Suite Casualty

by CeeCee James

  I left the suitcase by the door and we left, Michelle pushing the cart. As I passed Mrs. Richardson’s door, it sprung open.

  “What kind of place is this? I’ve never seen the like of it.” She looked down her sharp nose at me and tugged her bathrobe closed.

  “Excuse me?” I asked. Michelle kept on going.

  “What is it? A luxury hotel or a train station?”

  I nodded, figuring she meant the police coming through. “I’m terribly sorry for today’s distractions. Can I get you tickets to a comedy show? Derek Daniels is in town right now.”

  “It wasn’t just today. There was noise all night.”

  “From next door?” My interest perked. What had she heard during the night?

  Her brow wrinkled. “Next door? No. It was overhead. What is this place, a frat house?”

  That reminded me that Dayton had said the same thing. Had it happened again? I needed to check on who was in that upstairs room. If those rowdy guests were there again tonight, I needed to move Mrs. Richardson. In fact, it might not be such a bad idea no matter what. “I’m so sorry. I wish you would have called the front desk. We could have stopped that.”

  She sniffed and slammed the door without a response. I resisted the urge to allow my shoulders to slump. I would win that woman over, one way or another.

  Chapter 10

  Finally, at nearly ten o’clock that night, I was able to crawl into bed. The scent of lavender fabric softener enveloped me as I pulled the covers up to my chin, promising, “Tomorrow is a new day. Surely it will be better than today.”

  It turned out, I really needed to quit making promises to myself.

  I woke up in a cold sweat. It was pitch black, but all I could see was remnants of my nightmare. A magazine’s front cover screaming, “OceanSide Hotel loses a star! Four stars, four stars only!”

  I grabbed my phone, my hands trembling, needing to talk to my best friend (and Kristi’s little sister.) Could I call her? My heart pounded. Of course, I could. Ruby was always there for me, and likewise me for her. Besides, it was only…two a.m. I swallowed hard and dialed anyway.

  The phone was answered with a mumbled, “Ruby Bentley here. How can I help you?”

  She worked in retail and obviously wasn’t fully awake. “Ruby,” I hissed. “It’s me, Maisie.”

  “Maisie?” Her voice raised. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  “I’m in bed,” I admitted. “I had a nightmare.”

  I heard shifting as she sat up. “A nightmare? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but I had this horrible dream the hotel critic staying at our hotel right now knocked down our star rating. I’m terrified that will happen. It really could because I can’t seem to win this woman over. Mr. Phillips threatened he might let go some of our employees if something like that does happen.”

  She snorted. “Maisie, he’s just trying to turn the screws on your soft heart. He’s not going to let any of the staff go. Why would he? Think about it.”

  “Because they’re awesome?” I guessed at her answer.

  “No. Because he’s a penny pincher and all of his staff are well-trained and work as a team. He’s not going to pay for extra training for new staff that will require over-time until they learn to get the work done.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that too.”

  “Go back to sleep. It’s going to be okay. You wait and see.”

  “But this lady—”

  “No buts. That critic-lady won’t break the Oceanside. I can promise you that.”

  I hung up with a smile on my face. Sometimes it was nice to have a friend who knew you so well they could tell you to chill out, and you’d really listen.

  The next morning started innocently enough. I took Bingo for a trip to the dog park and texted Ruby to thank her for the middle of the night counseling session. When I returned, I found Momma had made French toast. We had a great breakfast while she regaled me with tales about being paired up with Mr. Carmichael for Bridge during game night.

  “But that woman is a hussy,” Momma ended with a sniff.

  “What on earth? Are you talking about Tawny Myers? Momma, that’s not nice.”

  “Oh, I have stronger words than that! Hussy is me being polite.”

  “What happened?” I asked, taking a huge bite of syrupy toast.

  “I went up to the refreshment table to refill my drink. When I came back, she was seated next to Mr. Carmichael. They were giggling over cards. And she wouldn’t move.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope, just eyed me under those spider legs she calls eyelashes before simpering again at something he said.” She frowned at the memory. “Sounding like a hyena. A hussy hyena.”

  Coffee doesn’t feel very good when shot out the nose. But darn it if Momma’s word picture didn’t make me snort while I was drinking. Served me right. I should have known better.

  Momma stared at me while I grabbed a napkin to mop up.

  “So what did you do?” I asked.

  “Oh, I was polite. I asked her how she was feeling, and if her uncontrollable laughter was a side effect from the incontinence medicine she was using.”

  I swear, I almost snorted again. “Momma!”

  She sipped with a wide-eyed expression. “What? Anyway, Tawny didn’t answer, but she wrinkled her nose like she could smell a fly fart three miles away. I did catch Mr. Carmichael give her a side glance when she got up later. Of course, I took my seat back.”

  “And that was the end of it?”

  “Oh, and I won.”

  “You won Bridge?”

  “Bridge?” Two lines formed between her brows as if she were in deep thought. “I can’t remember how the game ended.” She gave me a wicked smile. “Now eat your toast. You need the energy. Who knows how many dead bodies you’re going to find today.”

  “That’s not even funny,” I grumped, taking another bite.

  Turns out, she wasn’t that far off.

  Before I finished my toast, I texted Sierra. —Please send a complimentary ticket for the Laugh a Million show to Mrs. Richardson’s room on behalf of the hotel. Hopefully, that would cool the critic down. And the room above hers had new guests today, so she wouldn’t have to deal with the same noise issue again.

  As hurried to my office I made a mental note to check on the pillow issue. Hopefully, the sheets would be in today. Passing by the elevator brought me face-to-face with Jennifer Parkins, again. She was just exiting, along with a couple and their two young children. The family wore bathing suits, and I assumed they were on their way to enjoy the Oceanside’s famous slides.

  I stepped back and smiled in greeting. “How are you doing today, Jennifer? Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

  “Delicious! Do you do fresh flowers with every meal?”

  “Every one,” I answered.

  “I put the daisy in my book.” She blushed. “It’s something my mom used to do.”

  “To press them. I remember doing that,” I said.

  “It’s fun. I do it all the time. Then, when I go to reread that particular book, I’ll see it and remember that day. Speaking of which, it was gorgeous yesterday. I daresay I got a suntan!” She showed off a slightly pink, freckled arm.

  I inspected it. “That looks more like a sunburn to me.”

  She laughed. “That’s the best suntan I’ll ever get. I need to wear a shirt today. I left my sunscreen back at the last hotel.”

  “Oh really? Come with me and I’ll get you some. No one should have to wear extra clothing on a beautiful day like today.”

  At the desk, I informed Sierra and the receptionist rummaged in our guest closet for some sunscreen.

  “If you have anything you need, just come to the desk. We’ll take care of you.” I said.

  I would have continued my conversation with Jennifer, but just then Kristi came through the revolving door. Decked out in full police attire, she strode across the foyer with determined steps. Ryan Marshall followed behind, trying
to make it appear like it wasn’t an effort to keep up with his partner.

  Clarissa immediately perked up at the sight of the male police officer. “Can I help you?” she asked in that cheerful tone of hers.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, stepping next to her. “What’s up? What’d you discover?”

  “Can we talk privately?” Kristi asked, her eyes darting over to where Jennifer stood. I excused myself from Jennifer and led the officers into my office.

  The moment the door closed, Kristi shot off like a machine gun. “Mr. Dayton had definitely been staged in that bed. The coroner said there was livor mortis on the tops of his thighs which means he died face down. And a slight abrasion mark on the back of his head that indicated a contusion from when he was moved.”

  “Livor mortis?”

  “It’s the term for the way blood settles."

  I thought about the vomit. “I wonder if he died in the bathroom?”

  “Why do you guess that?” Kristi asked.

  “Because I remember there was a pile of hair at the threshold. It could have gotten trapped and pulled out if he’d been dragged out of the bathroom.”

  “Well, whoever did it was careful to place him perfectly, even pulling the blankets up under his arms. I’m going to need a key to that room. We’re putting it under a microscope. The forensics team is already on their way.” She tucked her short hair around her ear and I wondered if she was considering my theory. She continued, “By the way, one of your cleaning employees wasn’t too happy this morning.”

  “Who, Michelle?”

  “Yeah. She had to come down and give her fingerprints so we can eliminate them.”

  “Do I need to go down?”

  “Nope. We already have yours on file.”

  I looked up sharply. “I don’t like the way you just said that.”

  She laughed. “Just give me the key, Maisie.”

  I passed it over and Kristi took it, still chuckling.

  We headed back out and the two police officers walked over to the elevator.

  I glanced at Clarissa and did a double take. “Girl, your mouth is hanging open. I think you might have actually drooled.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She twisted a long curl around her finger. “But that man is yummy.”

  I chuckled and walked back into my office.

  Line three was blinking on my phone. I sank into the chair and picked up.

  “Oceanside hotel, Maisie Swenson, General Manager, speaking.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Swenson,”

  I ignored the automatic missus added to my title. “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “I am Dwayne Smith, Vincent Dayton’s uncle.” The man paused, waiting for my response.

  Another relative? “I’m very sorry for what’s happened,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

  “Yes. Yes. It’s been quite a blow. At any rate, the police told me to come down and collect his belongings.”

  I closed my eyes at the stab at my temple. In all the time I’d spent at the hotel, I’d never had anything like this happen. Now two people wanted to collect Dayton’s belongings?

  “I see. Well, we’ve had someone come by to do just that. Unfortunately, the hotel requires proper identification, and the person went home to retrieve it. But I can get your number if that person falls through?”

  “Someone else? Who else could there be? I’m his only living relative.”

  My eyes widened as a cold shock electrified my blood. “You’re his only living relative?” I repeated, probably sounding very dull as I tried to process what he said.

  “Yes, his parents passed years ago. And my nephew never married.”

  “He doesn’t have a half-brother?”

  “A half-brother?” The man scoffed. “No, Vincent was an only child.”

  I reached for the rubber band and made a face when I realized it was gone. I opened the drawer and searched for a paperclip to unbend as a substitute. But instead of that, my fingers found a pile of wet stuff. I jerked the drawer open to discover instant glue had somehow leaked from its container into a puddle. I stared at my fingertips in horror and immediately spread my fingers to avoid them touching.

  Doing my best to maintain a professional tone in my voice, I continued. “I see. That does put a twist in this. I think the best thing for the hotel to do is to hand over Mr. Dayton’s possessions to the police and have the next of kin pick them up from there.”

  I tried to scrape off the blob with a paperclip. Dismay hit me as the paperclip stuck to my fingertip. I waggled it in panic.

  “Oh.” The change in his tone was palpable. He exhaled heavily through his nose, causing a noisy whine.

  After a few seconds of waiting for a response, I continued. “So, Mr. Smith, I can get you the number to our local police department.” Gritting my teeth, I yanked off the clip. Holy mother— I bit back a scream.

  “There is something else, something that needs great care not to become lost. An envelope. Nothing valuable in it but letters from my father when he was at war. Vincent liked to carry it with him for sentimental reasons. But I would like to have that back. If I could just swing by…”

  The sting of my finger was forgotten at hearing the envelope in the safe referenced again. I highly doubted it carried nostalgic letters from some beloved father.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. I’m afraid my decision stands. We will be compiling everything together to be picked up at the station. Let me give you the number. Do you have a pen?” I shook my fingers to dry the glue.

  At his grunt, I quickly rattled off the Starke Springs police department number.

  “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” I tapped my fingers and nearly groaned as I realized my fingertips no longer felt sensation due to the hardened shell of glue. Lovely.

  “I find you extremely unhelpful in this time of grief. I can scarcely believe you would take a chance that a family heirloom might be lost due to the bureaucracy of red tape rather than hand it over. You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”

  This day was just getting better and better. “I completely understand. You need to do what you feel is best. It’s in the hotel’s best interest to have the police sort out who is an actual relative so that the letter doesn’t go to an imposter.”

  At this point, I was speaking to dead air. He’d hung up.

  Sighing, I returned the phone to the receiver and glanced at the safe. What was in that envelope?

  Chapter 11

  I sent a text to Kristi about yet another strange relative asking for Dayton’s stuff. By lunch time I still hadn’t heard back from Kristi. I had a feeling it would be awhile since she was searching the room. I couldn’t imagine what she would find, and I jittered around all morning with nervous energy like lighting was about to strike.

  And the air sure felt electrified.

  But, I still hadn’t heard anything by the time I headed back to my suite for the night. My day had been spent mostly on wrestling down my distraction so I could focus on administrative tasks. Julie had been happy to report the sheets were in and the crisis averted, and Mrs. Richardson did indeed get her free ticket to the show. I still needed to figure out what to do with the coffee pots and what I was going to say in the letter to Mr. Phillips.

  Momma wasn’t home when I walked in, probably out on one of her little errands. She didn’t drive, but the senior center sent a bus every day. It was a common thing to see the white vehicle with the portrait of a happy elderly couple pasted across its side parked in front of the hotel.

  Bingo lay under the table when I got myself a cup of tea. He looked at me with sorrowful eyes. I started to baby talk him when I noticed a few suspicious crumbs on his muzzle.

  “What have you been into?” I asked suspiciously.

  The dog arched an eyebrow at me before bouncing up the other as he looked away.

  I watched him for a moment, but he was clearly ignoring me now. All signs that he’d gotten into something. I glanced around. There was
nothing obvious in the kitchen. I took my tea into the living room, searching for evidence.

  Hmm, nothing in here either.

  I walked into my room and sat before my laptop. A few clicks brought up what I’d written so far.

  Dear Mr. Phillips,

  I groaned in rereading it. That was it. My creative writing skills hadn’t exactly been flowing like honey lately. Thinking of my boss made me think of Mr. Phillips’ brother, Jake.

  The two brothers couldn’t be more opposite, with Jake being generous and low-key compared to Mr. Phillips’ tightly wound skinflint-ness. Jake and I had been dating the last few months. Honestly, our first few dates had been disasters, and I was more than surprised when Jake still texted me. We had grown closer over the last few weeks, and I smiled at the last text he’d sent me.—Miss you lady. Dinner when I get back?

  As weird as it made things between my boss and me, and despite the bad dates, Jake and I had a lot of fun. He was easy to talk with and made me laugh, and I still got butterflies when we got together. He’d been away on business the last two weeks, and I couldn’t wait for our dinner. The excitement to see him was definitely making it hard to craft a letter convincing his brother to spend a few thousand dollars improving something I’m sure Mr. Phillips thought was good enough.

  I stared at the screen, trying to force the words to come. Gah! Maybe I should work on my novel instead.

  I’d been writing a mystery for months. Like sixteen months. Taking a sip of tea, I opened up the file and scanned the predicament where I’d last abandoned Miranda, my amateur sleuth.

  The guard dog circled the tree that Miranda had managed to scramble up into. A steady growl vibrated from the animal’s throat, showing itself as a plume of fog in the cold air. The dog’s lip curled, revealing an impressive set of sharp, white teeth. Miranda shivered and adjusted her grip on the branch.

  Not bad. Not bad at all, I could feel my imagination start to fire. I stretched my fingers. I knew just where I wanted to go with this.

  My cell phone vibrated on the table, causing ripples in my tea. No! My imagination screamed as my ideas started to dart away. I can do this. I can remember them. Quickly, I grabbed a piece of paper and jotted a few words down, hoping they’d remind me where to pick up.