Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Knowing what goes on around here’s my business.” I chuckled.

“I don’t think we've met before.”

Sitting down, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t say we have. Millie told me that you were at the police station earlier today?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Any leads on the Frank Walters’ case?” She leaned forward, her green eyes trained on me.

I made myself comfortable, the tips of our shoes touching. “You know that they arrested Ryan from the spa. I believe you know Ryan.”

“Yes, he and I are good friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes, friends, and I don’t believe that he is capable of doing such an awful thing. It’s not right that he’s been arrested.” Her words flowed in a fiery tirade.

“The point is, Tracy, that the police believe otherwise. It seems they consider this an open and shut case.” My voice was firm.

“Do you really believe that?” Her eyes sparkled with indignation.

I maintained an even tone. “So far, I only know what the cops have told me. Millie has asked me to run an independent investigation. She said that I should work with you in Amanda’s absence, because this could have an impact on the resort’s image.”

“Is that what she said?”

“Isn't it? Is there something else that I should know?”

She shrugged. “No, she’s right, I suppose.” Pouting, she leaned back in her chair.

I nodded. The conversation was not going as I had hoped, and I seemed to be irritating her.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She pursed her lips. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I just want for us to focus on taking care of this mess.”

“Have something. They make fantastic OJ here.”

“If you insist. Water, then.” She looked away and bit on a fingernail.

“Just water?”

“Yes?” Her brows knitted together in confusion.

I shrugged with a smirk.

Her tone softened. “Just water, with a slice of lemon please.”

“Water it is.”

A tiny smile crossed her lips. She clapped her hand in front of her face and began, “I have already to spoken to Catalina, Earl, and Joseph Pale from the casino.” She gushed on relating the details and told me about what she had discovered through the conversations and media casts. “I can tell you that Frank Walters was not popular. Such a lothario it’s disgusting. That’s men for you. ” She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“A man.”

“What?” her eyes narrowed.

“A man, not all men are the same.” She was far away. “So you've been burned.” I shrugged, “it happens.”

Her eyes grew large and sparks flew, “Look we've just met, don’t pretend to know me.”

“I know a lot more than you think.”

She gulped and spoke slowly, “I did not come here to be lectured by you.”

I leaned in toward her and spoke in a quiet voice. “I was just saying that you should not paint all men with the same brush. A good investigator must keep an open mind.”

She rolled her eyes into her head and considered my words; she nodded to herself and shrugged.

I cleared my throat. “Millie tells me that she has arranged a lawyer for Ryan. I’m sure they will find a way to clear his name if he was not the perpetrator.”

“If he isn’t? I
know
he isn't.” Her voice was shrill.

“The evidence shows otherwise.”

She threw her arms in the air and puffed out her cheeks. “You are absolutely maddening. It’s been almost three hours since Ryan’s arrest and you don’t seem to have anything more to offer than accuse him of being guilty.”

“I didn’t say that. Besides, these things can’t be rushed. We must be mindful of resort policy. We can’t get our guests’ backs up.”

She stuck out her lip.

“I do have copies of the photos taken at the scene.” I tapped on a manila envelope that was in front of me. “You do?” she asked and her face softened.

She dragged her chair next to mine and we poured over the photos together. She smelled like she had just stepped out of the shower—strawberries and cream. She flipped the photographs, unaware of what was going on in my mind.

I moved my hand toward hers, but I didn't dare get too close in case I roused that foul temper. Her face was peaceful but as she focused on the photographs, her eyes moved quickly, questioning and searching for answers.

Perhaps I could ask her out to coffee, some place where it would be more relaxed and away from work, but that would mean that I would have to wait. There was always this evening’s event. It would be a great opportunity to get to know her a bit better.

“So will you be at this evening’s golfing event?”

“What? You mean the launch party? I was just getting the menus sorted, and I’m meant to be there.”

“I’ll be going tonight and will be out of place without a date. Would you like to go with me?”

“Are you kidding?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“No, I’m absolutely serious.” I tried to keep a straight face.

“Go with you? Why?” A deep frown marred her smooth forehead.

“As a part of the investigation.” I lowered my voice and moved toward her. “We’d be undercover and can see how the guests react to Frank’s death. Who knows, the killer may be among them.”

She uncrossed her arms and considered what I said. “Yes, well that could work. I mean, it would just be so that we can suss them out.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” My voice rose.

Her eyes lit up and she leaned toward me. “That’s a great idea, but it’s not a date.” Her eyes narrowed, but the tiny upward movement of her lips betrayed her.

“Of course. Let’s call it a… meeting.”

“A meeting.” She smiled.

“A meeting of colleagues.”

She looked at me and tilted her head to one side. “You’re on.” She giggled and her ponytail bobbed up and down as she nodded.

“See you then.” I felt the excitement rising inside, but I kept calm.

“Uh-huh… and I’ll take these.” She whisked the envelope off the table.

“Go ahead, I've got a spare set.” It wasn't a lie. I could always get copies.

She beamed and was off.

I couldn't believe what had happened. I had vowed not to have anything to do with that man, and here I’m on a date with him! Well, it’s not like a real date, it’s a pretend one, but boy does that guy know how to push my buttons. I couldn't imagine spending an entire evening with him.

I wondered where Millie was. She conveniently left us without a word. Perhaps I was right after all. Maybe this was her way of getting us together. I pushed the thought aside; she may be innocent and Brett was just doing his job. I was reading way too much into this, but I did catch him looking at me in a funny way. I must admit I kind of liked it. It has been an awfully long time since a guy had looked at me like that.

Amon Drake was my ex-boyfriend back in England. He was a café assistant by day and by night he was the lead drummer for
Mental Metal Buddies
, a two-bit band with big dreams. His sister Andrea was my roommate in College, and we hooked up after she introduced us at her eighteenth birthday celebration.

We did have some good times in the on-again off-again relationship, but it was such an energy suck. He was a confirmed skirt chaser, always had been, except I didn't know about it. Girls both on and off campus were fair game. I was devastated when I found out. What was worse was, as usual in the case of cheating partners, everyone knew but me.

With a Psychology minor you would have thought that I should have been able to tell what he had been up to behind my back for three years, but he was my first love and I guess I just told myself that he was in love with me as much as I was. What was more embarrassing was that it had been happening from the very beginning.

The man was under the hallucination that his infidelities were his birth right, and that women were God’s gifts to him. He was one of those men who should have been born as an Arabian sheik with a harem of consenting women.

Brett is not Amon, and perhaps I should be open to getting to know him better. No, I must stay focused. I needed to get Ryan out of this fix. I was just getting my life back together and getting into another relationship was the last thing on my mind. The man is also so much older than me, I thought, as I recalled the grays peeking through around his temples.

I was glad that Millie arranged the meeting. He did have some information to share. Although, I did get the distinct feeling that he was holding something back. Maybe I could talk to him more about it this evening. I felt more hopeful now. Perhaps he would be my ticket to getting Ryan out of his predicament.

I flicked through the thick bundle of photographs that Brett had given me. I tucked them back into the laptop cover. I needed to go to a place where I wouldn’t be interrupted so I could study them in peace.

It was decent of Brett to get an extra set of photos for me. Maybe he was considerate, unlike Amon. At least he seemed more mature. I shuddered thinking back to the bachelor party and that clip of Amon. It replayed in slow motion. Piece by piece, he removed his clothing as he gyrated to the beat of a seedy eighties’ hit in a close dance with a buxom platinum blonde in a black mesh crop top and pink skintight shorts.

In moments he was down to his boxers and one of his
Mental Buddies
hoisted him up onto his shoulders. Amidst the sounds of whistling, whooping, and catcalls, he waved a sequin-covered hot pink bra in the air. The video had gone viral within hours. It was one of the hardest periods in my life, but I lived through the embarrassment.

He swore to me that nothing had happened and begged me to take him back, and after much persuasion, I did. I was young. No, I was plain dumb. After our final break up, I heard that not only did he steal the bachelor’s show that night, but he had also earned the privileges.

Amon was by far the biggest mistake of my life. I promised myself not to go down that track again, and to never stay in a bad relationship hoping that divine intervention would make the problems go away. So falling in love was not on my agenda.
Falling in love? For God’s sake aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, Tracy?

The fact was that Brett did seem nice. Who knows maybe… No, it can’t be. I had no intention of getting myself into any kind of relationship at this point. Not now… not for a few years. I usually had a gut feeling about these things. With him, I didn't really feel anything. Perhaps, I’m not letting myself feel.

An alert on my phone said that I still had to check on the placeholders for this evening’s event, which reminded me that I had not yet decided what I should wear. In the past I worked behind the scenes and my uniform sufficed, but tonight I would have to mingle with the guests. I wondered what petrified me more, hobnobbing with the rich and famous or falling for Brett Cooper.

~T~

Nat.