Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (4 page)

B
ack in our hotel room
, I was lying on the bed with a warm washcloth on my forehead. June was pacing at the foot of the bed, organizing her thoughts about the evening. She asked me the same questions I was trying to work out for myself.

“What happened tonight? I thought you had this all under control, Francie. I didn’t think you were in any real danger until you shouted ‘Ham and Eggs.’ It took me a second to realize what was going on, since I hadn’t even thought about that silly code since we made it up.” She stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed. “Damien was acting pretty spaced-out. Do you think he was on something? Was he trying to pull something?”

I just groaned in response, too exhausted to speculate on questions I didn’t have answers to. She wasn’t listening anyway. I could almost see the investigative wheels turning in her head, and she was mostly just talking out loud as she processed her own questions. I was spared the next round of unanswerable questions by a loud knock at the door.

I didn’t stir from my place in the center of the bed but watched with interest as June marched to the door and squinted through the peephole before swinging the door open. Standing in the hallway were two uniformed police officers.

The taller of the two addressed June. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Officer Devon Rymer, and this is my partner, Stanley Stark. Are you Francesca Egg?”

I bristled at the officer’s mispronunciation of my name, which rhymes with ledge, not leg, if you please. I typically am not bothered when people address me as something that pops out of a chicken’s behind, but something about this guy already rubbed me the wrong way. He was tall, well-built, had neatly-trimmed dark hair, and looked about the same age as my son, Ben, but he exuded an attitude of cocky superiority from all the way across the room. I wanted to smack the smug right off his face.

His companion, Officer Stark, stood about a head shorter than Rymer. If his red, runny eyes and matching nose were any indication, he suffered from year-long allergies. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wiped his nose with his uniform sleeve. He sneezed, and June and I offered him a simultaneous
Gesundheit
. He sneezed again. June grabbed the box of tissues from the nightstand and held it out toward Officer Sneezy.

“I’m June, but Francie is right over there.” She pointed in my direction and the two officers shuffled a few feet further into our room. I was beginning to wonder what these guys were doing here, and why they were asking specifically for me. Did this have something to do with the magic trick gone wrong? If so, wouldn’t I be the wronged party here? Come to think of it, shouldn’t Angelina and Damien have sent a doctor or a medic or at least some utterly unqualified hotel employee to check up on me? I shivered just thinking about my recent close call. Maybe I could milk this episode for more compensation. At this rate, by the end of the weekend, I might own stock in DeVille properties. Before I could imagine myself stretched out on the penthouse sofa enjoying the view with a fancy drink in my hand, Officer Annoying broke the spell.

“Ms. Egg?”

“Yes, I’m Francesca Egge.” I enunciated my last name, hoping he would get the hint. “What seems to be the problem, officer? Is this about the magic show? I told Damien—Mr. DeVille—that I was fine. I was just shaken up and needed to lie down. I certainly don’t need to fill out a police report. Accidents happen in theater, but the show must go on.”

The second officer—Stark was it?—took over the questioning as he inched his way closer to me. “Does this scarf belong to you, Ms. Egge?” He held out the scarf June had been wearing earlier. It was inside a plastic bag marked Evidence.

My mouth took on the characteristics of the Sahara Desert. I swallowed once, twice, trying to work up the appropriate ratio of saliva to sand so I could speak if the need arose. I really didn’t think I was going to like what was about to happen next.

“Yes, it’s mine,” I said, still having a hard time getting words to form through the dust in my throat. I had no choice but to accept ownership, since all my stage props had embroidered name tags sewn into them to avoid mix-ups behind the curtain during rehearsals and shows.

Officer Rymer stood statue-still while Stark closed the gap. I did not feel like they were there to protect or to serve me. My eyes darted around the room, settling in on June’s bewildered stare. I tried to use my mental powers, such as they were, to connect with her thoughts so I could figure out what I was supposed to do next. I got nothing. Just then, the two-way radio at Rymer’s belt crackled to life. Stark’s did the same. Before either of them could reach for the volume knobs on their devices, a crisp female voice filled the dead air.

“The family has been notified and would like the body of Roberto DeVille released to the funeral home for preparation. Possible—”

I looked again to June, who was now standing behind the two cops. Finally, our telepathic powers were in sync, because I knew beyond question she was thinking the same thing I was:
Body? DeVille? What has happened? And why on earth are two cops questioning us in our hotel room?

“What was that about?” I demanded of the officers. I was mad. I felt Officer Rymer owed me that much. I at least had the right to know what all the questions were about. “Did something happen to Bob? Is he…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence, but I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Bob DeVille was dead.

“That will be all for now, ladies. We may be back with more questions, so please don’t plan to leave the resort.” And just like that, they were gone, a deafening silence replacing the space the two officers vacated.

I sank into the armchair and stared down at my shaking hands. June sat in the matching chair, reached over, and took my hands in hers. “Listen, Francie.” Her voice was soft but steadfast. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s true, and Bob really is dead, we both know you had nothing to do with it. You were too busy trying to keep both halves of your body attached.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. My head is splitting.”

“Let’s just leave this to the authorities to figure out. I’m sure they’re questioning everyone at this stage.”

“But they asked specifically for me. They had my scarf in an evidence bag, for crying out loud. We left it up in the DeVille’s suite, and I hardly think a little spilled wine is a crime. If it is, we’d both be doing twenty-five-to-life by now. Where did they get it, and why didn’t Angelina just tell them about the wine spill? I don’t like this one little bit. I’m calling Hamm and telling him to come get me.”

“Francie, calm down. Let’s not get Hamm and Jack worried over nothing. At least not yet. By morning, I’m sure the police will have everything figured out, and we can still enjoy our weekend. I think we all deserve it. I know the guys were really looking forward to their golf tournament, and you got me excited about trying my hand at some theater activities. Let’s just call it a night and start fresh in the morning.”

I gave in to June’s voice of reason, and after flipping through the literature I found on the end table and eating a Hershey bar I had stashed in my purse, I was ready to crawl into bed and give forty winks the old college try.

I
woke
up to an incessant clanking sound, reminding me of a metal cup being dragged across iron bars. I bolted upright in my bed and realized the source of the clanging was a voicemail alert on my phone, rather than an agitated prisoner in a jail cell. I had tossed and turned dreaming about maniacal magicians and murderous scarf-wearing convicts. Tentatively, I ran a hand across my midsection just to make sure I was still in one piece. Little by little, my head began to clear, mostly due to the amazing aroma of robust coffee brewing in the fancy, stainless-steel coffeemaker on the kitchenette counter. Breathing in the promise of caffeine, I reached for the bedside table and collected my phone to listen to the voicemail I had received sometime during the night.

Hamm had called me at five o’clock in the morning—not technically the middle of the night, but still. He wanted to wish me a fun and exciting day and to apologize again for not letting me know ahead of time that he and Jack had left the marina early to beat the storm. I was relieved that they had arrived safely at the golf resort, but the feeling was deflated by his goodbye words informing me that he wouldn’t have his phone with him until after their dinner at around nine. He was going to leave his phone on its charger like I had asked, so if I needed anything, I should call Jack’s phone. I was debating whether or not I should dial him up to fill him in about last night when June popped her head around the counter.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. I thought I was going to have to pour this coffee directly down your throat to wake you up.” June, bright-eyed and dressed to impress in a cute khaki skirt and V-neck lavender top, handed me a steaming cup of the aromatic brew. She was tapping her purple-laced, tan topsiders on the vinyl floor of the kitchenette. She had, no doubt, already finished the first pot.

“Thanks. What time did you wake up? I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Oh, it was early. I didn’t check the clock.” June, vibrating with energy, plopped on the edge of the matching queen-size bed next to mine. “I can’t wait to get downstairs for breakfast and to hear what’s going on. You should take your coffee into the shower with you. We don’t have much time to eat before our first session starts.”

With a friend like June, my pensive mood didn’t stand a chance. Giving in to her enthusiasm, I decided to leave last night behind me and headed for the shower.

S
ince we were
short on time, as June kept reminding me, we filled two plates apiece as we navigated our way through the buffet line. Sitting across the table from June, I couldn’t help but grin. There was enough food in front of her to feed three people her size—or two of mine.

“I don’t know why this place is called Devil’s Island. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a little slice of heaven.”

June was talking around mouthfuls of cheese-and-spinach quiche, cheese crepes, and cherry cheese Danishes. I had to agree that the food was heavenly, and aside from nearly being sawed in half and questioned by the police, the accommodations and service had all been impeccable.

Today was the first day of classes, and in spite of the early hour, the dining hall was full. Conversations buzzed all around us, and underneath the current of shoptalk and arguments over logistics, hushed whispers wafted to the surface.

“. . . man found dead right here in the resort . . . authorities not offering much information . . . messages hand-delivered to guest rooms . . . possible homicide on the property . . . all seminars still being held on schedule . . . resort on lockdown . . . no one permitted to enter or leave the property until permission was granted by the head detective.”

We were officially prisoners in paradise.

“How
do
you think the police got ahold of your scarf last night?”

“Hmm?” Just as I was beginning to get into the spirit of things, I was startled out of my musings by June’s question.

I didn’t have time to give the question more consideration, because Angelina pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. Dressed head to toe in black this morning, her understated pantsuit draped her curves but managed to look appropriately somber nonetheless. Her wardrobe choice confirmed my dark suspicion that Bob was indeed dead.

“I’m glad you ladies are up and about this morning. After last night, I was worried you might decide to lay low and stay in your room. Your room is suitable, isn’t it? If there’s anything you need, please call the number on your all-access pass and it will be taken care of right away. Damien feels horrible about the magic trick and sends his apologies. And then there is this tragedy with Bob. Our family is still reeling, trying to sort things out. Managing this resort is all-consuming, as you can imagine, and now this. Excuse me. I shouldn’t be rambling on about personal problems. How is your breakfast?”

“Everything is fine. Please don’t give us a second thought.” I poked a strawberry with my fork as I took in the finer details of Angelina’s appearance. The delicate skin under her eyes had the slightest tinge of purple, and both her thumbnails showed evidence of having been chewed.

“My most sincere condolences to you and your family.” Clearing my throat, I added, “Angelina, I hate to bring this up, but do you have any idea how the police got the scarf we left in your suite last night? They had it sealed in an evidence bag. Is there anything we should know about?”

June joined the conversation, having managed to swallow the mouthful of bacon she was chewing on when Angelina arrived. “Bob was never our favorite harbormaster, as you know, but we would never want to see him hurt. I can’t imagine this place without him. Do the police have any idea about what happened yet?”  

Angelina waved her pale hand as if trying to make the unpleasant topic disappear. “They are following up on some leads.” Her voice trailed off, and before the ensuing silence had the chance to become awkward, Angelina’s head snapped up in the direction of the silky male voice coming from the handsome man who had appeared out of nowhere. “And who wants to know?”

“Gabriel. You startled me.” Angelina stood and exchanged a quick, familial kiss on the cheek with the mystery man. “Please meet Francie and June. They are attending your weekend conference and have become special guests of mine and Damien’s. We met them because of some trouble that was stirred up by Bob down at the marina yesterday.” She stopped short, probably thinking it was better not to tempt fate.

“Enchanted, ladies. Gabriel DeVille. Any friends of my brother and his lovely wife are certainly friends of mine. Did I notice your names on the registry for my set design seminar this morning? I hope to become better acquainted with you both.”

The way his gaze bore into my brain, I felt like the room and all its inhabitants had magically melted away. Gabriel DeVille, although several years younger, was cut from the same cloth as his brother. But where Damien had jet-black hair and piercing brown eyes, Gabriel’s hair was a light brown, perfectly styled and kissed by the sun. It was impossible to tell whether the highlights were courtesy of Mother Nature or Lady Clairol. His eyes were the clear blue-green of the Caribbean Sea. Same chiseled features, same tall, strong build. Aahh. I mentally slapped my married face and looked over to my single friend who was doing a little melting of her own.

“Before I get finished setting up, Angelina, I was wondering if we could have a quick word?”  

Angelina accepted Gabriel’s arm. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you ladies later. Do try to enjoy your day. ”

“Holy Adonis!” June licked her lips like a cat in a cream bowl as she gazed in admiration at the suave man ushering Angelina away on the crook of his elbow. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but those DeVille men are gorgeous. Except Bob. He may have fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Don’t you think?”

“I certainly won’t mind spending the next few hours staring at Gabriel DeVille as he presents the set design lecture. As for Bob, I think his outward appearance was a reflection of his dejected, hateful, poor me—”

Someone was tapping my shoulder. By the look on June’s face, I assumed it was not someone who needed to hear my inappropriate slandering of the recently departed Bob. I swiveled in my chair to face officers Rymer and Stark and a woman I didn’t recognize. “Uh, good morning officers.” I put on the best variation of my sweet and innocent face I could muster up in a split-second.

“Ms. Egge, this is Detective Evelyn Reed. She is going to be conducting the investigation into Mr. DeVille’s homicide. You will want to cooperate, I’m sure.” Officer Stark moved aside allowing the detective, the latest in the ever-expanding lineup of people I didn’t care to meet, to step forward. She was pretty but not in a flashy way. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and minimal makeup allowed a light sprinkle of freckles to decorate her nose and cheeks. It also allowed the dark circles below her eyes to betray the evidence of a sleepless night.

“Wait a minute. You’re saying Bob was murdered?” Was my scarf somehow used in a crime? I was heading down that dark path of doubt once more.

Detective Reed’s gaze scanned our breakfast spread and took in every inch of our space, cataloguing each minute detail before coming to rest on the lavender-and-rose designer scarf June had looped around her neck just before leaving our room. I hadn’t even considered the implication of her adorning her casual outfit with a jaunty scarf that morning until Detective Reed honed in on it.

“Good morning, ladies. I wanted to introduce myself and inform you that I will need to ask both of you some questions later today. I assume you’ll be here in the hotel for the remainder of the morning?”

As unruffled as always, June recited our entire schedule for the day and then got to her feet, ready to head to the fifth floor for our first workshop. “We’ll talk to you later, Detective. I don’t want to be late. Come on, Francie.”