Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (14 page)

His malevolent gleam made her answer carefully. “Sure, Jeffrey. I’ll let you know what I find, but I doubt Andrew’s loot really exists. I think Polly made up the whole
megillah
just to rile everyone.”

“Or to draw us together, that being her aim this weekend.”

Hadn’t Polly said she wanted to make amends? Marla had never found out what she meant. Had she been referring to Ruth’s falling-out with her sister and brothers? But their Colorado relatives seemed oblivious to any schism. Marla would have to probe deeper into their family history to learn what had prompted Polly’s remark.

“Dalton is waiting for me, so I can’t waste time,” she told her cousin-by-marriage. “Excuse me, Jeff.”

“Polly’s door is the third on the left, past her parents’ suites. Want me to keep you company?”

She narrowed her gaze. The man seemed in no hurry to leave. “No thanks, I’m sure Lori is expecting you.”
Not that you care about your wife
. Jabbing the elevator button to summon the lift, she waited until he’d begun his descent before rushing down the hallway.

Now, where might Polly have hidden her letters? Why did they matter to Vincent, whoever he was?

She surmised it had been Ruth’s decision to move everyone to the twelfth floor after Andrew died. Perhaps Ruth suspected the gems were somewhere in the penthouse, and she didn’t want the children disrupting things while she searched for them. It was even likely she had found his stash and used it to support herself and the family. But wouldn’t she have shared that find with Polly, her eldest?

Having identified Polly’s room without any trouble, Marla stepped inside—then stopped in shock. Drawers were spilled open. Clothing was piled on the closet floor. On the dresser, tracks showed through coatings of dust. Had Jeff searched through her aunt’s belongings here as well as in her room downstairs? He couldn’t have been looking for the treasure. They all knew Polly didn’t have it. The only thing he could’ve been looking for were her letters…or possibly the old lady’s will. But why would he care? A nagging memory surfaced, and Marla recalled smelling lilacs in her aunt’s room. Of course. Brownie favored lilac scent.

So was Brownie spying for Jeff, and not Mr. Butler? Were Jeff and Brownie working together for some reason that Mulch considered trouble? As her theories expanded, Marla felt her blood chill. Was Jeff responsible for the old man’s vanishing act?

I know who you are
. Mulch’s words repeated themselves in her mind. She’d have to ask Anita what she knew of his background.

Marla regarded the task before her with slumped shoulders. She didn’t have time now for a thorough search. Glancing at her watch, she noted the dial read twelve-thirty. As though she and Vail had a mental link, her cell phone rang and his voice greeted her.

“I’ll be there shortly,” she said. “Save me a chair.”

“Where are you?”

He’d be angry if she told him. “I’m, uh, on my way.” She hung up before he could worm the truth from her.

Polly must have stored her recyclables here, Marla figured, discovering a collection of metal lids from coffee cans, washed plastic containers from ready-made puddings, foam trays from the supermarket, and scraps of aluminum foil. Empty jars took up an entire shelf in the closet, where clothing no longer in style hung inside out on dusty hangers. Marla rifled through the garments, checking pockets but finding nothing except shredded tissues. She came across a pile of monogrammed handkerchiefs, reminiscent of a lifestyle full of tea parties, formal courtships, and calling cards.

Her back aching, she got a whiff of mothballs from a woolen blanket and stifled a sneeze. A dress bag hung in a shadowed recess next to a crocheted shawl, but she’d search them later.

Straightening her shoulders, she retreated into the room to yank open the drapes. There, now she could see better. After flicking off the flashlight, she rifled through each drawer in the mirrored dressing table and then in the oak dresser. Under a pile of full-length folded slips was an ivory silk negligee. She lifted it with reverence, amazed Polly had ever possessed such a delicate item. Spaghetti straps led to a plunging neckline edged in lace. The gown must have belonged to her aunt when she was younger, and taller, before osteoporosis had shrunk her size.
It looks like something a woman would wear on her wedding night.
Could her spinster aunt have taken a lover? This would have been so out of character for Polly that Marla stood as though hypnotized at the thought, fingering the silk fabric.

Aware that she was overdue to meet Vail, she replaced the nightgown in its drawer. Then she spotted an empty cereal box stuffed with papers on the night table. Maybe the letters were in there! Her excitement waned, though, as she sifted through grocery coupons, empty junk mail envelopes, and outdated financial statements.

Maybe Jeffrey had taken the letters, if her aunt had hidden them here. Marla didn’t want to acknowledge the likelihood that she’d been duped, and that Polly had sent her on a wild goose chase with her senile ramblings.

Wait a minute. If Polly wanted to leave someone a clue, what might she have done?

Instinct propelled Marla back to the closet, where she stared at the flowered print blouses, straight skirts, and shift dresses. Her gaze meandered downward. Nestled on a floorboard was an old blanket.

Wrinkling her nose at the musty smell, she dragged it out and spread it on Polly’s faded bedspread. Nothing fell from its folds except clouds of dust that made her sneeze repeatedly.

She glanced up when a breeze ruffled the window curtains—except there was no breeze. The windows were closed, and minimal air-conditioning kept the premises dry. Her skin prickled. Did she sense another presence?

Something crashed inside the closet. She shrieked, jumping in alarm. “What’s that? Is anyone there?”

Her heart pounding, she approached, only to give a sigh of relief. A plastic hanger had broken, its pieces strewn beneath the dress bag.
Fool, you ‘re imagining ghosts again
. If there were any spooks around, it was Polly trying to help her.

Stooping forward, Marla unzipped the garment bag and pried open its edges. Her jaw dropped as she eyed the contents. It held a two-piece ivory suit: a ruffled jacket with seed pearls and rhinestones and a lined satin skirt. The size eight looked as though it would fit her perfectly.
This has to be a wedding outfit
, Marla concluded, adding the silk negligee to her equation. Did Anita know about this? Maybe viewing the bridal ensemble would jar her mother’s memories.

Of all her aunt’s possessions, these were the only things Marla would have liked to keep for herself, partly out of honor to her aunt, but also because she didn’t want such beautiful clothes to go to waste. People used to preserve evening gowns in trunks to pass on to the next generation. Polly’s suit and nightgown were almost new, and Marla’s pride wouldn’t be lessened if she wore them. She’d consider them her legacy.

Something brushed her cheek in a gentle caress. Marla jerked back with a gasp. A strong impression filtered into her mind that she wasn’t alone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw a brief image of Polly, whose smiling face glowed with health.

Mumbling a quick prayer for her aunt, she blinked. The musty atmosphere must be getting to her. Suddenly eager to leave, she snatched the silk gown and fitted it on a hanger. If she hung the negligee with the suit, she’d remember to retrieve the items later. But as she jostled the nightgown inside the confined space, its trailing hem snagged on a cardboard insert at the bottom of the dress bag.

“We don’t need that,” she said aloud, tossing the piece of cardboard aside.

Her eyes widened.

At the very bottom of the garment bag lay a banded packet of letters.

Marla found Vail chomping on an apple when she arrived at the beach. He reclined on a chaise lounge, part of a double set separated by a slatted wooden shelf. An umbrella provided shade, which helped cool the two gaily decorated lunch cartons propped on the divider. Laughter from other beachgoers receded into the background as she kicked off her sandals. Her feet sank into the warm sand.

Tossing her beach bag to the foot of her chair, she shaded her eyes from the water sparkling on the ocean. A briny breeze blew her way. Like many fellow Floridians, she rarely went to the shore when home, and even now she felt restless. Maybe it just wasn’t her nature to be idle.

“You’re late,” Vail said between bites, his expression hidden behind dark sunglasses.

Removing her terry cloth robe, Marla sank onto the chair and dragged her bag closer. Nestled under her towel were the valuable papers she had discovered. She’d have been stupid to leave Polly’s letters in their room. ‘That’s because I made an important find. How come you weren’t worried about me?” Forty-five minutes had passed since his phone call.

“I was busy talking to Champagne.” Lifting his shades, he regarded her clearly. His gray eyes were thoughtful. “She told me some interesting things. What did you learn?”

Marla’s stomach growled, and she realized how ravenous she was. “You first,” she said, bursting to tell him her news but needing sustenance first. She opened her box and examined the contents: cold fried chicken, containers of coleslaw and potato salad, chips, a shiny red apple, and a giant chocolate chip cookie. Ordinary, but welcome. “What’s to drink?”

Vail reached behind his chair for a large sack. While she munched on a chicken wing, he placed two wine goblets on the platform between their chairs and opened a half bottle of chardonnay. “We’re on vacation,” he explained, grinning.

“I need to keep my wits about me,” Marla protested, taking a sip nonetheless. The fruity liquid slid down her throat.

“Don’t worry. If you become sloshed, I’ll carry you back to our room.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you know where George Butler worked before he took this position?”

Marla spotted her mother strolling with Aunt Selma and waved, hoping they wouldn’t come over. “No. Where?”

“He helped create behind-the-scenes special effects at an Orlando theme park and slipped into hotel management by accident. The consortium that owns this resort was looking for an applicant with experience in the hospitality field but also someone who could utilize its rich history to draw guests. Butler had an engineering degree, but he’d minored in hospitality.”

Crunching on a potato chip, Marla raised an eyebrow. “He used to be an Imagineer? That could explain why some of these ghostly experiences seem so real.”

She reflected on the rides at Walt Disney World, in particular the one in Tomorrowland where visitors felt as though a vicious alien creature scurried behind their backs. She’d actually felt a crawling sensation along her spine. Then there was the aroma of burning wood in the scene showing the fall of ancient Rome on Spaceship Earth. Were they dealing with something similar here? “Do you think the weird incidents are all faked? If so, why would Butler hire Spector’s team?”

“To show that he believed the tales were true.”

“But Dr. Spector says he’s found evidence of spirits.”

“His claims could reflect what he’s been paid to say.” Vail swallowed a big gulp of wine, then put his glass back on the wood platform. “Consider this: accidents plague the labor force, who are a superstitious lot. Blaming the problems on spooks takes the heat off the real cause.”

Licking the salty residue on her lips, Marla regarded him. “And that is?”

He shrugged. She’d been trying to ignore his physique, but that gesture drew her gaze to his bare chest and wide shoulders. She drank in the sight of his contoured muscles before her attention wandered to his black swim trunks. Was the wine affecting her, or did merely looking at him have the power to stir her blood?

“Something odd is going on around here,” Vail replied, snapping her back to mental acuity. “I have a hunch your Aunt Polly found out about it.”

“Speaking of my aunt, I discovered her—”

“How are you, dearies?” sang out Wanda Beake. The large woman blocked the afternoon sun as she rooted herself in front of Marla’s lounge chair. A whiff of coconut oil drifted from her presence. Seagulls flirted with one another in the distance, their raucous cries drowned out by the giggling of a crowd of teenagers.

Squinting, Marla wished she’d brought a hat. Wanda wore a wide-brimmed straw creation decorated with a persimmon ribbon. Her Hawaiian muumuu stretched over her generous bosom. ‘This lunch just hit the spot,” Marla said. “My Aunt Polly would have enjoyed it. I feel bad that she isn’t here to join us.”

“Such a pity. I heard how the old lady organized this reunion. She’d want you to have a good time, you know. I’ll bet you don’t see your family members all that often, do you?”

“Not everyone.”

“I noticed one of your cousins talking to the chef. They seem to be quite friendly. I hope Brownie isn’t filling his head with wild stories. Ha ha.” Her snicker seemed as false as her smile.

“You must mean Jeffrey. We’re related by marriage. His wife, Lori, is my first cousin.”

“The man gets around. I saw him in close conversation with Donna Albright earlier. It seems he has an eye for the ladies. You should tell your cousin to rein him in.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.” What was he talking about with the city councilwoman? And why was Wanda keeping watch on him? “Come to think of it, I don’t see Lori around.” Scanning the beach, she identified people from her clan, but couldn’t locate Joan and Julia’s sister.

“Maybe she’s out shelling. We’re offering a prize for the person who brings in the largest whelk, but it has to be completely intact. There’s a chart by the rental booth if you don’t know what to look for. Check in at the cabana by three o’clock and you’ll have a chance to enter.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ll look for Lori while we’re searching for shells. Where did you see Jeff last?” Marla would just as soon take a walk, than broil in the sun.

Wanda gestured down the beach to one side. The opposite end stopped at a cluster of mangroves that bordered the nature center. “I ran into him on that trail through the Australian pines. You know, the path that leads from the cisterns and old sugar mill to the shore. Go past the rental booth and banana boats and you’ll find it.”

“The volleyball court is in that direction,” Vail interrupted. “Isn’t there a game this afternoon?”

“At two o’clock.” Glancing at her watch, Wanda raised her eyebrows. “Actually, it should be starting shortly, luv. Oh look, I see a roseate spoonbill. Will you look at that!” Raising the pair of binoculars hanging from her neck to her eyes, she hastened off.

After Marla finished her meal and they’d disposed of their trash, she and Vail headed south. Marla kept her sandals on, the sand being too hot for her bare feet. She’d slung her bag over her shoulder while Vail used his towel to protect his back from the rays. Her shoes sank into the sand as they marched forward.

“Have you gotten the results on Polly’s autopsy yet?”

“It’s a holiday weekend. I don’t know if their lab is open. I thought I’d call later, but we may not know anything until next week.”

“Ma can’t plan a memorial service until the body is released.”

“I know. Didn’t you have something to tell me?”

She patted her beach bag. “I found Polly’s letters. Would you believe they were at the bottom of a garment bag in her closet on the twelfth floor? And you’ll never guess what was inside on a hanger: a bridal outfit. I can’t wait to read these to see what they say, but I didn’t want to be late in meeting you. Silly me, I thought you might get worried.”

His eyes gleamed as he removed his sunglasses. “If you hadn’t shown up, I would have come after you. This place isn’t as idyllic as we’d imagined.”

“No kidding.” She kicked at a patch of dead seaweed. “It seems as though we can’t go anywhere without something bad happening.”

“I’ll make sure nothing disrupts our honeymoon. And when will that be?”

Now wasn’t the time to analyze why the mention of nuptials threw her into a panic. “We’ll check our calendars when we get home,” she hedged.

“Fine, but I intend to pin you to a date.” His brow wrinkled. “Where did you say you found Polly’s letters?”

Tilting her head, she pointed toward the surf. “Later. Lori and Jeff are down by the water.”

Her cousins were engaged in conversation as she and Vail approached from their rear. Lori wore a one-piece black swimsuit with iridescent diagonal stripes. Jeff’s swim trunks barely covered his essentials.

“I should’ve known you couldn’t do anything right,” Jeff was saying, testing his feet in the ocean.

“I’m just not as enthralled by this treasure hunt as you are,” his wife retorted. Copper highlights glinted in her hair, wind-tossed into an unruly bob.

“I told you the floors don’t add up. I’ve ridden the tower elevator four times now, and each time my measurements of the intervals are the same. It takes longer to go from the twelfth to the fourteenth floor than between any other levels.”

“Isn’t the penthouse closed to visitors?” Lori said.

“Oleander Hall is off-limits due to safety reasons, but no one is restricted from the tower. The rooms aren’t available to guests, although I don’t know why. They’re still furnished.”

“Probably renovations are needed to modernize the plumbing and so forth. What makes you think the treasure might be hidden there? That wasn’t our assigned spot to look.”

“Are you always such a Girl Scout, to follow the rules? It’s logical that she’d hide something valuable in her former suite.”

“She? You mean Andrew. Ruth never found the source of his wealth or the family would know about it.”

“Oh, right.” Jeff snorted. “I just wish they’d rip the whole place down so they could restore the original plantation buildings. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about certain…past events.”

Blatantly eavesdropping behind their backs, Marla stared at Vail. Was Jeff advocating the demolishment of the hotel in favor of a theme park? She’d thought he supported remodeling the place.

“You’re getting enough money from your mother,” Lori said in a scathing tone. “After all, you and your sister are heirs to her fortune. I don’t understand why you’re so intent on searching for valuables that you don’t need and that may not exist. You’re wasting our time.”

“Let me be the judge of what I’m doing.
You
should spend more hours in the gym. Get rid of those extra pounds you’re accumulating. Didn’t I tell you to lay off the desserts? You can’t even wear a two-piece swimsuit any more. Look at you,” he said, making a disdainful gesture.

Lori turned away, coming face-to-face with Marla.

“Hi,” Marla said weakly, warm embarrassment flooding her. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”

Her cousin’s lower lip trembled. “Walk with me, please.”

Marla flashed Vail a signal, then fell into place beside her cousin, who began trudging back toward the crowded beachfront

“Is your husband always such a miserable lout?” Marla couldn’t help asking. “I hope you don’t believe those things he just said.”

Lori bent her head. “I’ve offered to give him a divorce, but he won’t cooperate. I don’t know why, when he’s so unhappy with me.” A single tear trickled down her cheek.

“Is it true that he’s rich?”

“His mother’s family comes from wealth. He’ll inherit his portion someday. That doesn’t give him the excuse to act like God’s gift to womankind.”

Marla veered around a bluish blob that looked suspiciously like a dead jellyfish. Hot sand scrunched between her toes. “Why don’t you leave him?”

“It isn’t so simple. This resort…We’ve been here before. I think he’s looking for something other than Andrew’s precious gems.”

Like Polly’s letters, or the documents detailing the hotel sale
? Did Jeff hope his wife would inherit property? That could give him a reason for not getting a divorce, except it didn’t make sense if he had enough money of his own. No, there had to be another reason why he hung around and had enlisted Brownie on his side.

Those letters could hold the answers to many of her questions. She had to get away to read them. With that in mind, Marla murmured some encouraging words to her cousin before venturing off on her own. Since they hadn’t signed up for the shopping trip to St. Armand’s Circle in Sarasota that afternoon, she figured she should have some uninterrupted free time as long as Vail kept himself occupied.

Heading for the formal garden by the conservatory, Marla decided she didn’t trust their bedroom, where doors unlocked by themselves and possessions shifted places in her absence. She’d rather remain outdoors in the fresh sea air.

Spying a stone bench bordered by tall hedges that would hide her from view, she donned a T-shirt from her bag. Her skin felt gritty with sweat and sand, but the shady location and light breeze should bring a measure of comfort. She draped her towel over the hard seat before sinking down. Withdrawing the packet from her bag, she grimaced when its elastic band crumbled into bits upon touch. Carefully, she fingered the brown edges of the envelopes in her lap. Postmark dates were still visible. She picked the earliest, dated May 1943, and opened it.

Polly

Marla frowned. Who the devil was Vincent? Obviously, he’d had some kind of relationship with Polly until something happened that resulted in his departure. Maybe he’d worked on the plantation for her father. That would account for his words against Andrew. Did he leave around the time of Andrew’s death?