Suite Casualty

by CeeCee James

  I tried not to laugh at how literal she took it. Hands gloved, I bent down and clicked the phone on. Okay, little phone. Give me your secrets. Where did you come from and who do you belong to?

  It required a password, making me sigh.

  “No, don’t worry,” Julie said. “Just hold it up to the light.”

  I looked at her questioning. Were we all so tired now that none of us were making sense anymore? “The light?”

  “Yeah. Look for fingerprints or a squiggle.”

  I did as she said and found four imprints on the keypad over the two, three, seven and nine. “Yeah, there’s four.”

  “Four marks, that’s great. It means there’s no repetition.”

  I nodded like I knew what she was talking about. I had no idea.

  Julie recognized I was bluffing. “That’s good news. No repeats means it will only take twenty-four chances to get it right.”

  “Have you done this before?” Suddenly, Julie wasn’t looking so innocent.

  “Hey, I know things. I’ve got brothers.” She shrugged.

  I took a deep breath and pressed a key. Nothing happened. My finger didn’t make the screen pad react.

  “You should cut the fingertip off of it.” Julie teased.

  My mouth dropped open.

  Julie’s expression changed to surprise. “What? I was just kidding.”

  “No. Julie! I just remembered a glove tip that Mike found that first night. It wasn’t from us. It was from whoever crawled through!” I patted my jacket, disgusting I know, but I found it. It rolled in my palm.

  She stared at like it was a rare beetle, slightly repulsed and slightly fascinated. “You think it has a fingerprint?”

  “Maybe?” I ran to the bathroom and ripped off a piece of toilet paper. Carefully, I rolled it up to save for Kristi.

  “Now, seriously, is there a trick to get the screen to read my touch?” I asked.

  “Breath on your finger.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Warm the glove tip with your breath. It moistens it and makes the screen think it’s your skin.”

  I tried it and it worked. I flashed her a smile and started the combinations.

  Sixteen attempts was the magical number. On that last try, the screen unlocked and opened up to the main screen. Was it Mrs. Richardson’s? Was it Austin’s? Julie and I leaned over to read it.

  Games. Lots of games. Not exactly what I thought I’d find on Mrs. Richardson’s phone. I went into settings and checked the account. Everything was blank. I scrolled to contacts. Nothing.

  It proved to me that this had to be a burner phone. But whose was it?

  I went to recent numbers called. There was only one. “I’m doing it,” I said a little forcefully.

  “For sure.” She cleared her throat. “After all. We need to figure out who’s phone this is.”

  I pressed dial. It rang once. Twice.

  “Hello? D. R. Austin, attorney at law’s office”

  I hung up the phone, my face heating from the rush of blood. “It was him! This phone belongs to the lawyer who murdered Dayton.”

  Julie looked confused. “He kidnapped Sierra. Obviously, it was him.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t obvious. I knew he knew about the envelope, but I wasn’t positive it was him who crawled through the ductwork. He must have done it earlier that day and waited for the right moment to pounce on Dayton. Then he climbed back through to this and dropped his phone, making his escape.” I clutched the rubber glove tip still wrapped in the toilet paper. “This might really cinch it. Maybe there’s a fingerprint in the glove.”

  Julie twisted her mouth in skepticism. “You’ve been watching too many mystery shows. These gloves are filled with a powder. You aren’t going to get a print from them.

  I scowled. “You never know. Forensic science is amazing these days.”

  She sniffed. “When my uncle Oliver had his car stolen, the police couldn’t do anything about it. We even had footage from the store.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that. But I have hope.”

  She clucked her tongue and grabbed her glass cleaner. “If there’s nothing else…?”

  I shook my head. “No. Nothing else. I’ll get these to Kristi. Call me if you happen to find another clue.”

  She spun around, sassy. “I will, although I’ll be making sure it won’t end up forgotten in my pocket.”

  Smart-aleck.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t have a chance to forget the glove piece in my pocket again because Kristi came by right away to collect it. She seemed to think the same as Julie that it was a long shot, but she carefully bagged it all the same. She was much more excited about the cell phone.

  “What happened with Mrs. Richardson?” I asked. “Is she a suspect any more?”

  “She wasn’t ever really a suspect. We considered her a person of interest. We talked with her when Austin held you captive, and, as unpleasant as she is, her story checked out. But we’re still keeping her on the radar.”

  I nodded. “And the watch strap? Anything more about that?”

  “Nothing yet. With Dayton’s DNA on it, I can’t say they’re looking too hard. Like I told you earlier, he could have picked up the other person’s DNA at any time.” Kristi eyed me and touched my arm. “Listen. You look worn out. Is there any way you can take the afternoon off? Maybe just get some rest? Stress has a way of catching up once things calm down. We’ve got our man. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

  She was right. I needed to get off the hamster wheel of spinning these so-called clues my brain picked up and tried to figure out. I agreed, and we made plans to have a girl’s night soon, along with Ruby.

  I checked in with the front desk. Everything seemed to be ticking away as usual. I headed for my office with a cup of coffee and a protein bar from the vending machine. I’d actually picked a candy bar, but the machine spit out the protein snack instead, and I took it as a sign that I better pump up the effort to eat healthier.

  I peeled back the wrapper and turned on the computer screen. While it was booting, I took a bite. Dry, chalkiness filled my mouth. What the heck was I eating? I chucked it into the trash before washing my mouth out with a sip of coffee.

  My mind went back to that brandy and the cigar. Camacho. Was it a special brand? Did it come from Madrid or Milan? I typed in the name and hit enter.

  It turned out it came from neither, but rather from Connecticut. I bit my lip, thinking. The cigar was famous for the same state where Mr. Austin, Dayton’s attorney was from. Was that just a coincidence?

  The line from Momma’s crime TV channel came back to me from a few days ago. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to murder.” Just like the calories from the cake I’d been eating, that phrase had stuck with me.

  I typed in D.R. Austin’s name in the search bar. Not surprisingly, his law firm was the first link to come up. I clicked the link.

  The page loaded with the usual fanfare of lawyerese speech about how he was the only one who could save the potential client from whatever it was they were facing. I scrolled for a picture on the page.

  Wait a minute. What was this? My spine stiffened, and I leaned forward.

  There was no picture. But there was a name. Devin Richardson Austin.

  I swallowed as a chill pricked at the hairs on the back of my neck. How could I have been so wrong? But it turned out that I’d been right too! When would I learn to trust my gut feeling?

  I typed in the name in a search engine to double check and scanned through the images that came up.

  Bingo. I hit the winning load. It was of an awards ceremony. The headline stated, “Devin Richardson Austin wins an unprecedented case against impeachment.” My jaw dropped. It was Mrs. Richardson who was Dayton’s lawyer, not David Austin.

  Another search turned up a marathon. Mrs. Richardson was staring straight ahead and ignoring the camera. But her sharp nose on her determined face was unmistaka
ble. But what was that on her wrist? I zoomed in.

  It was the same watch band I’d found on the floor. I zoomed in farther and gasped. The fastener was on the same hole as what was marked on the band. Number four.

  I swallowed hard while my finger searched for a paperclip. It had been Mrs. Richardson who been the person in Dayton’s room.

  Which meant one thing.

  She was the killer.

  I typed the only person I knew who could help.—Kristi, I need to talk to you ASAP

  She texted back. —What’s up?

  —No, I need a phone call. I chewed my thumbnail impatiently.

  —I can do it in about an hour.

  An hour? Was I going to have to wait that long? Frustrated, I saved the picture of Mrs. Richardson at the marathon and then sent it to Kristi. Then I cropped Mrs. Richardson’s wrist and forwarded that as well.

  My phone rang immediately.

  “Maisie, what are you playing at?” Kristi whispered.

  “Why are you whispering? Are you busy?”

  “Yes, hence, the ‘I’ll call you back in an hour’ text.” Graham crackers couldn’t be drier than the tone she used.

  Time was limited. I rushed out my words. “I searched up Mr. Austin’s law agency and found the name D. R. Austin. Guess what? He was masquerading as Dayton’s lawyer, not realizing the lawyer really was a woman. In fact, it was Mrs. Richardson. The picture I just sent you was taken last year. You can see the watch on her wrist. And when I zoomed in, I could see it was tightened to the fourth notch, just like the band we found.”

  Kristi was silent. I continued to try to convince her. “Don’t you see? She set this whole thing up. She reserved the room for Dayton and even the one next to it.”

  “There’s a lot of information you’re giving me here. Answer me this. Why didn’t she take the suite the first time she reserved it? And how did Richardson know that you’d assign it to her later?”

  “She worded her complaints very specifically. She’s well traveled, it must have been a calculated risk she was willing to take.” I thought for a second, my finger untwisting a paperclip.

  “A risk, huh?” Kristi didn’t sound like she was buying it.

  Her skepticism was contagious. “Give me a second. I’ll call you right back,” I said in a rush. There was one thing left I still hadn’t checked.

  Dayton had said something that first night when I’d asked him if he wanted me to call his lawyer for some support. His face had drained of blood and he’d mumbled something about how everyone betrayed him.

  My fingers flew across the keys and I pulled up his room’s phone records again. I saw the call to his attorney’s burner phone and, right after that, was his phone call to the hotel in New Jersey.

  Something from his conversation with his lawyer must have spurred that hotel call.

  Following my hunch, I called the hotel again.

  On the third ring, it was answered. “Highwater hotel, this is Marjorie speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Marjorie. This is Maisie Swenson, General Manager at the Oceanside in Starke Springs, Florida. One of our guests called there to make a reservation. Would you be able to check on that?” I bluffed a little on my reason.

  “Absolutely.” Her voice brimmed with confidence. “What’s his name?”

  Here it was. The defining moment. “Vincent Dayton.”

  Fast typing that sounded like a box of dice being shaken came through the phone’s speaker. After a moment, she said, “Yes… it appears he did have a reservation, but it was for two days ago. He never showed up. Would you like me to reschedule it?”

  “Not at this time but I’ll let you know.” I hung up. I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that Mrs. Richardson really was Devin Richardson Austin, his attorney. But there was no denying that something in that conversation seemed to spur Dayton to try to leave our hotel early than her original reservation of a few days.

  So, what had happened during that phone call? Whatever it was, it must have been dramatic since Richardson didn’t show up for her official reservation, either. Instead, she’d disguised herself as a random guest and complained about needing a room with a better view.

  And then there was that letter that I’d found in between the sheets of the bible. It had read… in the event of my death, give my belongings to my… and the word had cut off.

  I’d assumed he’d been about to write the word, “attorney.” But he’d already left instructions like that. Why write them again?

  Something must have happened to make him not trust her, and the letter was for a new name.

  I searched up Devin Richardson. An article popped up about a blurb in a local newspaper for her wedding day. It was simple: Gerald Richardson and Devin Austin married on the 24th of October in Scottsdale Connecticut. That explained her two last names. It was odd she used Richardson before the Austin. It made me wonder if she legally changed it that way so she could use her maiden name as an attorney.

  I searched for her maiden name, Devin Austin. A grainy black-and-white picture showed up of a very young-looking Devin Austin (AKA Mrs. Richardson) standing next to a boy in his late teens. She wore a tutu and leotard and stood on point while the teen boy seemed to ignore her. Underneath the picture it said, Ballerina Devin Austin gives brother, David, a few pointers.

  In the picture, I glimpsed a tiny fraction of the adult version of her in the intensity of her stare. The photo almost made me feel sorry for her. She had a wistful expression, lower lip slightly open, eyes locked on the camera. Almost as if she were waiting for approval from whoever was behind the lens. I remembered how her voice had dipped the day we’d met in the hall. I’d commented on the ribbon in her hair and she said she had to give up Juilliard for a new career. My guess was that the career her parents pushed her into was law.

  Her brother gazed out into the distance as if someone had just called his name. I recognized him right away as Austin, the man who’d told us he was Dayton’s lawyer. His nose had the same distinct sharpness as his sister’s. Their parents had used the same letter for both of their first names, so it hadn’t been hard for him to impersonate her as a lawyer.

  After pushing the keyboard forward, I grabbed out a pad of paper and drew a chart to make it clear. Devin Richardson Austin was Dayton’s lawyer. Her brother was David Austin, who impersonated her to get the envelope Dayton left in our hotel safe. Together, the brother and sister had run a scam to use Dayton as a mule and then steal the diamonds. Now I just needed to track down who the uncle was who called. And who was Stephenson?

  Chapter 23

  I typed the words, “Vincent Dayton’s brother” into the search engine. I just wanted to check. I realized that the one main reason why I didn’t believe Stephenson was Dayton’s half-brother was because of something Austin had said. And, obviously, Austin hadn’t proved himself too trustworthy.

  I scrolled through the pictures. Most were of athletes or other people with the same name. But one caught my attention. It was of the short man leaving a restaurant, and even better, a few steps behind him was Vincent Dayton. Even in the picture, Vincent looked anxious, brushing his hair back. I clicked it to read an article from the NY Times. Local legend, Vito Stephenson, leaves the family restaurant with his brother.

  Hmm. So it was true that Vincent Dayton was half-siblings with a Vito Stephenson.

  My cell rang. Kristi.

  “I don’t have all the answers yet,” I said, to head off what I expected Kristi to ask. Then, I filled her in about how Vincent made a phone call to a different hotel to make a reservation after his talk with his attorney, and that Vincent and Vito Stephenson appeared to be half-brothers after all.

  “Well, I have news for you too,” Kristi said. “So the Milan Polizia just got back to us. From their investigation transcripts, mob boss, Dario Torino, was apprehended leaving the Cavallero jewelry store after giving it an apparent shakedown. Dario was discovered concealing the bag of diamonds on h
im.”

  She took a deep breath and continued in her machine gun style. “During Dario’s trial, Austin, who went by the name Austin Maricio and worked as a security guard, decided to steal them. Austin talked with his sister, Devin Richardson, who in turn talked with Dayton, her client. She convinced Dayton into flying out to Milan to be used as a mule to bring the diamonds home. And she gave him the disclaimer letter that his belongings would go to her in the event of his death.”

  Excitement made me smile. The bag inside the leather envelope had said Cavallero on it, so the pieces of evidence were finally making some sense.

  I grabbed a rubber band and slid it over my wrist and started to spin it. “I’m pretty sure Dayton was supposed to meet Mrs. Richardson here at the hotel to drop off the diamonds. But something happened during their last phone call that made him change his mind. I think he told her not to show up, or he’d run, which is why she didn’t check in on the day she was supposed to. Instead, she came the next day, disguised as a pushy, complaining guest.”

  “So it was just pure luck that she got the room next door?” Kristi asked.

  I stretched the band, thinking. “Not luck, exactly. She probably knew what things to say to get that upgrade, and she knew the room was still vacant, waiting for her original reservation. Maybe she overheard one of the staff mention there was a critic coming and knew she had some leverage. But she gambled for it, and it worked out for her.” I got up and started to pace the tiny room. “Maybe she originally meant to just search his suite for the diamonds when he was gone. But he was too paranoid to leave. I’m guessing she staged the brandy and glass to continue to freak him out.”

  Kristi made a noise of agreement.

  “And he started a new letter that I found in his bible. I thought the word that had been interrupted meant A for attorney, but maybe it was for another name. Richardson knew he didn’t trust her so she killed him. But how did she do it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m guessing some type of poison at the moment, something that she mixed with the alcohol to provide a fatal effect. What she didn’t expect was that he would vomit up the mixture. From the blood settling pattern, our theory is that he died in the bathroom. Somehow, she dragged him back to the bed where she posed him.”