by CeeCee James
I hung up, and we gathered at the door. The stretcher squeaked as the coroner’s team jimmied it so they could push it through the door once we got word.
We silently stood there like we were waiting for some grand marshal’s whistle to start a morbid parade.
A few minutes later, Steve called back. “All clear, boss.”
“Everything good?” Kristi asked, turning the doorknob.
I nodded. She held the door open as the coroner’s team wheeled Dayton out. Together, we headed down the hall.
There was a service elevator that I would have preferred to use, but it wasn’t quite big enough to hold the stretcher. I followed the team to one of the main elevators and stuck in my key to over-ride any stop requests from the other floors. We made it down to the ground floor without incident, and the coroner and his team, along with Kristi and her partner, left without further incident.
There were a few rubberneckers outside, but Steve and the rest of the security had done a great job in keeping everyone back.
The body was loaded and, finally, the coroner drove away. I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that was the last I would ever hear about Mr. Dayton.
Chapter 7
Some days have a string of events that happen like a line of dominoes falling down. Today was definitely one of those days. I was only half-way back to my office when the next domino fell, in the form of a phone call.
It was Julie from housekeeping.
I frowned as I answered it, wondering what new appliance was now being used for hotel room cooking. Who knows, maybe they were making grilled cheese with the hair dryer.
“Hi, Julie,” I said.
“Ms. Swenson, the linen order you made came in.”
Hmm. Why was there still no chipper tone to her voice?
“Great!” I responded, hoping my enthusiasm would prompt hers.
That hope would be a negative. Her tone sounded even more depressed. “There’s a problem. Can you come down to the laundry room?”
I bit back a groan. “Absolutely. I’ll be down in just a minute.” I was already heading out of the office before we hung up.
As I walked to the hotel’s laundry center, I was slightly upset with myself for my choice of shoes. They were pointy, with heels that bit into my toes, and my feet were starting to kill me. I needed to dig out my sandals.
The laundry room was bustling with rumbling machines and workers when I entered. The entire room seemed to be powered solely by the scents of fabric softener and bleach. Washers roared around me. Dryers thumped. In the far corner, a column of steam rose. I spotted Julie by the folding area, which was several long white tables set up next to shelves of sheets, pillows, and blankets. I headed over there.
As I approached, I could see the problem, and my steps slowed. Before her, like a mighty snow fortress built to tipping height, was a mountain of pillows. There were even more pillows stacked on the table behind her, spilling onto the floor.
“Ms. Swenson, what did you do?” The short woman’s face was etched with deep lines by her mouth. “Over seven hundred pillows, Ms. Swenson.” She picked one up and shook it. The pillow puffed in plushness.
My mouth dropped. I turned a slow circle, wide-eyed, at the mounds of pillows on the floor. The sheer number made me wilt inside. “I didn’t order any pillows. You told me sheets so I ordered an extra eighty sheets.”
“Here’s the order slip.” Julie handed me a yellow paper. I quickly scanned it. Seven hundred and twelve pillows, just like she said. What in the world is going on?
My gaze skipped down the list to land on the hotel name.
OceanSprings.
“Wait a minute,” I said, ballooning back up with relief. “The company mixed our name with someone else’s. This was their mistake.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but now what am I supposed to do with them?” Julie’s hands hung limply at the sides of her white starched uniform.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” I assured her. “In the meantime, where are the boxes they came in?”
She shook her head. “The night crew incinerated them.”
I wrinkled my nose. The one time I wished my staff wasn’t quite so efficient.
“I do like them though,” Julie said, running her hand across the surface. “Not only are they hypoallergenic, but they’re made with that new poly-fill that actually improves with machine washing.”
Hmm. Well, that was something to consider. I tested the fill myself by pressing my hand into it. Very soft.
I stared at the dent my hand left in the pillow, suddenly reminded of something.
“What are you going to do about it?” Julie asked, knocking me out of my musing.
I blinked, pulling myself out of my thoughts. “I’m on it. For now, just stack them over there. I’ll see if I can track down something to vacuum-seal them into bags.” With the order form firmly in my hand, I pulled my phone out and dialed the linen supply company.
They, of course, were very apologetic and promised to correct the mistake within twenty-four hours. I hoped our limited reserve of sheets would last that long or I’d be making a run to the home supply store to pick up some new ones.
The imprint of my hand on the pillow still bothered me as I walked back to the front desk and into the stock office to get some coffee. What was it that bothered me so much about it? The thought kept slipping out of reach like trying to reach for a minnow in a lake.
I decided to leave it alone and started to puzzle over how to fix the coffee pot problem and the battle I had on my hands to get Mr. Phillips to switch to a new coffee system.
It was then that it happened. Somehow, by not thinking about the pillow, the answer popped into my mind.
Mr. Dayton. When he’d been laying in bed, there’d been a very similar indent in the pillow next to his head. How would you get a deep imprint like that if you weren’t leaning into the pillow?
This made me think of the coroner, the guy who eyed me much too long over a dead body. But one thing that he’d muttered into his recorder nagged at me too. He’d estimated the time of death at two a.m.
But Mike had said he’d spoken to Dayton this morning. He said the guest had actually opened the door.
Could the coroner be that far off? How was that possible? Surely, he wouldn’t make that big of an error.
I took a sip of coffee, considering. It was funny how you never thought of these things at the time when you could actually ask for an explanation. A glance at the wall clock said it was five p.m. Mike was probably home in bed, sleeping. I remember working the night schedule myself in my early twenties, and it could be brutal.
Still, I needed to talk with him so I sent him a text. —Call me as soon as you wake up.
Then I texted Kristi and asked her to call me when she was free. After I sent it, I stared at the phone, half-expecting it to ring. But when it didn’t, I continued to my office where an enormous stack of messages—everything from meat shortages in the kitchen, to a PR company wanting access to the hotel to make a commercial—waited for me to sort out.
It was actually several hours later when my phone finally rang. I glanced blearily from the computer screen to the phone.
Kristi.
“Hey, lady,” I answered. I stretched my tired muscles.
“You rang?”
“I had a few thoughts I wanted to go over with you from this morning. Did you by chance hear the coroner mention that the possible time of death was at two a.m.?”
“Yes. On account of the degree of rigor mortis he observed.”
I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “Well, there’s a problem with that.”
“What’s the problem?”
I deflected her question with one of my own. “Is there anything else that can mimic that stiffness? Like a drug overdose or a seizure? Because Mike, our security guy, actually spoke face to face with Dayton this morning.”
“Actually talked with him? What time was this? And, no, Maisie. The
re’s nothing that mimics rigor mortis. It’s kind of a dead thing.”
I rolled my eyes. Kristi had always been sarcastic, even while growing up.
“Well, it’s not like I’m a mortician or something,” I shot back.
Kristi snorted. “That’s a fact. Now get back to what you were saying about this morning security-talk business.”
“Our security guy knocked on Dayton’s door at around eight this morning to check on him. Mike wanted to let Dayton know he was leaving.”
“You’re telling me that Mike had visual verification that Dayton was alive and well?”
“Yep.”
“That’s a problem.” Her voice was crisp.
I couldn’t help feeling pleased she’d been convinced. “So, is it possible that some kind of drug caused that reaction?”
“Mimic rigor mortis? I can’t imagine.” Her voice trailed away as she seemed to be considering it. Finally, “I’ll be interested in hearing the final conclusions from the coroner. Hopefully, he’ll get back to us sooner than later.”
“Don’t hang up yet,” I said. “I also wanted to bring up something else I thought was weird.”
An extra long exhale came from the other end.
“What?” I asked.
“You just strung two words together that make me nervous. Thinking, and weird. I’m afraid to ask what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“I’m serious. Remember when we found him? You flashed the light over his face, and I noticed the pillow looked puffed and perfect, except for a huge impression on one side. I made that same exact dent by leaning on a pillow this afternoon. So how did that dent get there? And don’t forget, you did say his fingernails were clipped.”
“All right. I get it. You think there could be foul play. Don’t worry because we’re still digging into it even if it’s being considered an O.D. for the time being. The first step is that coroner’s report. So hang tight and don’t do any more poking around.”
“You got it,” I said, and we hung up. I glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. This day had flown by, and I was starving. I headed out of my office and locked the door behind me.
The lobby was filled with families returning from their day. Sunburns glowed on most of their cheeks and many of the kids wore ear hats and had arms full of won prizes. Another river of people headed down the hall to the hotel’s restaurant, which would be busy until late at night. And, in a few hours, there would be another deluge of guests leaving since the theme park had a nightly fireworks show.
Guests were like the tide, constantly coming and going. My hands clasped behind my back and I smiled as I watched my employees intermingle with the guests, give general directions, and replace lost room keys.
Jennifer Parkins, the guest who’d earlier been so impressed with the complimentary breakfast, bumped into me. There was an awkward moment as I tried to pull my foot out from under hers, hating my pointy shoes even more.
“Oops! I’m so sorry!” Her face flushed.
Foot freed, I grinned to reassure her. “No worries. Jennifer. How are you doing this evening?”
“Oh fine. Fine. You sure your foot is okay?”
I wiggled it so she could see for herself it was working.
A relieved expression brightened her eyes, and she gave a toothy grin. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. Can you believe I once broke my arm falling off a bunk bed, and right after it healed, broke the other one rollerskating? I swear I almost gave my mom a nervous break-down growing up.”
I laughed, being able to relate. “I was in fast pitch and have a few stories of my own. Naturally, my mom likes to trot them out to embarrass me.”
“Mothers.” She rolled her eyes. “Mine’s back in Chicago, probably bundled up in her sweater and a blanket. Speaking of the weather, it’s a beautiful night here in Starke Springs, isn’t it? Positively balmy. Gives me a chance to wear my new sari.” She grasped the fabric and did a little twirl.
“And that looks absolutely lovely on you,” I said.
The plump woman giggled. “I purchased it down at Key West last year. Never felt quite comfortable to wear it. But then I thought to myself, what do I have to lose? Who am I trying to impress?”
“That’s a great attitude to have.” I nodded. “Sometimes we worry way too much about what others think. So tell me, did you get a chance to enjoy the ocean? What plans do you—”
My comment was interrupted by a raised voice calling my name. “Ms. Swenson!”
I turned to see a very angry looking Mrs. Richardson. She marched into the foyer from the direction of the restaurant, her cheeks puffed with indignation.
“Excuse me,” I said to Jennifer and hurried over to meet Mrs. Richardson half-way before she could make a scene. What on earth was going on now?
“Mrs. Richardson, how can I help you?” I asked.
“You call that ‘exquisite dining’?” she huffed. Her nose seemed even sharper as she stared down it.
My eyebrows rose, but I didn’t respond, choosing instead to give her space to make her complaint.
And she was happy to seize the moment. With her hands on her hips, she blasted out, “Medium-rare! Is that so hard? Not medium, not rare. Medium-rare.”
I blinked. “Were you able to address this with your waiter?”
“I shouldn’t have to.” She fumed, her thin lips squeezing together.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, indicating a phone call. But how to answer it without riling Mrs. Richardson up more?
I pulled it out and glanced at the number. Mike. With impatience prickling like a buzzing mosquito, I waited for Mrs. Richardson to take a breath so I could cut in.
Finally, it came. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Richardson. I need to take this. It’s the Governor. Allow me to get someone to make this right with you.” I glanced at the front desk and was sorry to see the sweetest clerk, Clarissa, busy with a guest. I gestured Sierra to come over. She saw Mrs. Richardson and formed the fakest smile I’d ever seen as she walked over.
Sierra was very efficient but was also known for not putting up with any flack. I hoped my wild eyes projected the need that Mrs. Richardson had to be coddled and appeased.
“Mrs. Richardson,” Sierra dipped her head in the older woman’s direction.
“I’m leaving you in capable hands,” I said, lifting the phone to my ear. I hoped I really was. It seemed like a black cloud was over this whole woman’s stay.
“Hello?” I said into the phone as I hurried for my office.
“Ms. Swenson?”
“Hi, Mike. I wasn’t expecting to get a call back so soon.” I hesitated, not wanting to shock him. “Have you heard from the police?”
“The police? What for?” Shocked. Apparently, I failed at my ‘softening the blow’ technique.
Might as well rip off the rest of the band-aid. “Mr. Dayton was found deceased this afternoon.”
“What?” The word was uttered in the harshest whisper. I waited a few seconds to let him digest that information.
“I just talked to him this morning,” he finally said.
“Yes, that’s what I needed to discuss with you. And to give you a heads up that the police will probably want to as well. Now, can you tell me again what exactly happened during your guard duty? Did you hear anything weird during the night?”
“You’re scaring me. What do you mean, did I hear anything weird? Was there really someone in the room with him?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. But I’m double-checking after the strange statements he was throwing around last night. So, any weird thumps or noises?”
“Uh, no. He was actually really quiet the entire time. I figured he went straight to bed.”
“And this morning, can you tell me again what happened before you left?”
“It, uh, it was time for my shift to end. I wanted to let Mr. Dayton know, but the idea of waking him kind of made me feel bad. But then I did hear some movement, so I went ahead and knocked.”
“M
ovement?”
“Yeah, just some normal stuff. A drawer opening and closing.”
“Okay, and then what happened?”
“He, uh, he opened the door, and I said, ‘Hey, it’s Mike and my shift’s over. Just letting you know I’m leaving. Everything good in there?’ And he said. “Everything’s fine. I’m just finished packing now. Thanks.’ And then the door closed.”
Something about Mike’s statement bothered me. What was it?
“How did he seem?” I asked.
“He seemed tired. Groggy like maybe he didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Why do you think that?”
“His, uh, his voice was deep and muffled.”
The bothered feeling poked me like a hot iron. “His voice? But what about his appearance? What was that like?”
Mike cleared his throat. I waited for an answer.
Nothing.
“Mike?”
“Uh, he never opened his door past the safety lock. I guess I didn’t actually see his face.”
My eyes flew wide open. “Don’t you think that detail is sort of important? You have to share that with the police because they’re setting the time of death based on you being the last person to have seen him. But you didn’t see him after all. That person at the door could have been anyone.”
“Anyone?” he asked. “Ms. Swenson, I was right outside the door the entire night. How could anyone have gotten in?”
That was true. And on the thirty-first floor, it was absurd to think of someone climbing up to the balcony. Besides, wouldn’t Mike have heard if anyone had tried to break the sliding glass door?
“You never left?” I asked.
“No. Not even once.”
I bit my lip. It had to have been Dayton talking to Mike then. He must have just been groggy or hung-over. Maybe Dayton had been embarrassed by the way he’d acted the night before, and that’s why he didn’t open the door all the way. The coroner had to be wrong about the time.
“Okay, thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’m going to pass this on to the officer on the case,” I said.
“Want me to come in early?”