Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (20 page)

Let’s see
, she thought, unfolding one of the parchment-thin papers. The last couple of letters had pointed out how Ruth believed the two strangers visiting her husband may have been Nazi agents, seeking to end his operation of smuggling Jewish refugees to safety. Either Andrew had bribed the men to get them to leave, or Seto had helped him dispose of them. Andrew had used the secret passages and former speakeasy as the hiding place for his persecuted friends.

Somehow, possibly through the original hotel blueprints, George Butler had learned about Andrew’s operation and used the idea to create a modern smuggling scheme. Where did Polly’s involvement come in?

She scanned a couple of the previous letters to refresh her memory. Ruth suspected her siblings of hastening Andrew’s death so he wouldn’t ruin the family reputation. And this was because? Marla racked her brain while watching a pelican swoop after its prey. Oh yeah, Andrew had married Ruth under a false name. He’d stolen the identity of a Polish peasant and fled Russia during the Revolution. The alexandrite stones he’d brought with him had either belonged to his own royal family or been stolen.

Shortly before the two visitors wearing Cossack hats had shown up, Polly married Vincent. He’d been a fortune hunter who, disappointed when she didn’t inherit riches from her father, had sought consolation with her younger sister. Caught in the act, he’d fled, never to return. Nor had Polly inherited a share in the plantation, according to the sale papers in Butler’s office.

Her lips puckered. There wouldn’t be any way of telling if Butler’s document was a true copy of the original or not. If this wasn’t what concerned Polly, what else had she been guarding so diligently?

Marla read the letter in her hand.

Vincent
,

No dearest or darling, Marla noted, and this letter was dated months after the last

.

Marla glanced up, squinting at the horizon through a pair of dark sunshades. So Alyssa’s tale had been real, not a figment of Butler’s imagination. Interesting, but irrelevant.

After skimming through several pages of brown-edged stationery wherein Polly never gave up hope of being reunited with her only love, Marla withdrew a sheet dated years after Vincent had disappeared.

In it Seto reported that the detective had found Vincent, who’d died of pneumonia in the interim.

Heartbroken, Polly had continued to write to Vincent as though he were still alive.

Wait…Seto had told Polly about Vincent’s death. But what if he’d lied to the woman he loved, who could never give him her heart? Or at the very least, omitted part of the PI’s report?

Someone at Sugar Crest felt threatened by Mulch, who’d said over the phone, “I know who you are.” Brownie spied for this person. Who could it be, unless…?

Connecting the links led her directly to the one individual whose motives still eluded her.

Clang…clang
. The hairs on her nape rose. Wasn’t that the slave bell by the old sugar mill? Twisting her neck, she glanced at the other sunbathers, but no one seemed to notice the sound except her.
Don’t be stupid, Marla. You can’t go alone to the ruins again. Remember what happened the last time?

She’d stuffed her beach bag and was on her way before she dialed Vail on her cell phone. “Where are you?” she demanded when he answered on the second ring.

“I’m in Oleander Hall. We found Miss Beake, drugged but quite unharmed. I think she’ll sing like a bird once she’s more fully awake. We found a lot of other interesting stuff, too, up on the fourth floor.” His jaunty tone showed his pleasure.

“Can you leave it for the local cops to handle? I’m heading over to the sugar mill. Meet me there. I think Mulch used to hang out with Alyssa’s ghost for a reason.” She cut him off before hearing his protest.

If she was right, she’d soon find the answers to most of her questions. Marla only hoped the wrong person hadn’t gotten to them first.

Marla followed the sound of the tolling bell toward the crumbling stone walls set among creeping vines and veils of Spanish moss. She veered around a long dried-up well, now a pit coated with slime-covered chunks of rock and holding layers of dead leaves instead of water. Past the cistern that collected rainwater, she saw a stone arch disappearing beneath a strangler fig. An adjacent archway seemed to lead somewhere, so she stepped through and found herself surrounded by walls that stretched toward the trees. Their canopy cut through the sunlight, enhancing shadows that played with her imagination. The smell of rotting vegetation permeated air that seemed charged with images of times past.

Her sandals crunched over dry twigs as she crossed the grassy plateau to a stone slab. Beyond, on a higher level, rose the thirty-foot-high chimney stack. Spector’s team member had captured the vortex at its base.

She skirted a live oak, stumbling over its roots, on her way to a carved stone staircase protected by an overgrowth of needle palms. Careful not to touch the palms’ stiff spines, she edged past through a swarm of tiny insects, around a saw palmetto, and into a clearing.

She stopped to listen—and frowned. The bell had gone silent. She heard only the whistling of wind through the branches. In the shade, her skin felt cooler, or was it the presence of spirits that chilled the air?

Something rustled off to her left. She spun in that direction but saw nothing except derelict copper kettles and vines swinging in the breeze.

A chorus of voices rose from the ruins, dissipating when she strained to hear them. They seemed to come from ahead, where the chimney reached for the sky. It stood as a lone sentinel, guarding the site from intruders. Watching her footing, Marla picked her way forward, careful not to wrench an ankle on the jagged stones in her path.

A flicker of white registered in the corner of her eye, but when she glanced over, it vanished into thin air. Her heart lurched, and her fingertips grew icy. Someone, or something, was nearby. The voices came again, drawing together into a confluence, emerging as a single sound, a high-pitched wailing. Marla couldn’t make out if it was a natural result of the wind passing through the ruined hollows or not. Her flesh crawled.
Finish what you have to do and then get out of here.

Reaching the chimney, she crouched. The opening at its base looked wide enough for a small person to squeeze inside. With a grimace of distaste, she stretched out to her full length on the ground. So much for her clean clothes.

Now for a light source.

Before proceeding further, she withdrew the penlight from her purse and shined it into the interior. A cascade of dust blew onto her face, coating her lips and making her sputter. Wishing she had a handkerchief to use as a mask, she hoped germs weren’t hibernating in the rubble. Stale air made her breathing rapid and shallow, or maybe it was the combination of fear and excitement that pumped her pulse and made her movements jerky. A sense of dread grew within her, making the air seem to thicken and swirl around her head.

She couldn’t see much from where she was, just soot lining the floor. She’d have to get farther inside. Leaving her bag behind, she dragged herself forward until just her feet stuck out of the opening.

Her hair hung across her face, and she spared a moment to tuck it behind her ears. When she did so, she was thrown off balance and flung her arm forward to steady herself. Her fingers touched…metal?

Carefully, she slid the object toward her, feeling its edges. The spade-shaped scoop seemed to be attached to a small wooden handle. “Ouch,” she cried when a splinter pierced her skin. Cursing under her breath, she examined the small shovel. The metal didn’t appear to be rusted.

Gripping its handle, Marla felt her palm grow warm. The thing almost seemed to vibrate in her grasp. Without thinking about it, she plunged it into the earth. A compulsion took hold of her, and she continued to dig deeper with each shovelful of dirt until the spade struck a solid surface.

Gritting her teeth against the pain cramping her muscles, she dug a big enough hole to extract a metal container. After brushing dirt off its top, she pried open the rusted lock and gasped at her find: Andrew’s humidor.

Andrew must have hidden it himself, or else his trusted caretaker had done so at his bequest.
Open it…. Open it
. The litany rang in her head. Or was it the bell pealing outside with its own—what? Sound of celebration? Warning?

Ignoring the goose bumps prickling her skin and her throbbing finger where the splinter had penetrated, she removed the top of the humidor. Nestled inside was a waterproof pouch. Joy rose in her heart. It must hold something important. But she needed more light to see it properly.

Suddenly there was a hard grip on her ankles. Startled, she cried out. Before she could berate herself for letting her guard down, someone dragged her outside.

“You!” she rasped when she caught sight of who hovered above her. Even as she snapped upright to her defense, he pushed her down, rolled her onto her stomach, and forced her arms behind her back. Duct tape quickly bound her wrists and ankles. Her mouth tasted dirt, but she spat out the words: “You’ll never get away with this, Jeffrey.”

Her cousin’s husband snickered. “Oh, but I will. I knew if I followed you, you’d lead me to Andrew’s treasure. Let’s see what’s in here.”

Digging a knee into her spine to restrain her, he grabbed the pouch from her fingers. Marla bent her neck so she could see. He withdrew a small leather sack and packet of bound documents.

“Dear me, which shall I open first?” Pulling apart the drawstrings on the smaller receptacle, he peeked inside and yelped in horror. “There’s nothing here. Witch, what did you do with the gems?” Bending forward, he patted her body along intimate contours. She bucked in resistance.

“I didn’t take anything. Whoever buried this box must’ve emptied the pouch. What do you need money for, anyway? Aren’t you rich from your inheritance?”

Squirming against his groping fingers, she struggled to loosen the tape binding her wrists. It slid over the slime covering her skin. Twisting onto her back, she scooted away from him against the cold stone wall of the chimney.

He regarded her with a leer. “My mother is the toothpaste heiress. After she dies, my sister and I will inherit, unless our cousin convinces Mother otherwise. His family was always suspicious of dear old Daddy.”

Marla bent her knees to give herself more leverage. “I don’t understand,” she said, hoping to keep him talking until Vail arrived. If she screamed, Jeff might gag her and then she’d lose her chance to alert Vail.

“Polly didn’t tell you? She never divorced Vincent. After he ran off, he assumed another identity and ended up marrying my mother. He died of pneumonia before my sister’s second birthday. I found out who he was years later when a detective came around.”

“That detective looked for Vincent for ages.”

Jeff’s eyes hardened. “I realized my sister and I might lose our inheritance if the truth got out. So I paid the detective to tell Polly that Vincent had died, without mentioning us.”

“Why did you marry Lori, then?”

He swiped a hand over his face as though he could erase years of uncertainty. “I didn’t know what the detective’s report said, so I courted Lori to get close to your aunt When I met Polly, we got to talking about traumatic past events. She mentioned letters she had written to a man she’d once loved. She’d hidden them at the resort. I determined to find them, because if my cousin ever hired an investigator, those letters would destroy my father’s reputation.”

Marla kept working the bonds behind her back. “So you’ve been searching for them during your visits to the hotel. I presume you employed Brownie to spy for you. Does she know who you are?”

“Not at all. I convinced her that Polly had hidden something valuable on the property. Dearest Brittany easily succumbs to flattery. She’s an easy mark, unlike you,” he sneered.

“Did she search my room?” Marla inserted hastily, to distract him from evil thoughts. “I smelled lilacs, and I know she likes that scent.”

“Brownie looked in your room as well as your aunt’s, because I didn’t know how much the old lady had told you. I was afraid Polly would use this reunion to air old grievances. Time to get rid of her to end the threat.”

Marla pushed herself upright. “You mean Wanda Beake didn’t pretend to be a nurse’s aide in order to kill her?”

“I don’t know anything about that. Brownie told me about the secret passages. She’d seen Butler use them. It was easy for me to get into Polly’s bedroom that night. She couldn’t see me well enough in the dim light. I pretended I was you, giving her a drink of water. Brownie had noticed the medicine bottle, so I added a bit to her glass. A pillow over her face did the rest.”

He picked up the spade, weighing it in his hand. Marla didn’t like the gleam in his eyes.

“So you murdered Polly. What about the groundskeeper?” Seto had been killed with a blunt instrument. It looked as though Jeff had the same thing in mind for her. While they talked, she’d loosened her binding enough to slip a hand free. Scrabbling around in the dirt, her fingers closed around a sizable rock.

“Mulch recognized me the first time I showed up at the resort. He said I resembled my father. I convinced him that telling Polly would only hurt her.”

“So why did you decide to do away with him?”

“After she died, Seto had no reason to keep silent. He became a liability. You see, the detective fully reported on my father’s second family, and the report came to Mulch. It was Mulch’s decision to tell Polly only that Vincent had died. He saw no reason to deepen her wounds. Now you’re the only threat left. I figured Polly had confided in you, and that you might lead me to her letters.” He lifted the document pouch from the humidor. “Guess I was right, huh?”

Marla didn’t contradict him. Her glance slid to her purse lying a short distance away. “Did you push me into the boiling pit?”

He nodded. “I’d hoped to scare you off from asking so many annoying questions. Now you’ve forced me to take more drastic measures.”

He lifted the tool, but before he could swing his arm in a downward arc, Marla shoved her feet into his stomach. Grunting, he fell backward. She threw the rock at his head, making contact, then scrambled to her feet. But her bound ankles made it impossible to hobble far.

An insistent tune played from within a bunch of crotons. Her cell phone. Vail must be trying to reach her.

Marla screamed as Jeff jerked her ankles out from under her, causing her to tumble to the ground. She scratched his face, which only enraged him. Straddling her, he caught her wrists with one hand and raised her arms above her head. With a snarl, he reached for her throat with his other hand.

She tried to twist her neck away, but his fingers gouged into her flesh, pressing deeply, cutting off her air.

Spots flew in front of her eyes.

Her lungs burned, but she couldn’t drag in a breath.

Strength bled from her limbs while her vision tunneled.

Barely aware, she caught sight of an apparition, perhaps an angel coming to claim her. The woman wore a long white dress and stood, sort of floating, beyond Jeff s shoulder. Light radiated around her golden hair.

Jeff glanced up, startled, as though he’d seen it also. His grip loosened.

Marla jabbed her knee into his groin. He howled in agony and released her.

Rolling to her side, she managed to crawl a few paces before Jeff shot out his hand to impede her.

Shouts reached her ears, one of them achingly familiar.

“You’d better let me go,” she said in a raspy voice. “Dalton won’t take kindly to seeing your hands on me. He won’t be alone, either. You’ll be outnumbered.”

They stared at each other for a brief instant, then Jeff nodded. Wincing as he straightened his lanky form, he pivoted and raced toward the stone archway.

Marla watched his retreating figure while she gasped for breath and her heart slowed to a steady beat. Through the overhanging branches, she saw the sun expand. Or was it the sun? The bright light contracted sharply, coalescing into a ball suspended directly in Jeff’s path. He gave a bloodcurdling shriek and disappeared behind the trees.

The air crackled with energy. Marla felt a chill envelop her. Something brushed her cheek, and then the moment passed. The birdsong that had hushed rang out again, and Vail was suddenly crouching beside her, while the forest erupted with uniformed police.

“I can’t believe Jeff fell into the well and was killed.” Marla stood beside Vail on the pool deck, where a band was gearing up for the evening dance party. Surrounded by her relatives along with members of the ghost-hunting team, they were bringing everyone up-to-date on recent events. “I’d been by there earlier, and it had a barrier around it.”

“Rotten wood,” Vail said. “Maybe you dislodged a section when you passed the area and didn’t realize it.”

“Tell me again about the orb you saw,” Spector said, his eyes round like the globes that lit the grounds at night.

Marla glanced at the eager faces turned their way. “Alyssa saved me. I saw her before she lured Jeff away.”
And I think Polly was present as well, making sure I was safe.

She lowered her head, moisture tipping her lashes. Poor Polly had no children to mourn her. Her aunt’s smiling face popped into her mind, gazing fondly at Marla. Somehow that image brought comfort to her heart. It also brought a startling revelation. Maybe Polly had joined Seto at his favorite haunt, her spirit finally accepting his love.

The past merged with the present, and she sensed that Alyssa’s ghost had also been appeased. Perhaps now that Polly had found her true love, her ancestor could rest as well?

“I thought you didn’t believe in spooks.” Vail grasped her hand. He’d been hovering close ever since he’d found her that afternoon. Some things were more precious than treasure, she thought, squeezing his palm.

“Let’s just say I’m willing to believe in things that are not readily explained,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think the spirits will bother people anymore. We’ve exposed Andrew’s secrets and ended Butler’s abuse of the resort. Now the ghosts can go to their rest.”