Death at the Voyager Hotel (17 page)

“Hauntingly
beautiful,” Paula echoed with a shudder. “How sad. How sick.”

 “Yes, Mrs.
Djan. Mr. Miedema spent the rest of that night thinking that the body would be
spotted and the police would soon be knocking on his door, but when morning
came and he went to the pool, there Heather was, just as he had left her, and
he realized he had escaped detection—at least he thought he had, and there began
his subterfuge. Which would have worked, had it not been for you. You should be
proud, madam.”

“Thank you,”
she said, “but not proud. Just glad.”

No one at High Street Academy was expecting Paula’s return
to school on Thursday, but she couldn’t miss the tribute to Heather, even if
she had to be carried there on a stretcher. Against the protests of both her
doctor and Thelo, she had signed herself out of Korle Bu on Wednesday night.

Thelo insisted
on taking her, telling her she was crazy if she thought he would let her drive
herself to High Street Academy. Then Stephan and Stephanie got wind of the
upcoming students’ performance and begged to join Paula and miss half a day of
their own school.

Paula had two
stops to make before their final destination, however. Thelo pulled up in front
of the Voyager and waited in the car with the twins as Paula went in. The desk
clerk told her Edward was in his office and waved her through. She knocked at
his door.

“Paula!” he
exclaimed as she came in. “What a sight for sore eyes. Wonderful to see you
again. How are you doing?”

“Very well,
thanks, Edward. Well, actually I feel a little wobbly, but it will pass.”

“Oh, dear, oh
dear,” he said, concerned. “Please, have a seat.”

He guided her
to the most comfy chair and sat opposite her.

“Thank you,”
she said. “And what about
you
? I know you were very fond of Jost. How
are you holding up?”

He cocked his
head thoughtfully to one side. “Of course, it’s been painful for me, but as the
proverb says, when the delicious meal goes bad, you don’t want to eat it
anymore.”

She nodded.
“You are pragmatic, and that’s why you’re a successful hotel manager.”

“Oh, I don’t
know about that,” he said, laughing. “Is there anything I can help you with,
dear Paula?”

“I certainly
hope so. I’m here to make an appeal.”

“Of course.”

 “The turning
point in Heather’s case was due in large part to Amadu and his powers of
observation. At the very least, I think he deserves to be rehired.”

“I see,” Edward
said, considering it for a moment. “All right, that’s fair. I’ll call him this
morning.”

“Thank you. One
other thing, though. He should be officially recognized and rewarded.”

Edward raised
his eyebrows. “What do you mean—some kind of award ceremony?”

“That’s fine,”
she said brightly. “In fact I think that’s a nice idea. It will build up morale
again at the hotel. Unfortunately, however, ceremonies don’t pay bills. A raise
is what he needs.”

He groaned. “Ah,
Paula, you’re killing me.”

“If it wasn’t
for him, a murderer might have gone scot free,” she pressed. “Come on, Edward.
Have a heart. The boy is in need.”

He sighed.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can manage.”

“Thank you.
You’re an angel.”

Her second stop was at the
Ghana Herald
building,
where she found John Prempeh in his cluttered office.

“Ah, Mrs. Djan!”
he exclaimed, jumping up. “To what do I owe this exceptional pleasure?”  

He hastily cleared
a stack of documents off a chair and offered it to her before sitting down
again at his desk. “I understand you were involved in quite a bit of excitement
at the Voyager Hotel.”

“Yes, I was,”
she said evenly. “Would you like the exclusive story?”

Prempeh’s eyes
lit up. “Well, yes. Are you offering it to me?”

“Interested?”

“But of
course.”

She smiled
generously. “Then you shall have it. On one condition, though.”

He looked wary.
“What’s that?”

“That you run
an editorial refuting all the lies you told about High Street Academy.”

“What lies?” he
asked innocently.

“Don’t play
with me, Prempeh. You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t think
I can run such an editorial.”

“Fine,” she
said, standing up. “I have a friend at the
Graphic
, your rival paper.
They’ll be happy to get the story and run the editorial against you. Especially
when they find out who the so-called reliable source was for your article.”

Prempeh’s right
cheek twitched. “What do you mean?”

She leaned
across his desk until her face came unnervingly close to his. “You think I
haven’t figured it out? On the day the pathologist’s report came out about the supposedly
high levels of alcohol detected in Heather’s bloodstream, you wanted some
background on it to spice up your story, so you got in touch with Jost Miedema
to see if he had some additional information. That was perfect for him, because
he realized that if he could strengthen the falsehood that Heather drank
heavily and drowned by accident, the case would quickly be closed and further
ensure that he escaped detection. Am I right so far?”

Prempeh, his
eyes wide and his jaw clamped tight, said nothing and tried to move back from
her.

“So,” she continued
confidently, “on condition of anonymity, Miedema fed you the lie that Heather was
severely depressed because of an oppressive workload and terrible working
conditions at the Academy. And you happily printed it without making an effort
to verify the facts. Now, how would you like the whole world to know that your
reliable source is an accused murderer? What is that going to do for the
reputation of John Prempeh and the
Ghana Herald
?”

He swallowed.
“Tell me what you have in mind.”

“I’ve already
written the editorial,” Paula said, stepping back and reaching into her
briefcase. “All you need to do is post it.”

She handed it
to him and he grasped it gingerly using only his thumb and index finger like
pincers—as though the two pages were an explosive device. He read it through
with visible discomfort. The editorial apologized for misrepresenting the facts
about the Academy, touted the school’s many achievements, and set the record
straight about Heather. She had been happy, had not been overworked, was not
depressed, and had not drunk herself to the point of dangerous intoxication.
Nor had she accidentally drowned. She had been murdered, and the accused had
been captured.

Prempeh sighed
heavily. “I’ll have to run it by the chief, and do a bit of editing.”

“You tell me now
which edits you’re going to make,” she said firmly, still not trusting him. “I
have time.”

He wanted to
change some words and phrases around, and since none of the adjustments
significantly altered the message of the piece, Paula agreed to them.

“Can I have
your story now?” Prempeh said hopefully, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Call me when
your boss has approved the editorial and it has been printed,” she said
pleasantly, “and
then
we’ll meet and I’ll tell you all about the Voyager
Hotel murder and how I solved it.”

As they got closer to the school, Paula felt more and more
eager to see her students again. Stephan and Stephanie were chattering excitedly
with each other, both hoping to meet some of the friends they had made during
their first visit to the Academy.

When they arrived
and got out of the car, Thelo took the twins by the hand and held them back with
him a little as Paula went on ahead. She rounded the corner and was met with
the sight of all her students in the yard perfecting their performance of a
traditional Ga sea shanty as Gale conducted them. Their voices trailed off as
they saw her, Gale spun around to see what they were staring at, and then
pandemonium broke loose. The kids jumped up and down for joy, and yelled,
“Madam Paula! Madam Paula!” She opened her arms wide, and they ran to her for
one big, collective embrace.

THE END

   
 

Kwei Quartey

Photo
by
James De Pietro

KWEI QUARTEY
is a crime fiction writer and physician living in Pasadena, California. Having
practiced medicine for more than 20 years while simultaneously working as a
writer, he has attained noteworthy achievements in both fields. Dr. Quartey
balances the two professions by dedicating the early morning hours to writing
before beginning a day in his clinic.

Kwei Quartey
attended medical school at Howard University in Washington, D.C. In 1990, he
began practicing medicine in California with HealthCare Partners. Dr. Quartey
later founded the facility's wound care center while working as an urgent care
physician.

As a crime
fiction writer, Kwei Quartey made the Los Angeles Times Bestseller List in
2009. The following year, the G.O.G. National Book Club awarded him the title
of Best Male Author. Having published
Wife of the Gods
and
Children
of the Street
,
he is anticipating the release of a third novel
in the series,
Murder at Cape Three Points
, in March 2014. Dr.
Quartey is also a member of the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime, a
fiction writers’ organization.

Visit Kwei at
his website:  
http://www.kweiquartey.com