Murder's Last Resort (6 page)

Chapter 18

Dave Enderly, French’s second-in-command, called me at home.

“Hi, Dave,” I said. “You’re one lucky guy to reach me. I just stopped in for a moment between having my colors done and hosting a ladies’ luncheon at Papa’s Place.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, Maya.” Dave’s baritone boomed into the phone. “Rick has some of his guys tailing you everywhere you go on property. And I have some of my guys tailing Rick’s guys.”

I laughed. “So, everywhere I go, I trail a long line of ‘gardeners’ and other hotel staff?”

“That’s right!” he said. “You ought to look behind you sometime. It’s like you’re the Pied Piper of Silver Pines.”

That was a funny image, all those guys trailing after me. I laughed and wondered if I should lead them on a merry chase the next time I went somewhere. I could bob and weave through these grounds like a palmetto bug on speed. I knew this place like I knew the new fall collection of St. John’s Knits.

I turned my attention to Dave. “I want to compliment you on how you’re running things in French’s absence. He’s going to be so proud of you when he gets back.”

“Oh, Maya. Do you really think so? I want to do everything right. I don’t want to screw anything up. He’s the one who trained me so I hope I’m doing well. Plus,” he added, almost apologetically, “this meeting is a chance to make a name for myself. It could help my career big-time.”

“You are, you are, Dave. You’re doing everything right. The place is spinning smooth like a gyroscope. The higher ups will notice you, for sure.” Dave was a little insecure but that was part of his aw, shucks charm. Underneath his insecurity was a man driven to achieve.

Dave had come to us from our Vermont property, Sapphire Stowe Mountain, where he had learned how to run a four-season resort and, so important to a great career in the industry, how to properly kowtow to monied and spoiled guests.

He and his wife, Margie, were a nice couple with two young children. We sometimes had dinner together at their cottage near the lake in Windermere, or they would come to our place for barbecue during low season.

Once in a while, when her kids were at school, Margie and I floated around Lake Butler for a few hours in her pontoon boat with sandwiches and iced tea.

“I saw the spread you put out for the Orlando PD in Meeting Room C yesterday afternoon, Dave. Great job. You’re taking good care of them,” I said.

“Thanks, Maya. It means a lot coming from you. I have to take good care of them, don’t I? They’re going to let French out of jail and they’re going to get the murderer.”

“They sure are. I also want to compliment you on the dinner dance last night. It was elegant. Everything ran like a Swiss monorail. No one would guess French was not behind it all. You and your team are tight.”

“I’m trying, Maya. But, you know, that’s why I’m calling you. I’m getting as nervous as a hooker in church. It’s nerve-wracking. When are they going to let French out? Do you have any idea?”

“No, Dave, I don’t. It
is
nerve-wracking. I feel the same way. Doug Reed, our attorney, is working on French’s release. I don’t know what the problem is. I called Reed this morning and he said he’s on it.”

“Does he think French’ll get sprung soon?” Dave asked.

“That’s what he keeps telling me,” I said.

Dave was so anxious to do right, it could backfire. The resort could not afford for him to lose his cool. He was the guy in charge. He had to keep himself together.

“Listen, Dave,” I said, trying to both encourage and reassure him, “you’re doing a top flight job. The best way for you to honor French is to take some deep breaths and keep on keepin’ on. You’re a pro. You can handle this. He’ll be back before you can shake a green tambourine.”

“I hope so. It gives me the willies to think that one of these Sapphire people could be a murderer. I look at every single one of them and think,
Is it you? Is it you? Is it you?
I feel like my head’s about to split open.”

Wow, he was in worse shape than I would have expected. He was raising my own anxiety level. I was running out of cheer and this call was taking longer than I wanted. “Dave,” I said, “French will be let out of jail tomorrow. I feel it in my bones.”

“Oh, thank God.” His voice sounded more relaxed already. “It’s driving me nuts. I haven’t been home since Friday night. The kids miss me. I miss them. Margie could tell something was up at the ball last night. I feel like a criminal for not telling her anything. It’s a mess. Boy, will I be happy to see French.”

“You and me both, Dave. You and me both.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Dave said. “Vacaar Luzi asked me to come up to his suite around 3:00 p.m. this afternoon. He said you might be there, too. Do you think he has a complaint about the property?”

“No, I don’t know what he wants. I’ll see you there. I’ve got to run now before I’m late to my own luncheon. Bye.” I hung up.

Why would Vacaar Luzi invite David Enderly and me to his suite? Would Mona be there, too? I’d see her at Papa's in a few minutes but we wouldn’t get a chance to talk privately.

I didn’t have time to think about that right now. I had to dive into my closet and find an ivory-colored ensemble or something in earth-tones so I could disguise my tragic sallow-ruddiness. Oh, and I had to see my dentist. These nasty old plywood teeth had to go.

Chapter 19

I looked after my guests, then sat at my table. Papa’s had reserved two-thirds of the restaurant for us. We had privacy and, at the same time, all the floor-to-ceiling doors were open to the lake and the pool below and the sweet afternoon breeze. Ultra-fine mesh screens kept out the flying insects and the whole shack, perched on the rocks with its tin roof and slow-moving ceiling fans, felt like a little piece of Papa Hemingway’s Key West.

On any other day, I was all about the outstanding seafood at Papa’s. This was the first time I didn’t give a flying Frisbee for what I ate. I was watching people like a cat watches a moth fluttering against a window pane. I was studying their mannerisms, how they spoke to one another, how they shifted their eyes and held their bodies.

I had invited Lily once again. Technically, she was not a Sapphire lady, but who was going to challenge me? I was French’s wife and he was the boss of this property. I seated her on the opposite side of the room. She knew what she was supposed to do.

On one level, the luncheon went well. Usually, Sapphire women moved food around their plates in a casual fashion for twenty minutes, while chatting. Today, the ladies all ate with a gusto that was rarely seen in our competitive, skinny-bitch-not-eating-a-thing world.

During the dessert course, four to six Sapphire women commonly shared one of the richest desserts on the menu. Each tried one bite and moaned in appreciation. Then, they set their forks down in unison and smiled at each other, knowing they were the queens of self-discipline. Not today. This day, they could have been training for the Great Salmon Feed and Key Lime Pie Olympics.

On a personal level, the luncheon was a bust. Once again, I felt the heaviness of disappointment settle on my shoulders. Could they all be innocent? I felt so sure a woman had killed Torrey. I thought I understood human behavior. No one seemed off or nervous or suspicious. I felt let down and deflated, once again.

As lunch was wrapping up, I ran into Lily in the powder room of Papa’s. “What say we steal away in a few moments and you come with me to the Torreys’ original suite? Orlando PD has had it locked and sealed since Red’s death.” I whispered, making sure no one in the stalls overheard us.

“How are we going to get in?” Lily asked, looking a little hesitant.

“I have my ways, silly, come on. It’ll be fun. I have some time before I meet Dave Enderly at Luzi’s suite. Remember? They just happen to be on the same floor.”

“Oh, all right. Why do I let you talk me into these things?” she said to her own reflection in the mirror, giving her lips a fresh coat of ginger peach gloss.

“Because they’re
exciting
.” I chided her as I left. “Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”

* * *

Once Lily arrived, we sauntered through the door to the left of the front desk. If anyone had asked, we would have said we were looking for Jake. We were in luck—no one asked and we managed to give the guys tailing me the slip.

We turned past the marketing and PR offices and then took the service elevator to seventeen. We walked down the hall on little cat feet toward what had been Torrey’s original suite.

In my summer tote, I had my handy-dandy skeleton key and a few other little devices. The best one was my bump key. The Orlando PD had installed a dead bolt lock on the service entry door of the suite. This might deter the average burglar, but not me.

Lily watched in wonder as I placed the bump key into the dead bolt and tapped it with a rubber hammer. The service door opened into the kitchen of the suite, as I gave it a little push.

“I say, old bean,” she said, “that’s pretty impressive. How’d you know it would work?”

“I didn’t, but it’s not the only tool in my kit, you know.” I gave her a nudge that said, “What? You doubted me?”

We stepped into the middle of the kitchen and looked around.

“Kind of feels like Christmastide, don’t it?” said Lily.

“Yup, it does,” I agreed.

Every surface in the kitchen was covered with a thick layer of white. There were marks and mars where OPD had dusted for prints. The black granite countertops, the stovetop, the stainless steel sinks, the cherry wood cabinet doors were all streaked with white, as was the black refrigerator. The snow-covered vista looked as if it had been smudged by a young Helen Keller, feeling for something to eat.

“Here,” I said to Lily, handing her two latex gloves. “Put these on over that perfect manicure of yours.” She did, as did I.

“Let’s go upstairs to see the bedroom, the closet and the bathroom,” I said.

I led and she followed. The bedsheets were crumpled. With my gloved fingers, I smoothed them and noticed a stain. No surprise there. I already suspected that Torrey had enjoyed his murderer just before she killed him. Still, it was gross. Why hadn’t the police taken that sheet into evidence? Sloppy police work or was something else at play here?

Lily made a sucking sound as she inhaled and said, “The randy bugger—how disgusting.”

“So it is, my dear. Thank God they didn’t let Alana back in here,” I said, and re-crumpled the sheets.

We opened the closet doors and looked inside. There was nothing out of the ordinary—some well-tailored men’s suits, some golf shirts, khakis and casual wear. Torrey’s shoes were neatly lined up, all in a row.

Secretly checking out a dead man’s wardrobe was a little uncomfortable, like wearing a pair of ballerina flats a half size too small. We both felt it.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Lily asked.

I looked down at Torrey’s foppish velvet slippers with their glittering crests and pointed them out to Lily. “Prince Horny won’t be needing these anymore,” I said.

Lily giggled. “Seriously, Miss Maya Marple,” she said, “why did you bring me here?”

“I’m not sure. It just seemed like we should take a peek.”

I walked into the bathroom and began opening drawers.

“Help me look in these,” I said to Lily.

“What’s this?” she asked, after rummaging through the drawer closest to the spa tub. She held up what looked to be a tiny metal shovel or scraper with a miniature razor blade in it.

“I have no idea,” I answered. “Let’s commit it to memory and scat. I have to meet Vacaar and David in a few minutes. You go back to the lobby.”

Lily smiled at me. “I’m dismissed, am I? No problem—I’m ready to go, thank you!”

Chapter 20

On the way to my appointment, I looked into my tote bag. The silk scarf was neatly in place, covering my burglar’s tools and the two sets of latex gloves. No one was going to guess that I had been snooping around Torrey’s old suite.

I thought about Vacaar. Why would he tell Lily to tell me to meet him? Why didn’t he tell me himself? Maybe the opportunity had not presented itself at the dance. After all, Mona took most of his time and attention and I had been busy observing as many of our Sapphire guests as possible.

And why, of all people, had Vacaar asked David Enderly to meet us in his suite? He couldn’t have known that Dave was in charge of everything since French was off the premises, could he? Maybe Vacaar didn’t want to meet me in his suite alone. That made sense. Then again, he could have had Mona there as a sort of neutral third party. Did he have something to tell us he would rather not discuss in front of her? My mind was working overtime.

French called my brain the “Big Deal Manufacturing Plant” and, further, said it was a dangerous neighborhood; I should not go there alone. Could I help it that all my synapses and dendrites were well-oiled and ready to pounce on interesting bits of stimulus?

"Oh pshaw! Maybe my manufacturing plant will observe and process something that saves the day," I told French mentally, as I walked down the hall.

I turned the corner which lead to Vacaar and Mona’s seventeenth floor suite with its unobstructed view of our property, the pine forest beyond it and Epcot’s silver geodesic dome, sparkling in the sun, beyond that. David Enderly stood outside the door, almost vibrating.

Enderly. Why is he such a train wreck? What, really, does he have to be nervous about? Vacaar wields no power over him. Even if Vacaar were to criticize the hotel or last night’s event in French’s absence, what difference would it make?

“Hi, Maya!” Enderly said, his face relieved to see me.

“Why so nervous, Dave?”

He answered in a hurried stage whisper, his words tumbling out. “Gosh, Maya, wouldn’t you be nervous, too? There’s a murderer on the loose somewhere. My boss is gone and for the first time ever, I’m in charge of this whole enchilada. If that weren’t bad enough, all the big shots from the corporate office and the Weinsteins are here, not to mention the Norwegian owners. I’m on the hot seat. I want to look my best for everyone.” He adjusted his tie and gave me a look that said, “You may be the boss’s wife but you’re a bit dim.”

“Okay, I get it,” I said. “Take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Let’s knock on this door and see what Luzi wants.”

He knocked. We stood there and waited. He knocked again. We waited some more.

“Dave, I don’t think he’s in his suite. Should we just come back in a few minutes?” I suggested.

“Let me call him on the house phone.” Enderly said, trotting down the hall toward the elevators. I saw him dial and wait for several rings. He came back, walking slowly.

“This is odd,” he said. “There’s no answer and Mr. Vacaar was so insistent that I be here at 3:00 p.m. He even left me a voice mail while having lunch at the club house. That was at 1:00 p.m. I’m sure he must be back by now.”

“Well then, I authorize you to put your staff key into the door and open it. Pop your head into the entry and call his name,” I said.

David followed my direction and waved me in behind him when there was no answer.

“You call out to him, Maya. Go ahead. I think I hear a TV upstairs in the bedroom. Maybe he’s in the shower.”

“Vaca-a-a-r,” I called. No answer. “Mona-a-a.” No answer.

“Anybody home?” I shouted, a little louder.

Dave and I looked at each other. I took a few steps into the living room and he followed me. All was in apple pie order. The rooms had been cleaned and the amenities refreshed. A Murano glass platter of sliced exotic fruits sat on the dining room table with a note from the food and beverage department. A bottle of Dom was chilling in a silver ice bucket. The ice was fresh. Room service had been here only a short while ago.

“Go upstairs, Dave. See what’s up,” I instructed. “Why is that TV on, anyway?”

He did as I asked, then called to me to come up.

“Is it creepy?” I asked before I was halfway up the stairs.

“No. There’s nothing creepy,” he said.

I walked into the neat bedroom. Housekeeping had made the bed and plumped the pillows. I walked past the closet and into the bathroom.

“
This
is a little creepy.” David said. “Look around. The TV is on a golf tournament. The shower door is open. The inside of the shower is wet. The bath mat has footprints on it. There’s a wet towel on the floor in front of the sink.” He pointed things out as he named them. “Someone showered here just now, most likely Mr. Luzi. You can still feel the humidity in the air—”

“But no one is here.” I finished his thought. “Where is he?”

I had the urge to call Luzi like I might call a cat, “Here, Luzi, Luzi, Luzi—” but I didn’t.

Instead, I reached into my tote and pulled out my latex gloves. David had exited the bathroom and walked out onto the oversized deck, perhaps thinking that Luzi was there, taking some air.

I slid on the gloves and opened the bi-fold doors of the closet in the dressing area. All seemed to be in order. But wait—not quite. There was a foot in a high-heeled, sling-back pump sticking out below the hanging clothes. I stared at the foot. I stared at the shoe, buttercup yellow, calfskin, in pristine condition. I pushed the hangers aside to get a better look. I had to know whose foot it was.

Luzi’s! Ugh. Ugh. Eeew. There he lay, a vision in yellow, with a fetching plastic bag over his head. I let out a scream that no one heard.

I ran into the bedroom, panic crawling over my skin like a thousand tiny spiders, and yelled for David. Over and over, I yelled but he heard nothing, as he had closed the sliding glass doors behind him.

“Dave, Dave, get in here,” I yelled, as I pushed the heavy doors open and ran onto the patio.

He turned, saw me crying and came running to help. “Maya, what is it?” he asked, his voice rising in panic with mine.

“Vacaar’s in the closet, dead,” I gasped. “Call security. Call the police.”

He made the calls and I sat at the foot of the bed, shaking, while David looked into the closet to satisfy his own curiosity.

Who knew Vacaar liked to cross-dress while practicing auto-erotic asphyxiation? Poor Vacaar! Caught red-handed, as it were, with his head in a plastic bag and his neck in a noose fashioned out of his own black leather belt.

Before I had run off screaming, a quick glance had confirmed the rumor that short men can be full of big surprises. No wonder Mona stuck to him like wallpaper
. Was that rigor mortis or was he that happy to be in Mona’s shoes? Would she be more bothered by losing her Albanian stallion or by the fact that he had come and gone in her new Charles Jourdans?