Mystic Mayhem (19 page)

She wiped her eyes, and then she blew her nose.

I put my arm around her. "Well, at least they won't be calling the men in white coats to come and take you away."

She turned to look at me. Her expression still frightened—the moonlight bringing out the fear in her eyes. "Men in white coats? Someone was going to call the men in white coats?"

"Don't worry about it. At least if they do, you'll have company because they'll probably take me too."

Sunday morning I was all set to meet Cat in the main kitchen where Valentine had promised she'd fix some extra grits, Andouille sausage, and scrambled eggs with sautéed onion. I'd been thinking about breakfast all morning.

Cat and I both had full schedules at work today, but she insisted on coming in early to help me with trying to find evidence that would exonerate Fabrizio.

Valentine plated food for us then went to go over the lunch menu with the waiters and kitchen staff.

Cat and I were both in fifty shades of ecstasy with the grits and sausage and eggs.

I told her about the fun and games she'd missed the night before, and she proposed that while she was glad she was absent for the actual events, she was also glad to be there today.

"There's something really weird about neither one of those boat motors working last night," she said.

That same thought had come to me then made a quick exit when the ghost appeared last night. "Okay. It is weird. Odeo keeps those little boats in tip-top shape. It's a matter of personal pride to him."

"So, maybe someone besides Odeo has been working on the motors."

Our eyes met over our coffee cups. "What do you think about going out to the dock to have a peek at those boats?"

With a keen look in her eyes, she took one last bite of eggs, wrapped a piece of sausage in a paper towel, and stood. "Sounds reasonable to me, sugah."

"Let's get on with it. I have a customer at ten sharp. Mr. Livermore in 220. Says he wants a kitty. A kitty. I offered him a feral cat with a high back and scorching green eyes. He turned it down. Then I said, 'What about an intricate Cheshire cat with a gorgeous sweeping kaleidoscope of a tail?' Nope, didn't want that either. 'How about a panther? You know, on the prowl, high in a vine-covered tree?' I asked him. But no, this guy wants his own kitty tattooed on his chest. It's a little bit of a calico thing with big, sad eyes, and a pink nose. Honest to gosh, Cat, it'll take me all of ten minutes to ink it. I can't believe I couldn't talk him out of it."

Cat laughed. "Can you imagine getting it on with that guy and coming face-to-face with the pussy on his chest?"

My turn to laugh. "Speaking of pussy…do you honestly think a man who puts a permanent picture of his kitty on his chest is ever going to get laid?"

We agreed it wasn't likely, went out the side door, and headed around to the lake.

*   *   *

There wasn't a single boat lined up at the dock.

We went inside the boathouse where we found Odeo standing in the midst of a half dozen outboard motors, hands on his hips, shaking his head, his clothes covered in grease.

"Odeo," I said. "What's going on here?"

He took his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. "Oh, lordy, Miss Melanie," he lamented. "I'm afeared what happened out dere on the lake last night wasn't no accident. Nary a drop of gas in any of these here motors."

I knew it. Cat grabbed hold of my hand in excitement. Someone was still wreaking havoc at The Mansion on Mystic Isle, and I was willing to bet it was the same someone who stole Mrs. Elway's money and then killed her. Maybe there was still a chance to save Fabrizio after all.

We left Odeo to his motors, still shaking his head, at a loss as to how someone could be so cruel as to launch an attack against such fine pieces of mechanical engineering as his boat motors.

It was about nine-thirty, and the sun was higher in the sky than before. The humidity was dense and moist, sticky. If a breeze didn't come up, it would be nearly unbearable later on in the day. I was almost glad I had a full day in the air-conditioned comfort of Dragons and Deities, except it would impede any further investigation until I fulfilled my scheduled appointments.

"One thing I don't get," Cat said as we crossed the lush green lawn to the front door.

"Just one thing?"

"So someone drained all the boat motors of gasoline, thinking when Rosalyn took one she'd be adrift, which meant she might end up floating face down in the swamp."

"Mmm," I said. "I think that pretty much sums it up."

"Okay," she went on a bit hesitantly, "how did that someone know Rosalyn, who couldn't swim and would normally stay as far away from water as possible, would head straight for one of those boats?"

I stopped walking and looked at her. Well, duh. How was it I hadn't thought of that? Maybe I was just too close to it, or maybe knocking boots with Quincy was starting to rub off on her. "That's an excellent question, Cat, and the answer to it just might be the key that unlocks the door to Fabrizio's jail cell."

*   *   *

I still couldn't figure out why someone would come all the way out to Mystic Isle to get a tattoo of a calico kitty, a waste of my creativity if you asked me, and in the end I was able to persuade him to move the tat to his back, where it would at least swell when he flexed.

I worked through my schedule, and a few minutes after four, Cat showed up at my doorway, looking tired.

I was anxious to get back to our sleuthing, but she begged off for an hour.

"I'm scheduled for a massage," she said tiredly. "A free massage, and no way I'm going to pass it up. I really need it."

Cat never ever had to pay for one of the delicious massages at the Hidden Passage Spa. One of the masseuses there was sweet on her. But then, wasn't everyone? And since she'd probably spent most of yesterday and last night doing horizontal calisthenics with Quincy, she most likely wasn't kidding when she said she really needed it.

She stretched her arms over her head and bent at the waist, first to one side then the other. "Mmm, and afterward I'll be all slippery and loosened up and ready to help you…"

Warm and slippery, loose and ready, and slick with lotion—

"Jiminy Christmas!"

She jumped. "What? What is it?"

"Hurry," I said. "Go, go now, and get back to me as fast you can."

I took hold of her shoulders and turned her around to face down the hall toward the hidden passage that opened into Hidden Passage Spa.

Several things had occurred to me all at once. And they all had to do with Cat and her hot stone massage at the Hidden Passage Spa. One—I suddenly knew where Rosalyn's "ghost" had been hanging out and why it smelled so sweet. Two—I also knew it wasn't really otherworldly. And three—the concealed doorway to the Hidden Passage Spa wasn't the only secret corridor in the resort.

Oh, boy. "Cat, hurry," I repeated. Now that all this new information was whirling around in my brain, it seemed urgent to put it to good use.

*   *   *

Cat was true to her word. She found me in the Presto-Change-o Room waiting for Jack. I was anxious to tell him what I'd figured out.

She came to me exactly as she'd predicted, warm and slippery, loose and ready.

Harry Villars had the lotion they used at the Hidden Passage Spa shipped in from a hot mineral springs spa in Baden-Baden, Germany, where aristocrats had been soaking their loins for over three hundred years. The massage lotion, rich and creamy, a sesame oil base with a warm, nutty undertone of almonds was part of a basket every recipient of a spa package received to take with them. And it was exactly what lingered in the air after our ghoul's vanishing act the night before.

Rosalyn's haint and Cat smelled yummy just like that lotion, which led me to believe the visitor tormenting Rosalyn Elway Whitlock was no more from the other side than I was.

But there was yet one other piece of the puzzle involving Rosalyn we had to figure out, and Cat was quick to hone in on it.

"But what would someone—anyone—have to gain from scaring Rosalyn like that?"

"Good question." Jack had walked up behind Cat. He walked around the table, leaned down, and gave me a peck on the cheek like it was something he'd been doing for years. I nearly fell out of the chair.

Cat's eyes bugged out.

He turned a chair and straddled it, his hands folded across the back, chin resting on them. "So, what's the answer?"

Cat and I took turns explaining about the boat motors, the "haunting," the lotion. He listened without interrupting, but when we finished, he repeated the original questions. "So, what
would
someone gain from scaring Rosalyn that way, and how did the person who drained the gas from the boat motors know she'd be going out there after one?"

I thought about it and tried to remember what we knew so far about Rosalyn, about the murder and theft, about everything. "Evidently, Rosalyn has a history of mental instability, and she's in line after Cecile Elway to take over as executor of the estate and administrator of the family trust. If she were to be declared incompetent for some reason, such as seeing ghosts running around in her hotel room at night, then it stands to reason any other person named as administrator would benefit."

"Funny we should be talking about this right now," Jack said, "because I just came from speaking with Harry Villars. The private detective he hired to look into the background and finances of these people has come up with yet another interesting tidbit about the Elways."

Cat and I both leaned in to better hear over the band running their sound check.

"When Cecile first took over, she went to the family attorney and reorganized the line of succession in the trust, naming Penelope Devere to take over as administrator in the event Rosalyn was unable to perform her duties."

"Why would Cecile do that? Name her psychic?" Cat asked. "That doesn't make sense."

"Well," I said, "there obviously wasn't any love lost between Cecile and her stepdaughter, and who knows, maybe once Rosalyn started ranting and raving about her having killed Theodore, she really did think Rosalyn was nuts and wouldn't be able to serve the estate."

Cat narrowed her eyes. "It kind of scares me, but I think it's all beginning to make some sense. If Penny stands to take over the lucrative job of doling out the Elway money, it would be pretty handy to have Rosalyn institutionalized for running around screaming there are ghosts chasing her all over the place."

I reached out and touched each of them on the hand. "Holy moly, y'all. When I spoke to Penny on Thursday, she went straight from me to a massage at the spa. You guys, she would have received the lotion in the gift basket."

Jack nodded slowly. "Yes, and it even makes sense that in case you can't make someone look crazy, maybe you just drown them."

I shook my head, not wanting to disagree with Cap'n Jack and possibly hurt his feelings, but…"There's still the matter of the boat thing. I mean, come on. How could anyone possibly know someone with a deep-seated fear of water would run out and jump in a boat?"

I looked at Cat. She shrugged.

I looked at Jack. He shook his head. He didn't know either, but he pushed off the chair and stood. "I can think of the perfect person to ask about that," he said.

He grinned down at me. Ah, Jack, so cute.

"Rosalyn," he said. "We should ask Rosalyn."

We came up empty-handed in our search for Rosalyn until we stopped Lurch and asked him if he'd seen her.

"I do believe I caught a glimpse of her out by the pool," he said, his voice so James Earl Jones, I expected to hear
Star Wars
dialogue.

And he was right.

Rosalyn had taken over one of the patio tables and spread her playing cards across the top. No less than four empty Collins glasses with The Mansion's signature plastic mini-buccaneer swords lying at the bottom of the glasses. She'd been drinking Captain Hooks—spiced rum, sugar, and 7UP—deceptively sweet coma-inducing libations. And from the slackness of her face and lack of focus in her eyes, she might have indulged in even more than the four empties on the table.

She looked up as we approached her table, swaying, lifting her hand to wave, as limp as a rag doll. "Excellent, Melanie, my one and only ally in this godforsaken mudhole."

Beside me, Jack sucked in his breath but didn't counter.

"Rosalyn," I said, "may we sit down?"

"Of coursh, let me just…" she slurred, sweeping the table clear with one arm. Cards flew, and plastic "pool" glasses clattered to the pool deck.

Jack flinched and motioned to one of the cabana boys, who was Johnny-on-the-spot, picking everything up off the deck. Rosalyn watched through bleary eyes, reaching out to pat the young man on the rear as he bent over picking up the mess she'd made.

Cat and I looked at each other, amused. Jack's jaw hung open.

Guess those Captain Hooks loosened her up a little.

"Rosalyn" I had to snap my fingers a couple of times to get her attention, "we have a couple of questions for you. Do you mind?"

She seemed to notice Jack for the first time and leaned over, flirting, chin on hand, until her elbow slid out from under her, that is.

We all winced as her chin hit the table, but she just smiled and propped herself back up. "Whassup, Mr. Hotel Manager?"

Jack shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

"Last night, Rosalyn," I began, noticing how her expression darkened, "there's something really important I have to tell you about last night."

She reached across the table and grabbed Jack's hand, staring desperately into his eyes. "This city is headed for a dish-aster of biblical pro-por-portions. Will you save me?"

Jack looked at me and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"That wasn't Cecile's ghost in your room last night."

That got her attention. She dropped Jack's hand and turned toward me.