Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) (11 page)

“And?”

“It’s been erased,” he said, his voice shaking. “Now Brett will be mad at me and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault? What did I do?”

“You confused me.”

I ignored his chilling glare. “Was this the only copy?”

“We can download it again, but it will take time to render.” He rolled his eyes up into his head.

“So it’s not lost.” I exhaled.

He was tapping on the keys again. “Don’t know for sure, don’t think so.” Snippets of footage flew across the screen.

“Can you work on it?” I crossed my fingers and hoped it would be alright.

“Maybe. Anyway, show’s over. It’s time you left. Don’t want you ruining everything.”

Shivers ran through my body when I recalled Burn’s conversation with Frank. Was he the killer? I hoped that Brett would be able to tell me more when I meet him tonight.

What about the footage Mike tried to conceal from me? What did it mean?

Frank was at the bar with Doug. He grabbed a paper from Frank, who snatched it back. They began to exchange words and that was all I had caught.

Had Mike been genuine? Had he erased the footage by accident or had he tried to conceal something from me? What if he was trying to protect his Dad? Perhaps Doug was somehow mixed up in all of this. What if Katherine and Burns were mere bystanders and it was Doug who killed Frank and Mike knew about it and was trying to cover it up?

I made a mental note to talk to Brett to get another copy of those clips. I replayed the scene that I saw over and over again in my head until they were etched in my mind. Whatever it was, I knew that I needed to speak to Doug.

I found Douglas Mitchell at the Breeze Bar. He held a wine glass from its elongated stem, pushing a grubby, old dishcloth into the mouth of the glass and twisted it dry, then lifted the glass up to the light before working on it a bit more. When he was satisfied, he turned it on its head and hung it on the glass racks overhead, pushing it back in place with two fingers. He was focused on the task at hand and didn’t notice me slipping into a stool at the end of the bar.

The place was busier toward the evening, but now there was only the odd straggler. Doug had plenty of time to work through glasses of various shapes and sizes that were stacked up on a stainless steel counter against the back wall of the bar.

A row of employee achievement certificates in gilded frames hung on the same wall. They featured images of Doug from early years to the more recent. He looked almost the same: rotund body and merry cherubic face. The only difference was that now his crop of wild, dark hair had thinned at the temples. Like his receding hairline, his awards had diminished in the last few years. There were whispers that he had not taken his wife’s passing well and that he was not the same. If this had been the case, Doug hid it well, and so strangers always regarded him as a big guy with a big heart.

“What can I get you, Tracy?” he asked with a broad smile. “I know, just the thing,” he said with a tap of his chubby forefinger on his temple. He got me a glass of water with a sliver of lemon. “Didn’t make the water too warm today,” he said and wiped the tip of his nose with the back of his sleeve.

“Thanks for remembering, Doug.” I tipped my glass at him.

“You bet. Easiest customer in the world.” He laughed. “I know you didn’t come into my bar at this time of day for a glass of water. So tell me, what can I do for you?”

“Well you heard that Ryan was arrested for Frank Walters’ death right?” I asked.

“Yes, it was a shame. Always thought that the boy was a good lad, but you never know, do you?” He winced and gazed into the distance.

“Frank Walters, did you know him?”

“Well sure, who didn’t know the great Frank Walters.” I noted a hint of sarcasm, but I was unsure.

“Frank was in here the night before he died.”

“Yes, yes he was.”

“Brett tells me that you were arguing.”

“No, I can’t say we did.” He turned around and picked up another glass and began working on it.

“He said that the security footage showed you grabbing something from Frank and he grabbed it back.”

“Uh, that camera?” He nodded toward a video camera trained on the bar.

“I suppose it was that one.”

“Ah, yes I think I know what he means. It was not an argument as such.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

He sighed, kept the glass down, plopped his elbow on the counter, and placed his forefinger over his mouth. He lowered his voice. “I don’t usually talk about my customers, but since you are asking, he had a bad night at the casino. They say that he had been in a fight and his lucky ring got broken. He was running a high tab here and I thought that he had had enough so I asked him to leave.” He shrugged. “I was doing my job.” He pointed to the Responsible Drinking Policy notice taped to the wall.

“So what happened next?” I asked, leaning in a little closer.

“He got really mad and began to shout. He said that he had only the one drink. I showed him the tab and he grabbed it from me and after he looked at it I took it back from him. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“I swear. Look, see.” He flicked through a bundle of chits from the previous night. He handed over a paper marked with strange symbols and seven vertical lines. So Frank must have had at least that many drinks. Doug’s story about Frank’s big booze up checked out.

The problem was that the paper was smooth and not creased. I was sure that the paper that I had seen on the footage had been crushed, but maybe I was mistaken. I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

I heard a rustling from the back. “Who’s back there?” I asked. “I thought we were alone.”

“I don’t know. Let me check.”

He started toward the door leading to the back room when Mike walked in behind the bar. How long had he been there? Had he been listening to our conversation? His face wore no expression so it was hard to say.

“Mikey, come on in. Tracy, meet my son, Mike Mitchell. He’s been away at College studying for an IT degree. He’s working here on a summer internship,” he put a large paw around the bony shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze. The boy flinched, wriggled, and looked embarrassed.

Mike looked up at me and glowered. “Yeah, we’ve met.” Then turning toward Doug, he said, “I need some cash.”

“I’ll get you some later, Son,” said Doug with an uneasy smile. “I’m talking to the lady.”

“Need it now.”

“Take a look. My wallet’s in the back room.”

“Got what was there. I need some more.” He stared at the till.

“Okay, later.” Doug spoke a little louder and there was an edge to his tone. He tipped his head toward me.

As they carried on, I noticed the adoration that Doug had for his son. Mike, on the other hand, never looked straight at his father even once. The boy ducked into the back room again.

“Kids,” said Doug, nodding his head. “He’s not being paid till the end of the month. He needs some cash to tide him over. He’s a hardworking lad. Worked his butt off to get to college. Barb would have been proud of him. God rest her soul. He’s turned out fine.” He pulled out the rag from deep inside his apron pocket and wiped a tear from his wrinkled lid.

“Doug, about Frank Walters…”

“Look, Tracy.” He tossed the cloth down on the bar and spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t know any more.” Glassy eyed, he glared at me.

I sat back in my stool.

He shook his head, rubbed his forehead, and softened his voice. “I mean, you enjoy your drink. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

Back in my hidey-hole, I began to piece the puzzle together. It seemed that in the last few hours since Ryan’s arrest there were more and more people coming out of the woodwork who could have killed Frank or at least who would have wanted him dead. The more I thought about it, the more baffling it became.

Katherine was still my primary suspect. She could have wanted Frank killed for a number of reasons: He had been siphoning off funds from their family trust for years, he was attempting to gain control of her business, and his infidelities had been going on for a number of years—all of which could all have contributed to her snapping.

What about Gina? Was she being truthful? She said that the insurance policy had lapsed. She stood more to gain if the divorce had gone through if Frank was entitled to a chunk of the business. So as far as I knew, Frank was more valuable to her alive than dead.

Perhaps there was something else that I was missing about Gina. Maybe she was not as devoted as she tried to make out. Heck, she was capable of luring a married man into her bed and destroying a marriage that she was entrusted to improve. In my book, that meant she was capable of anything. I had yet to discover her motive.

Then again, there was Katherine herself who was having an affair. Frank knew about it and Gina had gloated about how he had found out. That would explain the photograph found in Frank’s bedroom. Were there other photos? Probably. Could Katherine have been desperate enough to kill him and ransack his room to find them?

I had to figure out a way of finding out, but Millie had warned me not to go near her again. Katherine was an important guest and whatever I did, I would have to do without offending her. Finding the photos would prove that she was guilty. I’d have to search her room when she was not around. In any case, I would have to make sure neither of them found out.

Gina said that Burns was prank calling the house. Then there was the incident at the casino, but what could have ticked him off so much that would make him kill off a cash cow? I wish I could have heard more of their argument on the playback.

What about the Mitchell boy? He was hiding something, or maybe it was a genuine error on his part? At this point everyone was a criminal in one way or the other, or I’m being paranoid.

It was irritating that I had not come any closer to the truth. Perhaps this evening while the party was going on I could check out Katherine’s room. Yes, that’s what I would have to do. I would have to make a clear plan and stick to it. I sighed, as if the evening was not going to be difficult enough.

I went over to the reception and asked Imogen if Katherine was on the guest list for this evening’s event. Imogen confirmed that she was, and added that she was bringing along a guest by the name of Gerard Huxley. Goodness me! That was her lawyer. Had she no shame? Her husband’s body was still warm and she was flaunting her lover for whom she had killed for not hours before!

In my time at the resort I had seen some pretty strange people doing some pretty strange things, yet everyday something or someone new would surprise me. I wondered why Ryan bothered reading celebrity magazines and the gossip columns. I found the stories that happened here every day were far more interesting.

What if I asked Brett to help me get inside the room? Then again, he might get all preachy and bury my idea in resort policy. I pictured him saying, “Oh no, Tracy, that’s out of the question. That would infringe upon our guests’ privacy.” Stuff that. It was best that I left him out of my plan. Playing by the book would never get Ryan out of this mess.

I would do this on my own, as I always did. I went over the plan in mind once again. I would
borrow
a master key from Housekeeping and once I confirmed Katherine was at the party, I would go to her room and search through her things. That should be simple enough.