Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series) (2 page)

Chapter Two

After a deep sleep fueled by complete exhaustion, followed by a leisurely shower under pulsating streams of steaming water, I was ready to rock and roll. Sometime during the night, a note had been slipped under my front door indicating that breakfast was served in the Palmetto Room, along with a map to the resort and welcome note from the hotel’s manager.

I read through the information with an open mouth. In addition to having my meals cooked for me three times a day – and unlimited fresh cookies – I was to have room service.
And
a weekly cleaning by hotel staff. I could not believe my luck: I had landed the job of my dreams. I might not feel too inspired to return to my hometown after all, I thought with a grin. What my parents would say I had no doubt. What Ellie would say was a given as well. What David would say – actually, in the light of how he had treated me, it really didn’t matter
what
he might say. (Here I mentally stuck out my tongue at his image – childish but satisfying.)

Emmy didn’t appear until I had finished my breakfast and sat relaxing, perusing the local paper. She looked as elegant as she had the night before, but I could see a tiny smudge in the corner of one eye where she had applied her concealer rather too thickly. Well, she did have a huge responsibility as concierge for one of San Blanco’s busiest resorts, and I was pretty sure that the last assistant had left some time ago. I mentally straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin: I was ready to help take on some of the tasks that Emmy had been doing alone. I smiled a greeting as she slipped into a chair across from me.

‘Good morning, Emmy,’ I said. The sunshine, the breeze that wafted in through the room’s open French doors, and the delightful breakfast had combined to work their magic on my usual grumpy morning self, and I felt ready to tackle the world. Or at least to take on the Miramar.

Emmy returned my smile, although hers seemed slightly forced. She
was
tired, I thought, and redoubled my efforts to appear cheerful and competent. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was part of the reason she’d had a late night.

‘So, what’s my first task?’ I leaned over my plate to scoop up the blueberry muffin remains on my fingertips. Whoever the baker was, she or he had it all over my sweet mother’s attempts. I could actually hear my waistband shrieking in pain as it was strained to its limits. It seemed Emmy had heard it as well but she, apparently, thought it was coming from another direction entirely. She shot to her feet, staring out through the open doors at a small group of people who had circled around another person who was crying and screaming, and in general making quite a fuss.

Great – just what I need on my first day here, I thought grimly as I too arose and followed Emmy’s fast pace out of the Palmetto and onto the patio that backed up to the dining room. Trying to keep up with Emmy while attempting to appear unruffled was going to be tougher than I’d imagined.

The woman who was the center of the commotion was weeping hysterically. She was going on about something, but it was difficult to understand her words in between the sobbing and wailing that pierced both my eardrums and my heart. She was either in serious pain or a superb actress. Either way, she was generating interest, the breakfast crowd all agog.

House security arrived and managed to draw the woman to her feet and guide her to a bench that sat in the shade of an arbor. The bougainvillea that trailed along the ground seemed almost garish in comparison to the woman’s pale face, and I felt a sudden uncertainty, rethinking that bit about acting. This was probably not going to be good, judging by her expression.

Recalling that I was now an employee of the Miramar, I took it upon myself to gently maneuver the gawkers back to the breakfast tables and off of the patio. I closed the French doors, earning a quick look of gratitude from Emmy, and stationed myself just near enough to hear but not to be in the way. I am a human being, after all, full of the usual foibles and, in general, suffering from an overgrown curiosity. At least I had an excuse for eavesdropping.

There was something about a child. A little girl, from what I could hear, six years old and given to sleepwalking. Her mother, the woman who had been making the ruckus, described her to the security team, telling them that she and her husband had awakened early to get ready for the day and discovered that Leeza, their daughter, was not in her bed, nor was she anywhere in their suite. The front door, locked securely when they had retired, had been standing wide open and there was no sign of the child.

‘My husband,’ she began, speaking between hiccups, ‘He’s out looking for Leeza. She hasn’t done that in a while, but usually …’ Her words broke off as another wave of sobs shook her, and I watched as Emmy moved over and sat down beside the distraught mother, slipping an arm around her shoulders and gently murmuring to her.

‘We have the best in security here, Mrs Reilly. Please do not worry. We will find your Leeza, I promise you.’ Emmy looked up at the three men, making a swift motion with her head. They turned and left without a word, and I marveled at the control Emmy exhibited even under duress. She was indeed a force to be reckoned with, and I was suddenly confident in her promise to find and return the missing child.

I hesitantly approached Mrs Reilly, stopping just short of the arbor’s shade. I wanted to be helpful, to show Emmy that I could be depended upon in a crisis, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what to do. I’m known for engaging my mouth before my brain, though, and what I blurted out proved this beyond all doubt. ‘Mrs Reilly, could I get you a cookie?’

Emmy craned her neck to look at me, and instead of the rebuke I expected, she merely replied, ‘That is a wonderful idea, AJ. Perhaps a couple of our freshest cookies and a cup of tea would be in order. Mrs Reilly,’ she said softly to the woman who now quietly sobbed into a wad of tissue, ‘Let AJ escort you back to your suite. She will stay with you until we find your little girl.’

Well. That went much better than I had planned. In reality, I didn’t
have
a plan until Emmy spoke up. I smiled down at Mrs Reilly and extended a hand to help her to her feet. Without a word, she allowed herself to be guided back to her room. I called room service for a plate of assorted cookies and a pot of hot tea, and I spent the next few moments sitting next to her on the sofa, patting her hand as we waited for the goodies to be delivered.

The only time I could recall a child being lost was when my cousin Edmond, Ellie’s older brother, got lost in the local Walmart. It was actually his fault, though; he’d been playing hide and seek with Ellie, hiding among the round clothes racks that stood clustered throughout the store. Aunt Amie had wandered on, intent on her list and baby Brody, only half paying attention to the number of children following in her wake. And, just like that, Ed was lost as a goose.

We still tease him about the fit he threw when he realized that his mama had left him behind. Ellie, giggling too much to be of any help, couldn’t remember the last place she’d seen her brother. When a grumpy store employee, Ed dragging behind her like a recalcitrant puppy, found my near-hysterical aunt, only five minutes had expired. Being lost in the wilds of Walmart was nothing, though, compared to what Mrs Reilly was going through.

A soft tap at the suite’s door heralded the arrival of the tea and cookies, and I rose to answer. I was grateful for something to do; sitting still and not talking isn’t one of my strong points. The young maid who stood there with the tray didn’t bother to hide her curiosity. She gazed past me to stare at the distraught woman on the couch; the news had obviously reached the kitchen. I moved to my left, effectively blocking the view as I took the tray from her.

Mrs Reilly accepted a cup of tea from me and placed it on the table without taking a sip. A warm peanut-butter cookie, though, disappeared quickly. Good sign, I thought, munching my own soft oatmeal raisin. In my opinion, sugar in any form is a sure-fire cure for anxiety, and we certainly could use a dose or two right about then.

Another soft tap sounded and Mrs Reilly instantly stiffened, dropping the remainder of her cookie on the table beside the tea. I stood to my feet, ready to answer the door, but it was flung open before I could get there.

Emmy Ruiz, a sheen of sweat across her forehead, stood holding the hand of a confused-looking little girl, still clad in her princess-patterned nightgown.

Behind her stood a man – Mr Reilly, I presumed – a smile almost splitting his face in two.

Mrs Reilly gave a strangled cry then leapt to her feet, pushing past me and kneeling down on the floor, taking her daughter into her arms. It was a sight fit for a greeting card or a TV commercial, and I slipped past the family reunion and out to the hallway.

A few minutes later, Emmy and I settled ourselves at her desk in the main lobby, the ubiquitous cookies and a pitcher of ice water waiting for us. As joyful as I felt, I noticed Emmy wasn’t responding the way I thought she would. I mean, finding a lost child is momentous, and I expected to hear an excited version of how Leeza had been recovered, of the heroic efforts of the security team. Instead, Emmy sat looking at the desk top, not saying a word.

‘Emmy?’

She looked up at me, and I could see signs of something – anxiety, or worry, or something more unpleasant – on her face. Things were definitely not right at the Miramar.

‘Emmy?’ I repeated her name, reaching over to touch her shoulder. ‘What’s happened?’

She sighed. ‘The men, when they found Leeza, they also found …’ Her voice broke off and she dropped her gaze back to her cupped hands as though she’d find the rest of her sentence hiding there. She took a deep breath. ‘They found someone else.’

I was a tad confused. Somehow I’d gotten the idea that finding people was a
good
thing, but Emmy was acting like something terrible had happened. My puzzlement must have been evident, and she continued, her eyes looking somberly into mine.

‘The person they found, the man – they found him just lying there. Dead.’

It took a moment for that to sink in. A body. A dead body. Not too far from where I sat now, inhaling the scent of freshly baked cookies and basking in the glow of doing a good deed so early in the day.

I gulped hard, trying to think of something comforting to say. The look on Emmy’s face, though, said it all: something was really wrong here.

Chapter Three

I honestly had no response to Emmy’s statement. The idea that someone had been lying dead not too far from my immediate location gave me the willies, even worse than the time that Ellie slipped a piece of ice down my back during a school assembly. (And then acted all innocent while I was hauled out by the arm, marched to the Principal’s office, and read the riot act about interrupting school functions.)

To my credit, I kept my mouth firmly closed. I’ve never liked that gaping fish look some folks get when ambushed with unpleasant news. Instead, I tried to wrap my mind around the situation, attempting to come up with a nugget of wisdom that would take Emmy’s worried look away.

‘Do they have any idea who he is? I mean, was he …’ I left the unspoken words hanging in mid-air, but Emmy, bless her heart, finished my awkward question with her answer.

‘No, he wasn’t, at least not that we know of, AJ. We’ve gone over the guest list and can’t find a man staying here alone, and no one has reported a missing husband or boyfriend yet, so we can assume he is not one of ours.’ She gave a wry smile, taking a sip from her glass and setting it back on the desk.

I had to think about that one for a minute or two. It made sense, in a roundabout fashion, but then again, just how many murderous spouses or girlfriends would call up the front desk to admit losing someone? Probably no one I knew, except maybe David’s wife, but that was another story entirely.

‘Unless,’ I offered, reaching out for another of those marvelous cookies, ‘He was killed off by said girlfriend or wife and she hasn’t gotten around to admitting anything yet.’

Emmy looked up sharply at me, an expression I couldn’t quite identify on her face. Was it something I’d said? She smiled at me then, and I wondered if I had perhaps misread her.

‘Now that would be very interesting, wouldn’t it?’ She stood to her feet stretching her arms above her head and giving her back a little twist. ‘Ah. That’s better. Now I need to meet with the detectives and reassure them that this dead man is not ours. Why don’t you check out the resort while I take care of that?’ She smiled at me then exited the lobby, heading, I presumed, to wherever the detectives were waiting.

I certainly did not need another invitation to stroll through paradise. I picked up two more cookies – pecan chocolate chip and a cinnamon-laced snickerdoodle – before heading out. I never knew when I’d need some more nourishment of the sugary kind.

The sun had moved closer to its noon position in the azure sky, but it still felt fresh. I loved the breeze that came in from the ocean; I even liked the faintly fishy smell. It reminded me of the many trips to the beach we took when I was a child, spending long days scouring the sands for broken bits of shell and, if lucky, a starfish or two. I had kept a collection of those treasures in a mason jar beside my bed, and it retained its seaside smell for a long time after.

At first, I wandered about somewhat aimlessly. The Miramar Resort wasn’t a wide piece of property, but it stretched out lengthwise for a ways. The main building sat front and center, of course, and in the daylight I could see several other structures standing on either side. Conference rooms and the like, I presumed, remembering from the brochure that in addition to family-centered vacations, it also provided space for meetings and banquets.

After about fifteen minutes of this, I stopped in the shade of a vine-covered arbor, twin to the one near the dining room’s patio. I was getting a bit warm in the sunshine, blaming the heat rather than the unaccustomed exercise, and had just about decided to end my tour when movement near the front of the property caught my eye. From my vantage point, it looked like a monstrous creature, two-headed and many-limbed, and it was heading for the main lobby’s entrance.

Not one to be left out of any excitement (in a small town like mine you take it where you can get it), I walked as quickly as I could without being obvious about my target. I really didn’t want others to think of me as the resident Nosey Nellie. At least not until I
truly
deserved it.

The lobby seemed to be the epicenter of whatever was happening. I spotted Emmy near her desk, standing straight and speaking calmly with two men wearing what I thought of as ‘detective casual’: Khaki pants paired with short-sleeved polo shirts. The dead giveaway, however, were the badges swinging from around their necks and the pistols holstered at their sides. Hmm. This was beginning to look like more than a mere body find, and I edged closer, skirting the lobby’s perimeter with a stealth that would have amazed Ellie. (In my clan, I have the misfortune to be saddled with the nickname of ‘Grace’. I don’t possess an ounce of the stuff, hence the sobriquet.)

From where I stood, I could tell that Emmy wasn’t as self-possessed as she wanted to appear. The tenseness of her neck and shoulders was a dead giveaway, and the line of concern that had manifested itself between her brows put punctuation to the matter. Esmeralda Ruiz was worried.

I managed to catch her attention, giving her a friendly wave of my fingers, just as the nearer of the two detectives turned around and caught me in mid-waggle. I froze, then dropped the offending appendages to my side. What was it about seeing an officer of the law that set off my guilt alarms? All I had done was wave to a friend, and I felt like I’d just tried to send her a secret message telling her to run for it.

Thankfully, Emmy – once again – saved my bacon. She smiled in my direction, motioning me over to her side.

‘Gentlemen, this is AJ Burnette, my assistant. I’m sure she’d love to answer any questions you might have for her, although I must warn you she only arrived last night.’ Emmy leaned over and gave my shoulders a light squeeze, then continued. ‘I cannot imagine what she must think of us. We do not usually have such goings-on at the Miramar.’

‘I would hope not,’ said Detective Baird dryly (I could read his name on the official-looking ID that was clipped to his polo’s collar.) ‘If you don’t mind, Miss Burnette, I’ve got just a few quick questions and then we’ll be out of your hair.’

He smiled down at me and I stared in fascination at the lone dimple that popped up out of nowhere. Well, technically it was in his left cheek, but his stern demeanor had managed to keep that little quirk under wraps.

I dragged my eyes upward, and I could see amusement in his baby blues. I felt myself blushing, and I knew it wouldn’t be a dainty hint of color in my cheeks, either. I tend to do things a bit over the top, and my blushes are no exception.

Now that I thought about it, even David had never managed to elicit such a blush. In fact, I couldn’t recall a single time when he made me feel anything more than just a mite past ordinary. Even his eyes were nothing to write home about. David’s eyes were hazel. No, wait – they were brown. I almost lost track of what I was doing at that moment, so amazed was I at the trouble I had even recalling something as simple as his eye color. Maybe I
was
beginning to get over the cad. Ellie would be so pleased.

‘AJ?’ Emmy’s face swam in to focus in front of me, and I saw that she had that concerned look again. She was probably wondering what kind of a nutcase she’d hired.

‘Yes. I mean, no.’ I said, sounding as confused as I felt. ‘No, I do mean yes.’

Fabulous. I was sounding a mite
loca,
as the locals would say. I could see Detective Baird had guessed the reason behind my discomfort or, at least, I thought he had. Why else would he flip on the dimple switch again?

Emmy’s hand tightened a bit on my shoulders. I could tell she thought that she had a loony tune on her hands. I needed to dispel that idea but quickly.

I managed to let out a laugh. Mind you, it sounded more like a cat with its tail caught in a screen door than the delicate tinkle I might have preferred, but it served its purpose. Emmy’s hand relaxed and Detective Baird tucked the devastating dimple away for another time. It was all business now.

‘Do you mind …?’ I indicated a trio of chairs clustered together for a cozy chat near a window. ‘I need to sit down for a moment.’ Let them think I was a silly female with “the vapors”, as my Grandma
Tillie
might say. I really
was
tired from the unfamiliar exercise I’d just had. Walking in sand can be tough work on underused calf muscles.

Baird nodded and I led the way, taking the chair that faced away from the window and towards Emmy’s desk. Apparently, Baird had the same idea (you know what they say about great minds and all that jazz) and moved his chair next to mine, both of us looking at Emmy now. I supposed that was to keep us from exchanging secret signals or something sinister like that. After all, he
had
caught me waggling my fingers at her.

‘Let’s begin with the time you arrived last night.’ This was from the other detective, the one who had left his chair quite alone and was sitting with his back to Emmy but facing me head-on.

I squinted to read his badge (I hate to admit that my eyes are less than perfect, not wanting to mar my visage with clunky frames). Without changing his expression – and thankfully not having a dimple to flash – he flipped his ID around and held it so I could see it. Through slightly scrunched eyes I managed to see the words ‘Detective Fischer’ and I blushed again, but this time squelched it in mid-spread. All I needed was another dimple episode, courtesy of Detective Baird.

I wrinkled my forehead in a show of concentration. I am a great believer in expressive body language, so I figured if I looked like I was thinking, they’d make this quick.

‘It was just after seven – no, it was already eight. That’s right. I noticed the time when I pulled into the Miramar. I wanted to call Ellie and tell her how long it took me to get here.’ I was babbling. I also believe wholeheartedly in the theory that if you give someone enough rope, or in my case, words, they’ll hang themselves. I was doing a beautiful job of tying knots at the moment.

Detective Baird had stopped making marks in his little notebook. I was either holding the man in complete thrall, or else he was assessing my mental health. I had a sneaking suspicion which one it was, which threatened to begin the whole blushing thing all over again.

‘Was it seven or eight? We need you to be as specific as you can be, OK?’ He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I managed a quick peek out of the corner of my eye and noticed the way his hair had curled behind his ears and over his collar.

Get a grip, AJ, I sternly admonished myself. This interview would turn disastrous but quick if I kept letting my mind wander over Detective Baird the way I had strolled around the Miramar.

‘Eight. Definitely eight. I left home at noon and it took eight hours to get here, just like Ellie said it would, so that’s why …’ I left the sentence unfinished, feeling, rather than seeing, Baird’s shoulders tense as I stepped off the conversational path once more.

‘OK. Eight it is.’ This came from Detective Fischer. I turned to face him, glad for a reason to focus on someone else for a change. If this little
tête-à-tête
lasted much longer, I’d be checking out Baird’s ring finger as well.