Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (18 page)

Marla nodded. “I gather Grandmother moved the family to the twelfth floor after some incident involving Vincent, but it’s likely Polly believed any remaining gemstones lay hidden among her father’s belongings. From Jasmine Hall she had easy access to the penthouse level.”

“You said his furnishings were untouched?”

“Right.” She wagged a finger. “I’ll bet Ruth preserved everything because she was searching for the stones, and that’s why Polly thought they must still exist. To my knowledge, no one’s discovered Andrew’s humidor yet. Maybe that’s where he hid them.”

A lock of hair tumbled across Vail’s forehead, giving him a rakish look. Marla resisted the temptation to fix his unruly locks and instead unfolded the next sheet.

“Sounds like Polly’s husband was a skunk who hoped to become rich through their marriage, and when he saw that wouldn’t happen, he assaulted her sister just for kicks.” Vail’s eyes smoldered.

“What an awful man. From her previous letters, I gather Vincent ran out on her afterward. Polly blamed herself, but I imagine she eventually got a divorce.” Shuffling through the letters, Marla was gratified to spot a couple of other legal documents. One was Polly and Vincent’s original marriage certificate. The other included a codicil to Polly’s will.

“Oh my,” Marla exclaimed upon reading the terms. Straightening her spine, she peered at Vail. ‘This cancels my brother’s loan in the event of her death.”

“What loan?”

She averted her gaze, studying the leafy pattern on the bedspread. “Michael lost money when the stock market plunged. He had to borrow to pay back his clients. I found the promissory note he’d made to Polly. He told me about it earlier, and he said he had a plan to fix things.”

“You don’t suppose—”

“No, Michael wouldn’t. I’ll bet he didn’t even know Polly made this codicil. Let’s go talk to him. He’ll be at the luau.”

“Better take those with you,” Vail said, indicating the documents. “Someone has access to these rooms. Maybe it isn’t Andrew’s treasure they’re looking for.”

Marla slid off the bed and proceeded to the dresser, where she’d laid out her jewelry. Putting her diamond studs in her ears, she considered his suggestion. “Suppose somebody is looking for Polly’s letters. Who else knows they exist?”

“Didn’t you tell your family about them?”

“I can’t remember. It might not be the letters they’re after anyway.”

“That leaves the will, codicil, and marriage certificate.”

A startling idea crossed her mind. “What if Polly never divorced? Wouldn’t Vincent be entitled to half her estate?”

“I don’t think so. She could have made a case against him for abandonment. Besides, she clearly leaves everything to you in her will. Aren’t her bank accounts in both your names?”

“That’s right, but Polly has some additional assets that will fall under her estate.”

“You can let the lawyers deal with it.”

Marla was grateful he didn’t ask how much Polly’s estate was worth. She wasn’t quite sure herself, when it all added up. She didn’t want to think about that now. Losing her aunt was still a fresh wound. “I wonder if she ever found Vincent again. Maybe the rest of these letters will tell us.”

“We don’t have time right now.” He gestured. “We’re late already.”

Gathering her purse, Marla stacked the papers together with a fresh rubber band and was about to stuff them deep inside her purse when she stopped. “You know, it might be safer to put these somewhere else.”

On his way to the door, Vail halted to glance back at her. “Why?”

“No one will mess with your stuff. You take them.”

He gave her a suspicious glare, as though pondering the different ways she might lose possession of her handbag. “There’s always the hotel safe.”

“Yeah, right. That would give George Butler carte blanche to acquire them.”

“I can’t imagine why he’d be interested in your aunt’s papers,” Vail said dryly in a tone that implied otherwise.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had a look around his office while he was out. I found the sale documents for the resort property, and it appears Ruth sold the place outright, with no strings attached. So there goes my theory about my family retaining part ownership of the resort. Butler also has a set of blueprints that show the secret passages and thirteenth floor.”

“Interesting.” Vail took the bundle of Polly’s letters. “We’ll put these in my car.” On the way to the elevator, he said, “You’d mentioned something about a storeroom?”

“Butler’s office, which I suspect may have been Andrew’s initially, has a secret entrance to the passages. It leads to a storeroom with an exit outside. I gather this was where the rum was stored during bootlegging days. Customers came by boat, were let inside, then followed the tunnels to the speakeasy. I suppose this is the same route Andrew used to smuggle in the Jewish refugees. They could have been transported across the Gulf from Mexico.”

She pushed aside her thoughts as they approached the pool after detouring by Vail’s car to lock the letters in his glove compartment. Sounds of laughter, clanging dishes, and steel-band music drifted her way as she padded along the crushed-shell path to the festive dinner. Party lights were strung among the lit globes, whose posts were decorated with colorful leis. Beyond a congregation of chattering guests, a long buffet table stretched, laden with filled steamer trays. Delicious smells permeated the air: barbecued chicken; roasted sweet potatoes; fried plantains; warm, buttery bread; and apple pie. Marla’s mouth watered as she greeted her relatives, most of whom sat with plates in their laps and grease on their lips. Couples danced in a section of the pool deck cleared of lounge chairs. An open bar to the side was doing brisk business.

“Marla, where have you been?” Anita chided her, a bright smile on her face. Her white hair looked a bit limp, and Marla decided she could use a bit more layering. Again, the notion that a salon should be on-site rose to mind.

“We’ve been making some interesting discoveries,” she told her mother in a low voice.

“Really? Tell me about them later. Aren’t the kids adorable?” Anita waved at her grandchildren, Jacob and Rebecca.

Marla hastened over to greet Michael and Charlene. Anxious to confront her brother, she got caught in a swirl of cousins and didn’t get the chance until everyone had mellowed from too many rum punches and bellies full of food.

Relaxing for the first time all day, Marla lay on a lounge chair next to Vail, letting the tropical drink potion erase all problems while a gardenia-scented breeze caressed her skin. Stars in the night sky twinkled at her as she peered toward the ocean, trying in vain to distinguish the horizon and wishing she could make sense out of recent events.

Rochelle skipped into view, giggling with her crowd of friends, and Marla signaled her over. ‘You should thank my cousin for keeping watch like you ordered this afternoon,” she addressed Vail. “She helped me get out of Butler’s office unnoticed.”

The detective’s angular face eased into a smile. “Remind me to pin you with a deputy’s badge, young lady,” he said. Reaching for Marla’s hand, he squeezed her fingers.

She squeezed back, then let go. She’d just spotted her brother Michael alone for the first time that evening. After excusing herself, she sauntered to the bar, where he had just ordered another drink, one too many, in her opinion.

“Michael, can I have a word with you?” she said.

His brown eyes met hers quizzically. “Sure, what’s up?”

He looked so carefree, she almost hated to ask him. “Were you aware Aunt Polly’s death canceled your loan?”

“What do you mean?” Michael said, gripping his gin and tonic.

Marla ushered him away from the bar, where others might overhear their conversation. “You borrowed money from Aunt Polly. Was this how you repaid your clients?”

He glared at her. “What if it is? I mentioned to Polly that I had a problem, and she offered me the solution. It’s not as though I asked her for a loan.”

“Polly’s dead. Murdered. And according to a codicil she wrote, you don’t have to repay her.”

His face contorted with astonishment. “She died in her sleep, and I don’t know about any codicil. I sold some stuff on eBay, so I’ve started to send her monthly checks. I planned to repay her in full.”

“Don’t you see how this looks? Aunt Polly didn’t die a peaceful death. Someone smothered her. And suddenly you don’t have to come up with twenty-five thousand dollars anymore.”

Michael took a large gulp of his drink. “Y-you know I wouldn’t harm anyone. Tell me you believe me.”

His earnest face erased her doubts. With sisterly affection, she patted his arm. “Of course I do, but I hope you have some sort of alibi.” Had Vail mentioned the time of death? “Promise me you won’t say anything about this. It’s not common knowledge how Polly died, and we’d best keep things quiet for now. Since the groundskeeper turned up dead, the investigation will get more intense.”

He tilted his head. “Why are you getting involved? You’re supposed to be on vacation. I gather you and Dalton are helping the cops.”

Marla shrugged. “I owe it to Aunt Polly. No one else cared enough about her, and we were just getting close. I feel like she’d want me to find out what’s going on. We have a few leads, but not the links that tie them together.”

“Well, let me know if I can help.” He shuffled his feet, as though their sudden intimacy embarrassed him.

“I will.” She winced at the sight of Anita bearing down on them. “Here comes Ma. You deal with her. I want to talk to Bruce about his interest in the theme-park development.”

She didn’t corner Cynthia’s husband until later that evening. Distracted by her cousins, she got caught up in their discussion on water conservation while the hours flew by. After her relatives dispersed, she headed to the campfire in a clearing by the sugar mill ruins.
Perfect place for ghost stories
, she thought, waving at one of Spector’s teammates in the distance. Remembering the report of a vortex by the chimney stack, she resolved to revisit the crumbling stones during daylight.

While Vail collected their skewers and allotted bag of marshmallows, Marla basked in the heat from the crackling fire. The aroma of rich humus mingled with pine to scent the cool air as she listened to the chitter of night creatures. In the background, the rhythmic music of waves kissing the beach created an ongoing symphony.

Unwilling to be lulled into tranquillity, she veered toward Bruce, who’d plopped onto a wooden bench, one of many set in a semicircle around the fire. “Hey, cuz,” she yelled to Cynthia, who was already engaged in a heated dialogue with Joan and Julia. Marla looked for Lori, but didn’t see her or Jeff anywhere. Brow wrinkled in worry, she forced herself to focus on her task at hand.

“Bruce,” she said to the tall man, whose height gave him a permanent stoop, “I wanted to ask you something. Have you reconsidered your position regarding the living-history experience?”

He ran stiff fingers through his black spiky hair, “I’m still in favor of the sale if the original plantation is restored properly, with care to preserving the environment. I think it would be valuable for our Florida heritage to rebuild the sugar mill complex.”

“Do we really need another theme park, though?”

“A new attraction will bring jobs to the area.”

“Oh, like there aren’t enough construction workers here already?”

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, as though wondering at her persistence. “Why do you care?”

“Butler wants the hotel restored to its former glory,” she said, answering indirectly. “Cousin Jeff, on the other hand, favors tearing it down. He’s been adding money to Albright’s campaign coffers. Any idea what his angle might be?”

Bruce’s winged eyebrows lifted. “That’s news to me. Don’t get me wrong, Marla. I love this place. Sugar Crest resonates with history, but Florida doesn’t have a living-history museum where people can experience what it was like in the early plantation days. This is the ideal location.”

“Have you been to St. Augustine? They didn’t tear down the fort and rebuild it so people could experience fake battles. Work out a compromise. Isn’t family history more important than your land development schemes? My grandfather owned this place. It’s part of our heritage. Respect the hallowed ground on which it was built. Remodel the hotel, and open the top floors to the public.”

Bruce grinned, his eyes reflecting the light from the shooting flames. “You present a mean argument. I’d forgotten about those Indian burial mounds. They may have archeological significance.”

“So you haven’t talked to Jeff about this at all?”

“Nope. He’s got money, so maybe he’s looking for a good investment. I understand he’s due to inherit a fortune some day. He and Lori may want to retire to the Gulf Coast and look upon this as their haven. They vacation over here a lot.”

“I’m not so sure that’s why Jeff is endorsing the councilwoman’s goals. Anyway, thanks for listening. I hope you’ll consider what I said.”

“I will.” He nodded solemnly.

She spotted Vail waving to her. A few steps later and she was at his side. “What’s up?” she asked, taking the bag from him and stuffing a marshmallow into her mouth.

He handed her the skewers. “I know you want to spend time with your family, but I’m really beat. Would you mind if I turned in early? Usually I can roll with the punches, but it must be all this sea air.”

His eyes did look bleary, she noted, although his fatigue might be due to avoidance behavior rather than lagging energy. He’d probably had enough polite conversation for one day. “Go ahead,” she said with an indulgent smile. “I’ll be quiet when I enter the room.”

He kissed her. “You’re a peach.”

She missed him when the evening swung into full gear with sing-alongs, charred, gooey marshmallows, and spooky tales that tickled the hairs on her nape. She glanced over toward the beach, where dancing lights caught her eye. Blinking, she looked again but this time saw nothing but yawning blackness.

Letting her curiosity lead her, she edged away from the crowd. Most likely, her imagination had been stimulated by tonight’s stories and she’d discover nothing more than the pulsating tide and no-see-ums looking for warm-blooded food stock. Yet…

“Marla, you’re not leaving, are you?” Champagne Glass’s crystal voice rang out. The social director, in charge of their evening event, hobbled toward her in a pair of high-heeled sandals.

“I want to take a walk along the beach before I go to bed.” Marla didn’t slow her pace.

“I wouldn’t advise going there tonight. The bugs are atrocious. You’ll get eaten alive.”

“I’ve sprayed myself with insect repellant. Don’t worry about me. I won’t be gone long.”

Champagne’s eyes glistened in the moonlight. “You won’t be able to see the jellyfish in the sand. It isn’t safe.”

Is that the only reason you don’t want me to go there
? “All right,” Marla lied, “I’ll just head back to my room from this direction. Creatures of the night hold little appeal for me.”

Crickets sang their ritual chorus as she plodded along a winding path toward the beach. Crossing through a brief stretch of pines that hid her from view of the campfire, she hoped it was true that bats ate mosquitoes and tried not to think of the possibility of the flying mammals using her hair as a landing site. Strange cries echoed through the hammock, and then she saw another waving light, this time coming from a window high in Oleander Hall. Underfoot, spongy pine needles gave way to firm sand as she neared the dunes.

A low murmur rose above the swell of the waves. Keeping well behind the mounds covered with sparse grass and sea oats, Marla let her ears guide her. As she continued on a route parallel to the ocean, she found herself nearing the condemned wing, where a babble of voices drifted on the wind.

Suddenly two forms dashed into sight directly in front of her. Ducking behind a dune, she watched each man topple to the ground in a limp heap. Someone else ran up, pointing an object in his hand. George Butler. Had he shot them? At his forceful gesture, several hefty fellows arrived and carried the pair away.

Marla’s jaw dropped when she saw where they were heading: not to Oleander Hall, but to a door in the wing that could only lead to the storeroom behind Butler’s office. Daring to peek over the rise, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Small boats lined up on the beach, spilling out dozens of men. She could barely discern the lights twinkling on a larger vessel farther out to sea.

Who were these guys, and what were they doing there? Where had that ship come from?

Wanting to learn more, she scuttled to the next dune. Her skin itched from insect bites, but she ignored the discomfort, wishing she had a pair of binoculars. The thought of binoculars reminded her of Wanda Beake. She hadn’t seen the birdwatcher in a while. But that didn’t mean Wanda wasn’t involved in this operation, whatever it was.

Swatting away a bug that brushed her cheek, Marla licked dry lips. If only she had a camera that took pictures in the dark. Wait, Spector might be able to help her. Or was he part of this, acting to create a smoke screen under the manager’s pay?

After each boat unloaded, its sole remaining crew steered the craft back toward the mother ship beyond the waves. Meanwhile, on shore, a brawny man waving an object in his hand ordered the disgorged passengers to fall into place. The scruffy individuals snaked toward the hidden entrance to the hotel, moving like silent wraiths through the shadows.

Another figure broke into a run and was quickly cut down. Two men quietly moved to cart him off.

Enough
. Marla decided she’d learn what it all meant later. Right now she needed to get out of here before anyone spotted her.

She’d just sprung to her feet when a shout sounded from behind. A sharp sting burned her neck. She felt herself sliding to the ground but couldn’t stop herself. Consciousness slipped away, and the last thing she felt was strong hands gripping her under the armpits and hauling her to oblivion.

Awareness seeped into her mind. She heard voices murmuring somewhere close. Her ears prickled as the sounds drew her to the surface. Feeling buoyant as a strand of seaweed, she floated toward the light, while a monotonous buzzing rose and fell like ocean waves.

She blinked her eyes open.

Darkness, interspersed by ghostly forms, surrounded her. Squinting, she made out draped furniture before her gaze fell on Wanda Beake snoring beside her. They lay on a carpeted floor in what she surmised was Oleander Hall.

Dust tickled her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, a sneeze threatening to erupt, but she managed to suppress it when heavy footsteps sounded nearby. A door crashed open. She snapped her eyes shut and regulated her breathing, her senses on alert.

“The woman still out. I give her another dart?” said a man with a heavy Hispanic accent.

“No, don’t shoot her up yet.” Butler’s smooth answer sent chills up Marla’s spine. “I’m not sure what I want to do with her. That cop boyfriend will get suspicious. We’ll have to get rid of her soon, but in a manner that looks like an accident.”

“He not be fooled, Senor. What about the other lady?”

“Wanda can stay here. Either she cooperates, or she’s history. She knows the score, but I’ll deal with her later. Let’s get the boys processed.”

“You want me to bind the women?”

“These windows are boarded. With the door locked, they can’t go anywhere. Give our guest another half hour to come around, and then give her another dose. I don’t want her too sedated. I’ll think of some means of disposal before that wears off.”

“Why not the water? It happens often.”

“Hmm, a drowning at sea? We’ve had people go for a swim at night while underestimating the current. Yes, that’s good. She’ll even leave behind some clothing on the beach.”

“You want me to do now? I will like removing this one’s blouse. She have nice body.”

“Later. Let’s go.”

Marla waited while the door slammed, the lock turned, and footsteps receded. Enough moonlight shone between the planks on the windows so that she could find her handbag when she shuffled around on all fours. She didn’t find much else, certainly nothing she could use as a weapon. There weren’t any lamps, heavy picture frames, or other loose objects.

Prodding Wanda, she hoped to rouse the woman enough to solicit her help. But the birdwatcher’s snores merely increased in volume. Deciding to leave her behind wasn’t easy, but Marla figured she could always bring assistance later.

She counted on Butler not being aware that she knew about the secret passages. Harvey Lyle wouldn’t have wanted to incur his boss’s displeasure by confessing Marla had seen the bootlegger’s storeroom. So she approached the fireplace and inched her fingers along the cold stones supporting the arch, trying to focus her energy and squelch her nervous tremors at the thought of Butler’s henchmen returning suddenly. One of the stones moved. Using the heel of her hand, she wedged it sideways.

Nothing happened.

No panel slid open, nor did she hear a latch clicking. Could she be wrong?

Her pulse throbbing in her throat, she pressed frantic thumbs on each stone to no avail. Then inspiration hit—she fumbled in her purse for her penlight. Thankfully, the contents of her purse remained untouched, and she found the penlight. Shining the small beam at an angle along the archway, she looked for protrusions. When that tactic failed to yield results, she turned the blue light to the back wall inside the fireplace. It was necessary to twist her body and turn her face upward to give it a full examination.

A crawly object fell on her cheek. With a sharp intake of breath, she brushed it away. Her body experienced a violent shudder. Losing balance, she tumbled sideways and hit the hearth, her sore shoulder connecting with something sharp on the way down.