s eyes on me, and I was uncomfortable when I finally met his gaze. “So ... um ... how was your afternoon?”
“Fine. Once I got rid of Laura, it was fairly pleasant. How was your afternoon?”
“Oh, well ... it could’ve gone better. Millie didn’t last long as my sidekick.”
“I know. I ran into her at the tiki bar.”
“Did she tell you what she did?”
Jack’s lips curved. “She did. I think it’s funny that she abandoned ship.”
“It was a lot of work to take that paddle boat into port by myself.”
“You’re young and fit. You obviously survived.”
The Megalodon Mix-Up Page 17
