A Rose From the Dead (19 page)

“Well…how about to hand over her blackmail evidence for a final payoff?”

“It’s possible,” he said slowly. “I suppose Sybil could have arranged a business meeting rather than a tryst. But then wouldn’t she have taken the tape with her?”

“Not if she was smart. And there’s still the whole clothes-on-the-dummy joke. A blackmail victim wouldn’t kill her, then advertise it.”

“So much of this doesn’t add up. Maybe once we see this Beta video we’ll have some answers.”

“Or we can get the guilty party to confess.” I checked my watch. “We’ve got a little more than two hours until the exhibitors begin to pack up and leave. What should we focus on first?”

“Billingsworth.” As Marco strode ahead to open the door, he muttered, “He has a lot of explaining to do.”

“Wait, Marco. What about the casket races? They started at two o’clock. Shouldn’t we try to catch Ross there before we go after the colonel? I’m afraid the Urbans will leave the convention after the races are over.”

He paused with his hand on the door handle. “We’d better split up, then. I’ll track down Billingsworth, and you see what you can find out from Ross.”

“I wish I could think of some ingenious way to trick him into telling me what happened.”

“You could always resort to flattery.”

“Flattery didn’t work on his brother. I’m thinking a scare tactic would be better. I should have hung on to Sybil’s wig. I’ll bet seeing me in that would shock him.”

“Flirt with him. You’re good at flirting.”

“Really?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “What else am I good at?”

We heard footsteps coming down the steps, so Marco said, “We can discuss that later. Let’s reconnoiter in half an hour at your booth.”

He pulled open the door and we stepped into the lobby. “Half an hour,” he reminded me, tapping his watch.

Suddenly we heard someone shout, “Marco!”

We both turned—I had to rise on tiptoe—and saw Reilly making his way toward us. Instantly, I ducked down and grabbed Marco’s sleeve. “I can’t let Reilly see me. What should I do?”

“Why don’t you want him to see you?”

“Hello-o-o. Remember our fourth-floor break-in, and the witness who saw only one of us trying to get inside Sybil’s suite? Oh, damn. Here he comes. Don’t let him arrest me, okay?”

“Stay behind me.” Marco took a few steps to the left, close to where a group of people stood in a line for the shuttle service to the airport. “Okay,” he whispered, “see the bellboy with the luggage cart coming toward us? Keep low, circle around that line of people, and get behind the cart. You should be able to make an escape from that point.”

“Got it.” I didn’t have to duck down far to stay out of sight, so all it took was another sidestep or two before I was behind a big cart stacked high with suitcases and garment bags, being rolled toward the sliding glass entrance doors. I kept even with the cart, crouching behind the bags ignoring the quizzical glances from the bellboy. Once I was outside, I breathed a sigh of relief—until I saw a police car parked at the curb, and then I had a moment of panic and scooted off down the sidewalk, around to the back of the hotel.

Please don’t let him arrest me. Please don’t let him arrest me.

A
ccording to the signboard I’d seen on Saturday, the casket races were supposed to take place in the rear parking lot. The only thing wrong with that was that the parking lot was full of automobiles. Surely someone had foreseen that possibility before they set the race’s location, or had I been mistaken? I pulled out my cell phone and called Lottie.

“Hey, sweetie, where are you?”

“In the parking lot behind the hotel, trying to find the casket races.”

“Hold on while I check the flyer. One of the Urbans came around with them earlier. By the way, did your mom reach you? She called me several times trying to track you down.”

That would teach me to ignore my phone calls. “I haven’t talked to Mom today.”

“I reminded her that you were at a convention, but she still wants to hear from you. I didn’t say a word about you and Marco investigating the murder.”

“Good thinking. All she needs is another reason to worry.”

“Are you in the east parking lot, behind the conference center? That’s where the races are.”

Oops. I was in the west lot. I shaded my eyes as I tried to figure out the quickest way to reach the other side. Because of the lay of the land, it appeared I had to make a choice: either backtrack around to the front of the hotel—where I might be spotted by the eagle-eyed Reilly—and continue up the sidewalk toward the conference center, then circle around behind it, or take a shortcut across the lot where I now stood and cut through a lovely wooded nature preserve to reach the far side.

That was a no-brainer. I began to wend my way through the rows of vans and cars to reach the woods. “So, other than my mom calling, what’s going on there, Lottie?”

“Same ol’, same ol’, only less of it.”

“Is Grace back from her coffee date yet?”

“She came back and took off again, saying she had to do some more investigating. She seemed excited.”

Clearly, Grace was on to something. “Did she tell you anything about her conversation with the colonel?”

“Nope. She’s being very tight-lipped about it. You know how Grace can be.”

“Yeah. Mum’s the word.”

“You know, I’ve always liked that saying.”

“It’s the flower reference.”

“That’s it.”

“Have you seen the colonel?”

“Not for a long while, why?”

“Marco had a—um—question for him.” I didn’t want to say anything more because I didn’t want Lottie reporting back to Grace what we had found out. The wily Brit wasn’t the only one who could be tight-lipped.

I stepped off the asphalt and into the woodland that spread over two acres and extended north to the sand dunes that bordered Lake Michigan. I stuck close to the southern edge, where the brush wasn’t as high, crunching through a thick carpet of dry leaves made by the black walnut, sugar maple, white oak, cottonwood, and beech trees that were native to the area. Green golf ball–sized walnut pods littered the ground, making a fast pace risky, which I learned when I stepped on one and skated a few feet before regaining my balance.

My phone beeped, signaling another caller. I checked the screen and saw the word
MOM
on it. “Lottie, my mom’s calling. I should be back there within half an hour.”

“Is it okay if I start packing up? No one’s been down this way in a long time.”

“Be my guest. Thanks.” I switched to the waiting call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Abigail, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. First you didn’t show up for church today; then I saw the newspaper article about the murder at the Woodland Convention Center; then I heard from Lottie that you were there attending a conference at that very same place. Do you have any idea how upsetting it is to hear that my only daughter is at the scene of a murder?”

Would it have been less upsetting if she’d had two daughters? “Mom, there’s positively no reason to be upset. I’m not in any danger. Hey, you should be relieved I’m not lying in a ditch at the side of the road.”

“I don’t find that amusing,” she said in a hurt voice. “Do I make fun of your fear of clowns? You know I can’t help worrying about you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy today. I did tell you I was going to be here this weekend.”

“No, you didn’t.”

In the background I heard Dad say, “Yes, she did.”

There was a pause, and then Mom said in a hushed, anxious voice, “I think I’m losing my mind, Abigail.”

“You’re not losing your mind. It’s probably stress. Are you still worried about your gift for the baby shower?”

“I’ve been thinking about”—she sighed forlornly, as though she hated to finish the sentence—“buying a baby gift instead.”

“Really? That’s—too bad.” I’d nearly said
wonderful
but caught myself in time. “Why?”

“Remember the spider-plant pot I made last January? You sold it in the shop for me.”

Remember it? I’d tried my best to block it out. Her pot wasn’t so named because it was designed to hold spider plants. It actually
looked
like a giant, hairy-legged spider squatting on a table. “What about it?”

“A friend called to tell me that it’s being auctioned on eBay,” she said with a sob. “As a gag gift. I have to go now. Here’s your father.”

A gag gift? Poor Mom. She had to be feeling like a failure…. Dear God, had I inherited that trait?

“Hi, honey,” Dad said. “Sorry we interrupted your convention.” Then he whispered, “See what I mean about your mom?”

“She’s not morphing, Dad. She’s having a self-esteem crisis.” Not paying attention to where I was stepping, I nearly tripped on a rotted log. “I’ll call you later. I’m in the middle of something right now.” I closed the phone and slipped it in my pocket.

To get around the enormous trunk of a fallen tree, I had to go deeper into the woods, where the brush was dense and thorny branches plucked at my clothing. Wind gusts stirred the leaves beneath my boots. I didn’t have my jacket with me, and under the canopy of trees, away from the warmth of the sun, the air was chilly, so I held my arms close to my body to keep warm.

Hearing a twig snap, I looked back, but all I saw were two squirrels chasing each other up a tree. A mosquito buzzed around my head. “Get away!” I said, batting it. I watched it circle above me, and when it swooped in for a landing, I clapped my hands together and squashed the little devil. “You were warned,” I told the mangled bits in my palm, then crouched down to wipe the remains on dry leaves. Mosquitoes in October were just wrong.

I found a walking trail and followed it some distance until I realized it was going in the wrong direction, then stopped to get my bearings. Something crunched leaves behind me, and I turned with a jerk. The crunching instantly stopped. Was someone following me, or was it my imagination?

For a long moment I stood perfectly still, scanning the woods, but nothing moved. I started walking again, trying to make my footfalls as soft as possible, casting frequent glances over my shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was behind me.
This isn’t a horror movie, Abby. Little woodland creatures crunch leaves, too. Just keep moving.

I went a few yards, then paused—and heard that nerve-wracking crunch of leaves again. So I did what every woman would do in that situation. I ran, plowing through rough scrub and not caring about thorns or mosquitoes or branches that grabbed my hair. Ahead I could see the outer edge of a parking lot, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Almost there.

Snap. Crunch.

Damn, how I hated that noise. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a man dart behind a thick tree trunk. Okay,
that
wasn’t my imagination. Someone was definitely following me. Should I keep running or call his bluff? This time I chose the second option, since running through the woods hadn’t deterred him. Plus, I was close enough to the parking lot that I knew I could escape if I had to.

“I know you’re there,” I called, trying to sound brave. “Show yourself.”

When no one answered, I took out my cell phone and flipped it open. “Show yourself this minute,” I called. “I have my cell phone open and I’m about to dial 911.”

“Please don’t call the police.” A long, narrow face topped by wild gray curls peered out at me from behind an elm tree.

“Eli?”

He hesitated a moment, then stepped forward. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t meeting your boyfriend.”

“You should be sorry. That’s a horrible thing to do to somebody. Why couldn’t you have just called, ‘Hey, I need to talk to you’?”

“I was going to, but I got nervous. I’m not supposed to be on hotel property.” He picked his way toward me through the scrubby plants, slipping on a walnut, stopping to yank his burlap robe from the clutches of a thorny branch. “I really appreciated the legal advice you gave me yesterday. You’re the only one who seems to understand my cause. Everyone else acts like I’m some kind of circus act.”

Still not totally sure I could trust him, I closed my phone but didn’t put it away. “I don’t mean to offend you, Eli, but if you want to be taken seriously, you’re going to have to ditch the burlap robe and put on a business suit like the other men here.”

“Trust me, I’ve already gone that route,” he said with a sigh. “No one paid attention then, either.”

I glanced at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to be somewhere right now, so I don’t have a lot of time. What is it you want from me?”

“I need to get inside the convention center.”

“Eli, the cops took you away yesterday for sneaking inside. Why do you want to tempt fate? Besides, the conference is nearly over.”

“Oh, it’s not to promote my natural burials. You see, the police think I had something to do with Sybil Blount’s murder, so I have to convince them I’m innocent.”

“They suspect you because of the confrontation you had with her out front yesterday?”

“Well, that, and because I was hiding under a table when they found me. I told them it was their fault I was hiding, but they wouldn’t believe me. I even tried to explain about my burial bags. You’d think, being cops, they’d be grateful to know there were inexpensive choices, but they didn’t want to hear about it.”

“How will getting inside the convention center help you convince the police of your innocence?”

Eli sighed again, clearly exasperated. “If I can find the man I saw in the exhibition hall last night, he can prove I had nothing to do with Sybil’s death.”

“How can he prove that?”

“He’s the one who murdered Sybil.”