Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (4 page)

The older man nodded his acquiescence. His skin exhibited many age spots, indicating he’d spent a lot of time in the sun.

“I don’t understand what the painter was doing in this section,” Marla said. “I thought you told me Oleander Hall was closed until you got approval for renovations.”

Mulch exchanged glances with the manager. “A section needed coatin’, ma’am. If we have the place lookin’ good, at least on the outside, maybe the higher-ups will decide to remodel rather than tear it down. Be an insult to our past if they replace this fine hotel with mockups for some theme park.”

“A living-history experience will draw more people than an expensive resort known only to an exclusive clientele,” said a woman who broke from the crowd being corralled by the social director. “Pardon me for intruding on your conversation. I’m Donna Albright, city councilwoman. We’re having a meeting here this weekend to decide the issue.”

“Surely you don’t want to destroy the hotel,” Butler protested.

“This isn’t the first accident involving workers on the property. Remodeling is becoming too risky,” Albright retorted.

“That’s why I have the paranormal team here this weekend. They’ll settle the spooks.” Butler pointed to a fortyish man with stark white hair and a build that indicated too many trips to the buffet table. “Dr. Rip Spector is leader of the ghost chasers. We’re continually replacing our construction crews. They’re a superstitious lot, and they claim unhappy spirits are playing pranks on them.”

“I wouldn’t call a fatal fall from a ladder a prank,” Albright said.

Marla wanted to question Albright further, but just then two familiar faces came into view. Marla rushed ahead to exchange quick hugs with her cousins Lori and Jeff Levine.

“What’s going on?” Jeff asked, his onyx eyes glinting in dark contrast to his golden brown hair.

Marla brought them up to speed. “Dalton has no jurisdiction here, so I don’t know what he’s telling them. It’s a terrible thing to happen.”

Now that she thought about Butler’s explanation, it seemed illogical that they’d assign a maintenance man, even if he was part of a holiday crew, to paint a condemned wing when he should be on call for emergencies involving guests. They must have enough laborers that it didn’t matter.

“I wonder if the paranormal team believes ghosts were responsible,” she said to Lori. “Can’t they measure for ectoplasm or some such thing to detect the presence of spirits?”

Jeff, a handsome guy with a cocky grin, leaned toward her. ‘You don’t really believe that stuff, do you? I suppose spinning tales about weird visitations helps attract guests. People like to think they’re staying in a haunted house.”

“The manager is the one who hired experts to chase the spooks away, or at least coax them into leaving people alone,” Marla said. Unless he’d hired them as a show for his superstitious labor force, that is. She’d have to catch Dr. Spector later to see if he’d found anything significant. One thing was certain: Polly didn’t want the spirit hunters to uncover any family secrets. She’d said as much to Marla earlier.

Marla smiled at Lori, who wore her coppery toned hair in a short bob. “I’ll get Dalton so I can introduce you. I don’t know what’s keeping him this long.”

As though he’d heard, Vail glanced at her before ending his conversation. He loped over to them wearing a heavy frown.

“I tried to convince the officer to do a more thorough investigation, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“That’s too bad. Dalton, this is my cousin Lori and her husband, Jeff Levine. They live in Jacksonville.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jeff said, shaking hands. He glanced to his right as though startled. Marla followed the direction of his gaze to Seto Mulch, who stood staring at them. Some unspoken communication seemed to jump between the two men before Jeff nudged his wife. “Hey, Lori, let’s clear out.” He gave them a weak grin. “We don’t want to hold up these lovebirds. They’ll have things of their own to do.”

Before Marla could protest, Jeff hustled off toward the main building. Lori, throwing her an apologetic look, scurried in his wake.

“What kept you?” Marla said, focusing her full attention on her betrothed. ‘You’re not running the police force here, you know. That man’s accident was awful, but—”

His slate gray eyes bored into hers as he gripped her shoulders. “It was no accident. The deceased had marks on his forearms as though he’d tried to defend himself. He didn’t fall. He was pushed.”

“Pushed? How is that possible? The painter was on a ladder.”

“Notice the open window on the third floor? Somebody could’ve leaned out, put their hands on that ladder. The victim saw this person, struggled for control, and lost his balance.”

“Butler is trying to put the blame on ghosts.”

“Spirits can be mischievous, but they don’t kill people. Bad guys are usually responsible for doing the deed.”

“You’re saying this was deliberate, not an accident? Even so, it’s not your precinct.”

Vail gave a rueful chuckle. “You’re right, but the local cops could at least take it seriously. They won’t even do an investigation.”

“Why not?”

“They’re convinced this was merely an unfortunate occurrence, nothing more. They think the workers are careless. Someone was electrocuted less than a week ago repairing faulty wiring in the tower. The officer I spoke to doesn’t think very highly of the workforce, most of whom, he says, don’t speak English.”

“In other words, they’d rather look the other way,” Marla concluded.

“Exactly.”

From reading the newspapers, Marla understood small-town mentality, but to hear Vail practically admit it existed here was disheartening. This place had once belonged to her family, after all. She had the feeling that link hadn’t ended with its sale.

“I have to talk to Aunt Polly. There are too many confusing things going on at this resort, and I’ll bet she can explain a lot of them.”

But when she called the elderly woman’s number from the main lobby, she got no response. “I’ll try again from our room,” she told Vail as they stepped inside the tower elevator. She shivered. “It’s awfully cold in here, isn’t it?”

“I know how to warm you up,” he suggested in a smooth tone.

“That’s an inviting offer.” She pushed the button for the fourth floor after he closed the inner grating. This particular elevator was an old-fashioned mechanism with a gate that had to close before the outer door shut. Inside, it smelled faintly of cigar smoke. While Marla experienced a growing sense of disquiet, the lift lurched upward with an assortment of creaks. Facing the control panel, she felt a sharp pinch on her butt.

“Oh my, Dalton, can’t you wait until we get to our room?” She felt it again. “Stop that, will you?”

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything…yet.”

“You pinched me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Turning sideways to face him, she regarded his befuddled expression. “You did it twice. Don’t con me.”

He spread his hands. “Are you calling me a liar? I never touched you.”

A snicker of laughter reached her ears, making goose bumps rise on her skin. “Did you hear that?”

Dalton tilted his head. “Hear what? Are you all right?”

“No.” Marla pounded the button for the fourth floor as though that motion would get them there sooner. The car creaked upward at an agonizingly slow pace. “I think someone is in here with us, and it’s not anyone we can see. Get me out of here.” Her heart racing, she scrabbled to open the inner gate as soon as they arrived at their destination.

Vail lumbered on her trail as she sped toward their room, momentarily getting lost and having to backtrack to find the right turn-off to Hibiscus Hall. She didn’t offer any further explanations, not quite believing her own perception. Breathing a sigh of relief when they shut the door to Room 407 behind them, Marla allowed herself a moment to gather her reserve.

“I’m starting to believe those ghost stories,” she said after her nerves settled. Advancing toward the bed, she noticed a subtle lilac fragrance. Had the maid been there recently? The bed hadn’t been turned down; it was too early.

“What you need is a dose of reality,” Dalton replied, gripping her shoulders and pulling her close. “Like this.”

As his mouth descended on hers, Marla forgot all about spooks and other oddities. Her mind took a hiatus while she played intimate games with Vail in their private quarters.

An hour later, her tension finally abated, they made a foray to the beach. Marla chose lounge chairs facing west, figuring a full blast of sun would rejuvenate her. She lay back, limbs relaxed, until her bared stomach was assaulted by a spritz of cool water. Snapping open her eyes behind dark sunglasses, she jerked upright. Champagne Glass stood grinning with a water spray bottle in her hand.

“We don’t allow our guests to get overheated,” the social director said. “It’s just part of our
superior
service.”

“You should ask people first,” Marla retorted.

Vail’s muscles rippled as he shot to his feet. He wore swim trunks but looked no less imposing than when fully clothed. “We’ll take a dip in the ocean if we’re too hot,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Champagne’s smile wavered but only for an instant. “Sure thing, sugar. I want you to have a divine time while you’re here. Let me know if I can help you in any other way.”

“There is one thing,” he replied, giving her a level look. ‘These accidents that have been happening, is anyone looking into them other than your manager who hired the ghost chasers?”

She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “I can’t say, but you might talk to old man Mulch. He’d like the renovations to go forward, but we’re always losing workers.”

“Because of the incidents?”

“The hired men believe in the curse. There’s a big turnover among the labor force. You never see the same guy twice.” She sucked in a breath. “I shouldn’t be talking about it.”

“Isn’t there a meeting going on now?” Marla asked. “I met Donna Albright earlier.” Leveraging herself off the beach chair, she brushed sand from her legs.

Champagne hesitated. “The council has to decide if they’ll issue permits for further restoration or allow the current owners to sell the property. I think it would be abominable to build a theme park here, but no one listens to my opinion.” She leaned forward, eyes glistening. “I understand one of your relatives is looking to invest.”

“Oh, really?”

“He’s one of the partners in the development company. Why would he destroy your family’s legacy by tearing down the place? This estate has so much history. With proper funding, it could be restored to its glory—the grand hotel, plantation tracts and all.” She glanced behind them and stiffened. “Well, sugar, I hope you have a
marvelous
stay. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to our other
delightful
guests.”

Marla twisted around to see what Champagne had glanced at, causing her to adopt that falsely bright tone, and stifled a groan. George Butler was chatting with one of the cabana boys, but that wasn’t what dismayed Marla. Rochelle bore down on them with three female friends, whom she promptly introduced as cousins from out west.

“This is Dalton Vail,” Rochelle said proudly. “He’s a police detective.” She jiggled her body, offering a generous view of flesh covered in the minute bits of fabric teens considered proper swimwear. Marla bristled when Vail’s intrigued glance traveled the girl’s form.

“We’re just leaving,” she snapped, gathering her towel. “Come on,” she told Vail. “We have to get ready for the cocktail party.” As she marched him away, she called, “See you later.”

“What’s the matter?” Dalton said, reaching her side.

“You didn’t have to look at her that way.”

He took her arm, but she shook him off. Amusement filled his eyes. ‘You’re jealous.”

“I am not. But in case you haven’t noticed, my cousin is way too young for you.”

“The poor girl is entranced by the fact that I’m a detective.”

“Then why don’t you act like one and help me figure out what’s going on around here? Have you noticed the change in Champagne’s personality, like when she puts on her fake gushy act? Who is she trying to fool?”

“Obviously not you.”

“She seemed nervous when she was talking to us. I’ll have to catch her alone some other time.”

Back in their room, Marla called Polly again, but no one answered. “Should I knock on her door?” she asked Vail, worried about her aunt.

“She’ll turn up at the cocktail party. You can’t expect her to stay in her room the whole time. She’s probably out shmoozing.”

Reassured, Marla smiled. “You’re right.” She laid her sleeveless black dress, lingerie, and jewelry on the bed, then opened the drawer to retrieve her beaded bag. “That’s funny, I could’ve sworn I’d put it in here.”

“What’s that?”

“My evening purse. Didn’t I unpack it from my suitcase and put it in this drawer?” She surveyed the smooth bedspread, dresser top, and desk. Nothing.

Vail looked at her as though she had a screw loose. “Why don’t you check in there?” He pointed to her luggage on the rack.

Remembering she had to put away the rest of her things, Marla lifted the lid. Her black beaded purse sat on top of a pair of folded slacks. Feeling a sense of unease, she took the bag and added it to the collection on the bed.

Promptly at six o’clock, they entered the banquet hall that had been reserved for their family event.
You’d never know it was dark outside from the way the room glitters
, she thought, admiring the party lights strung in potted palms and the crystal chandeliers illuminating the ballroom much the same as they had in the 1920s.

Dozens of well-dressed people stood chatting in clusters, their noise level competing with orchestral background music. Circulating waitresses wearing white gloves offered hot hors d’oeuvres, while Marla spotted a table with platters of raw vegetables, cheese, crackers, and other crudités. Two opposite corners held cash bars with lines of customers.

Marla noticed gazes turning their way, along with looks of envy from her female kin. A swell of pride filled her. Who wouldn’t look at the smashing man in the charcoal gray suit?

Rochelle might do more than look, given the chance. If Marla had to stick to his side like nail glue, she’d protect Vail from the teen…and anyone else’s flirtatious advances.

Vail grabbed her hand for moral support when Anita veered in their direction.

“Marla, come meet our Colorado cousins,” her mother said, pulling her toward a cluster of people. Gripping Vail’s hand, Marla steeled herself for the onslaught of introductions.

“So is this the entire
megillah
?” Vail broadcast to the crowd after they’d made the rounds.

Glances of benign humor passed among her relations. “I think you mean the whole
mishpocheh
. That’s family,” Marla whispered into his ear. “A
megillah
is a story.”

Color suffused his cheeks. “I’m trying to learn.”

She smiled gently. “I know, and I appreciate it.” Turning to Uncle Moishe, the eldest present, she said, “I’d like to hear the whole
megillah
about this hotel. I would have asked Aunt Polly, but she isn’t here yet. Has anyone seen her this afternoon? It’s unlike her to be late.” Anxiety churned her stomach. Polly had initiated this reunion. She wouldn’t miss their first function when it was so important to her.

Uncle Moishe, ten years older than Anita, waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll show up when she’s ready to make an appearance. Polly never could let this place go. Even after Mama sold it, she kept coming back. I hear she takes the same room every year, like clockwork.”

“Is it true our family used to own the hotel?” Marla asked.

A hush fell over the room, and all eyes turned to Moishe. Her uncle, well into his seventies, nodded his head. “Polly spent her early years here, so this property represents her roots. Ours, too. Papa bought the place in 1924, the same year Polly was born.”

“He came from Poland, didn’t he?” asked cousin Lori, Uncle William’s middle daughter.

“That’s right,” Moishe replied. “My father’s original name was Andrzej Markowski. Papa changed it to Andrew Marks when he arrived in this country. A couple of years later, he met and married Ruth. That was 1923. They moved to Florida a year later when he bought this plantation from Tobias Rutfield. First they intended to work the fields, but when visitors started streaming south in the winter, they decided to turn the property into a resort. After remodeling the original plantation house, Papa constructed the main hotel. He’d studied architecture, you know, at the University of Warsaw.”

“Where did grandfather get the money to buy the place?” Marla said. “Did he bring riches from the old country?”

“Papa paid cash for the property, but I don’t believe he had a stitch when he immigrated. His source of wealth remains a mystery to this day. Polly may have more answers. My sister took care of Mama until she died.”

“So Andrew established the resort,” Marla prompted, curious to hear the rest of the story. “Was he successful?”

“You’d better believe it.” Moishe scratched his jaw. “They didn’t even have to advertise. People came on the recommendation of their friends. But then came the tragedy.” He surveyed the circle of eager relations, absorbing their history with the same alacrity as they downed their drinks. “Andrew died in 1943, and after that, everything changed.”

Cynthia raised her hand as though they were in class. “Didn’t Andrew receive two visitors right before he croaked?”

Moishe gave her a disapproving glare. “That’s true. I was only thirteen at the time, but I remember them. They were very somber, dressed in black, wearing Cossack hats like you see in old Russian movies. They spoke with heavy accents. Andrew met with them in Oleander Hall. One of his favorite rooms there was a parlor overlooking the gardens.”

A distant look in his eyes, he continued. “He summoned Mulch to bring his humidor, then gave orders he was not to be disturbed. According to one of the maids, Andrew looked visibly shaken when he emerged more than two hours later to go straight to his penthouse suite at the top of the tower. The maid peeked inside the parlor and was startled to find an empty room. The two men were nowhere to be seen. My father died alone of an apoplectic attack that same evening.”

“He had a stroke?” Vail said. He’d remained silent throughout Moishe’s tale, shifting his feet restlessly. Marla noticed how he perked up at the mention of an unattended death.

“Yep.” Moishe glanced at his brother, William. “Mama got real funny toward her sister and brothers afterward, but don’t ask me why. Ownership fell to her, so Ruth took charge and ran the resort until she sold it years later. We grew up here listening to superstitions about how the land was cursed because the early plantation decimated an Indian burial ground. Some said this curse killed Papa in his early forties. I’ve heard tales of recent problems, too. Makes you wonder why the ghosts are still restless.”