“Did she say anything useful?” Officer Higgins demands. I don’t love his tone, but I guess he needs to know.
“She’s been deeply traumatized, Officer.” I keep my voice level. “The door was opened by a woman, I assume Mrs. Rutherford, who asked Maya to change the bed and then went into the bathroom. The lights weren’t on when Maya went in, but she turned on a bedside lamp—she said it was sticky, I assume with blood. I don’t know if the lamp is still on.”
The officer grunts, and I make a mental note of it. I’m not that impressed with him—for one thing, I just sent his only witness away, and he doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Dimi taps at his tablet, probably making an actual note. It’s kind of scary the way he and I think so much alike. I probably won’t be able to keep him as my assistant for too much longer—he needs to be promoted soon, or he’ll be headhunted away from JU. Losing him will be hell.
The officer sighs and looks at his watch. “We wanted to wait for the detective to arrive, but he said not to, so I guess we better get in there.”
Yeah. Definitely not impressed.
Things move pretty quickly after that. I’m glad, because the later it gets, the more guests will be wandering around. Carol has pulled herself together enough to go and get a master key for the bungalow, so the cops don’t have to actually break down the door. They stand there in all their gear, counting down with their fingers, and then swipe the card. The lock disengages, they shove the door open, and they’re bursting into the room with shouts of “Police!” and “Hands up!” I wince and glance around to see if the noise attracted any guests.
Within a few minutes they have Kylie Rutherford in handcuffs and are escorting her out to the cars in front, while yet more cops arrive, one who quickly takes charge, and some with tackle boxes full of equipment. Someone is here from the medical examiner’s office, too, I guess to remove the body parts, since it’s pretty clear Mr. Rutherford is dead. Unlike the suites in the main hotel building, the bungalows are open-plan, and I manage to sneak a peek through the door before the cops usher me away. It’s gruesome, and I wish I’d managed to restrain my curiosity. Even though I knew he was dismembered, I was still expecting to see a body. I’m not going to be able to look at raw meat for a while—just thinking about it turns my stomach.
Dimi is totally on top of things, as usual, and has given orders to the valets to direct the cops to the resort’s west parking lot, which is not only closer to the bungalow and more convenient for them, it’s also not at the front entrance of the resort. It’s very bad for business when guests arrive and see a half dozen police cars parked out front. He’s also talking to HR about getting Maya whatever services she needs—a counselor, for one thing.
I gather Link and Carol together. I’ve already sent the night manager home with a reminder to schedule a session with one of our staff psychologists. “Right,” I tell them. “Today is going to be a shit day. Do I need to call people in to cover for you?”
Link gulps and looks me in the eye. I hope he knows that if he tells me he’s not up for dealing with this, I won’t fire him. Maybe give him a less stressful job, though. My resort managers need to be able to deal with anything, and it’s not like he was the one to walk into that room.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I can work today. We’ve already relocated the guests who were in the nearest bungalows. They’ve been upgraded to executive suites in the main building, and their stay has been comped.”
I nod approvingly. True, those guests really haven’t been inconvenienced, but we want them telling their friends how amazing their stay was, not that they were roused from sleep because someone was murdered.
“I’ll call in one of the off-duty concierges to act as liaison with the police and ensure they have everything they need,” he goes on. “And make sure that security set up a manned barrier around this area. I’ll put on more staff to deal with guest questions, too, and… and… and all the guests will receive a free drink at the resort bar tonight.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Good idea. Make sure all the staff know not to talk about this—the official line, whether to a guest, their family, their friends, and especially to the media, is that there was a situation, the police were called, and any questions are to be directed to them or the media office. Got it?” Fuck, the media will be all over this. I can’t believe they’re not here already—how am I so lucky?
Link and Carol nod, and I decide they can probably handle things. “Call me if you have any questions or anything comes up that might possibly become a problem later. We need to stay on top of this. The bungalow will probably be a crime scene for a while, so have someone rearrange reservations if necessary—no guests are to stay in this area until you have my go-ahead.” I smile, although it’s the last thing I want to do. We may end up having to tear down this bungalow. People can be weird about rooms that were the scene of grisly murders—and other people don’t want to stay in them.
Link and Carol nod, seemingly buoyed up and ready to take on the challenge of the day. As they head back toward the main building, talking quietly, I pull out my phone and call Ken.
“Derek, you’d better have damn good news after making me wait so long,” he tells me, and I take a breath.
“The police have arrested one of our guests, who has allegedly murdered her husband.” I rush on, not wanting him to dwell on that. “The scene is secure, and not too many guests have realized yet that anything is going on. The cops will be here for a while, though, and we’ve taken steps to ensure guests are disturbed as little as possible.” What else does he need to know?
“Is this going to look bad for us?” he demands.
“No.” At least, I hope not. “I don’t know why she killed her husband, but at this stage it looks to be something between the two of them. We were just unlucky that she chose the resort as the scene of the crime. The staff have been very thorough in ensuring all guests are happy.” That’s true, anyway. Well, except for Peter Rutherford, poor bastard. And Ken really doesn’t need to know that my staff need refresher training on how to cope with an emergency. That’s for me to take care of.
“Okay. Kim is waiting for your call. I want a full report by noon, and updates until this is resolved.”
By “resolved” he means when JU is completely freed of any connection to the police or the murder—which will be a while, with the way legal proceedings go. He won’t actually read the reports, anyway—his assistant might, but in general anytime Ken requests shit like this, it’s because he wants to cover his own ass. But that “okay” is the important part. The rest is just routine boss douchery.
“No problem.” I make sure to smile so it will show in my voice. He hangs up. Yeah, that’s how he always ends calls—total douche, right?
I call Kim, the chief media liaison, next. There are a few alerts on the JU app, indicating my attention is needed, but no red flags, thank God. The rest can wait—it’s not like my morning isn’t completely fucked, anyway.
“Derek, talk to me.” Kim is one of my favorite people at JU. She’s no bullshit, no-nonsense, and because my district rarely causes any problems for her to deal with, she’s always happy to go out of her way to help me. With her backing, we’ve had some really spectacular media coverage of events at Planet Joy and my resorts.
“Babe, I got a dead man who was chopped up by his wife, and a housekeeper who’s gonna have PTSD,” I tell her bluntly, trying not to dwell on what my words actually mean. Work first.
She sucks in a breath. “They said murder, but… what do you mean, chopped up? You’re exaggerating, right?”
I deliberately don’t close my eyes, not wanting to see that image again. “Kim, I wish I was. I got a look into that room, and I’m pretty sure we’re gonna have to bulldoze it, because there’s blood everywhere. The dead man was in pieces, piled up on the bed. I’m gonna be sleeping with the light on for weeks, and I knew what to expect.”
“Right.” She shifts directly into superhero mode.
“No one talks about this—not to their spouses, friends, priests, and sure as hell not the media.”
“Done. I’ve reminded the manager, but I’ll have Dimi send a memo to all staff and nudge the manager to reiterate it in the morning meeting.” Speaking of Dimi, he’s coming toward me, moving fast and with an oh shit look on his face.
How many fucks am I up to now? Oh, right. Quintuple fuck.
“Great. I’m calling the police now to see what they’ll tell me, and I’ll talk to legal too, see if someone there knows anyone they can lean on. If anybody gets anything out of the cops on site, pass it along ASAP, yeah?”
“Got it,” I tell her, now slightly distracted.
“As soon as the cops give me the all clear, I’ll issue a statement to the press. It won’t say much. In the meantime, do you have the resort guests under control?”
“Yes. Management here is on it, and I’ll be overseeing things personally.” I hope. Unless whatever has Dimi so freaked is going to take over.
“And HR is looking after the housekeeper?”
“Yeah, Dimi spoke to them already, and I’ll follow up in a bit. I’ll also check in with her.” Dimi comes to a stop beside me.
“Emergency,” he says quietly.
Sextuple fuck. What could be more of an emergency than this? “Kim, I gotta go. Something’s come up. We keep each other in the loop, yeah?”
“You bet. Talk later.” She ends the call, presumably off to work her magic, and I turn my full attention to Dimi.
“What?”
He sucks in a deep breath. “We have no performers for Planet Joy today.”
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
Chapter Two
Derek
“SO WALK me through this,” I demand, glaring at the phone in the Tiki conference room Dimi and I have commandeered. “Because I don’t understand how none of our performers can be available today.”
“It’s not none,” Mandy in the entertainment office says, her voice tearful. “There are thirty-seven of them who are fit to go.”
“Thirty-seven!” Fuck, this is not good. “Mandy—” I stop and take a deep breath. This is not her fault. I’m not going to be the asshole who yells at her for something that’s not her fault. “Okay, tell me what happened.”
“Well, last night after the last performance, they all decided to go out for sushi.”
I close my eyes. Yeah, I know where this is going. “All of them?” We have nearly one hundred and fifty performers working in the park on any given day, between all the official stage shows and “impromptu” performances.
“Yeah. They even called the people who’d already gone off-shift or weren’t working yesterday. It was going to be a fun bonding thing for them.”
More like a fucking circus.
“How did they even find somewhere that would feed them all?” Dimi asks. “That’s a lot of people to serve at once without any notice.”
I can almost hear Mandy’s shrug. “They drove out to the coast. There’s a sushi festival going on, apparently.”
Is she for real? The coast is a two-hour drive. How can I be this unlucky, that all my performers decided at nine at night to drive for two hours so they could have sushi from fucking food trucks?
“Right. And then they were all struck by food poisoning? I assume we’re talking food poisoning here, and not that giant aliens landed on the road and crushed all their cars as they were driving back?” Irritation colors my tone, and I force myself to sit back and take another deep breath. Dimi, across from me, glances up from where he’s been tapping at his tablet. He turns it to me, displaying the headline on a news site:
SUSHI FESTIVAL STRUCK BY SALMONELLA
Of course.
“Never mind,” I interrupt Mandy, who’s telling me all about the horrific salmonella outbreak that has hospitals at the coast overflowing with victims. “Did all our people make it back here, and are any of them in need of medical assistance?” I assume that since it’s made headlines, the relevant government departments are aware.
“HR is checking into that now,” she assures me. “But I think everyone got back well before symptoms started—we only got the first call an hour and a half ago.”
I glance at the clock. We’re in big trouble; the park opens in twenty minutes, and the first show is scheduled for thirty minutes after that. “We’ll talk later about why I’m only hearing about this now,” I say grimly. “What are our options?”
“You were dealing with a murder!” she exclaims. “I thought I should—”
“Mandy, our options?” Yes, I sound like a dickhead, but you can’t imagine the disaster it will be if we have to cancel all the stage shows for even one day, much less until everyone is back on their feet. How long does salmonella poisoning last, anyway? Please be just a few hours.
I don’t like my chances.
“Okay, so the absolute minimum number of people needed to run all the performances is one-twenty,” Mandy says. “You have thirty-seven, which is why I’ve been scrambling to find another eighty-three. We’ve decided to cut entertainment personnel across all four parks to the bare minimum, which means we can lend performers from the other parks to you until this is over.”
The massive weight on my chest eases. “Phew. Wow, okay, great. Why didn’t you just lead with that?” We’ll still need to cancel a couple of shows this morning while everyone goes over the choreography and other shit, but that’s waaaay better than canceling everything for days. I smile at Dimi, then stop when I see he still looks somber.
“Because some of the performers from the other parks also went to the festival,” Mandy tells me. “Not many, but some. So that only gives us sixty-one. We’re still twenty-two performers short.” She hesitates, and I get the feeling this is the part she really doesn’t want to tell me. “I think we need to cancel the impromptu performances,” she says in a rush.
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “No. No way.” What the hell? Is she crazy? Part of the magic of visiting Planet Joy is seeing Joy and her friends racing through the park as they chase after the space bandits who stole what-the-fuck-ever from who-the-hell-cares. Or the evil supersoldiers from Galactic Wars herding prisoners, who then break free and fight back. And most of all, not knowing when or where it’s going to happen. We get the best feedback about the impromptu performances, and they’re the cheapest to run—no sets, no crew, no staging, minimal crowd management.
“Derek, it’s the only option,” Mandy pleads. “It’s just for today and tomorrow. I’ve already spoken to agencies in Jacksonville and Atlanta, and they’ve promised I’ll have dancers here by noon tomorrow. They can be up and running for Wednesday morning, but I just don’t see how we can run all the shows until then.”
“Think outside the box,” I tell her firmly. “There are dance schools in town, right? Call them and see if they have any senior students who want a couple days’ work and a golden résumé opportunity. Make it clear that we only want skilled dancers.” Fuck, even to me that sounds lame. Joyville is not a big town; we might get three or four dancers out of it, if we’re lucky. This is when being in the middle of nowhere really sucks. Where the hell am I going to find twenty-some professional dancers—
“Fuck me!”
“That goes against corporate policy,” Dimi says dryly, but he’s smiling. “You’ve had an idea.”
“The village has how many shows playing right now? Six?” I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier.
“Seven, I think,” Mandy says. “We’d have to check with events. Why—” She breaks off abruptly. “Derek, I don’t think that will work. Those dancers are committed to their shows. Plus, we have no authority over them.”
“So let’s ask nicely.” Really, what the hell? For someone who’s in charge of the entertainers, she doesn’t seem to have a creative bone in her body. “It’s Monday, right? Most of the shows don’t have performances on Mondays. So we have a bunch of dancers with a day off who might be interested in ear
ning some extra cash and two free lifetime park passes each.” Mandy still hesitates, and I throw an annoyed look in Dimi’s direction. He shrugs. “Mandy, I’ll handle this myself. You make sure the—” I pause to do some fast addition. Mental math was never my strong point. “—ninety-eight performers we have are at the park and rehearsing ASAP. I’ll cancel this morning’s shows, but they’ll be starting again at noon. I’ll get you the extra twenty-two dancers for today and tomorrow—make sure there’s someone ready to show them the ropes.”
“Derek, I really don’t think—”
“Make it happen, Mandy. I’m not canceling the impromptus for two days.” I put extra steel in my voice, even though I’m not actually sure I can pull off my side of the bargain.
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll let you know if we run into any other problems.” She ends the call, and I grab my phone.
“Dimi, find me some dance schools in town.” I scroll through my contacts for Toby from events. “And follow up with HR to make sure all our people are okay.”
“Got it.” He’s working away on his tablet—I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already found the dance school information.
“Toby speaking,” a voice says in my ear, and I switch my attention to the call.
“Derek, Toby. Listen, I need—”
“You want to postpone this morning’s meeting,” he interrupts. “I’m not surprised, with the murder and all, but, Derek, we needed to have this meeting yesterday. We can’t—”
“Nope, not why I’m calling.” I interrupt him in turn. “Although it’s something we might need to consider. I’ve got another issue.” I run down the details quickly and explain my plan. To say he’s dubious is putting a positive spin on it. In the end I break into his hemming and hawing.
“Toby, I’m working against the clock here. All I need is for you to present my offer to the director or stage manager or whoever of each show and ask them to pass it on—urgently—to their performers. I’m offering triple the usual rate”—which is pretty damn good—“plus two lifetime park passes to every dancer who’s willing to work today and tomorrow. I guarantee they can have the easiest roles too. Whatever it takes to get them to agree.”
I've Got This Page 2
