When we arrived, the front doors were wide open and there was no yellow police tape up, so that had to be a good sign. We walked inside, and Aiden was setting the last of the chairs off the tabletops and onto the floor. He walked around the bar and took out a small cutting board, knife, and a handful of lemons.
When he looked up and saw us, he asked, "You sure you want to be here?"
No hug or kiss for Cady? Something was going on with him.
"Why wouldn't we?" Cady sat on a barstool directly in front of him.
"Apparently I'm tainted, cursed, or poisoning my customers."
I frowned. "Why would you say that?"
I stood by the tables we had shared last night and thought back to the events surrounding Barclay falling. He had gone into the bathroom to medicate, and before that… I'd been paying attention to Shawn, so I hadn't focused on anyone else.
"You haven't seen the flyers? Someone got up bright and early today and posted them on the streets near the bar. I ripped down four on my way here."
My stomach sank for him. I didn't know what had happened to Barclay last night, but I was ninety-nine percent sure Aiden had nothing to do with it. Why would he?
"Well, that's crazy. What did they say?" Cady asked.
He pulled a balled-up piece of paper out from under the bar and placed it in front of her.
I sat on the stool beside her and leaned close as she smoothed out the sheet.
Someone died at Ocean Grille last night—don't eat there if you want to survive was handwritten in the center of the white page. Nothing fancy, just a crude warning.
"And you saw these where?" I asked.
"Some were taped, and others were stapled to trees and signposts up and down the street. I don't live far from here, and I walk in every morning."
"Who would do this?" Cady's voice cracked as if she was about to cry.
He shrugged and seemed close to tears himself, and his posture looked defeated. He continued cutting the fruit. "I don't know. Maybe someone who was here when it happened. One of the customers. Most of them were locals."
"The police don't have a problem with you opening, right? So why should anyone else?" Cady asked.
"What did the police say?" I asked.
"That it may have been an allergic reaction or food poisoning. I'm very careful about what I serve. Everything is fried. It's not like I can undercook something."
Plus, if he'd purchased fish cakes that were spoiled, he'd know. They'd reek.
"And the rest of us are fine," I pointed out.
He raised his arm and punctuated the air with his knife. "Exactly."
"Well, people will see that," Cady said with a half smile.
Aiden continued to look sullen. I doubted he believed that.
"It's positive that you were allowed to open today."
"They said I could because it looked like an accidental death."
"That's great." Cady's smile couldn't have been bigger.
I knew very little about police investigations, other than the few months I'd spent with the cops and the District Attorney due to Frankie Esposito, as well as what I'd seen on TV. Real life was nothing like television though. In reality, everything moved at tortoise speed, so it was likely Athena would leave Barbados before the cause of death was determined. I hoped the results were accidentally self-inflicted and not the result of something Aiden had done.
"Did Barclay seem okay during lunch? Before he went to the bathroom?" I asked.
They both shrugged.
"Was he having fun?"
Silence.
None of us were paying attention to the man.
"I took a few group shots," Cady shouted and then pulled out her phone.
"Here, look," she said and handed over her cell.
The first one was of Shawn and me. I was looking adoringly at him, and he wasn't looking my way. Thank goodness. I wouldn't have wanted him to see my goofy expression. Then there was one of Whitney, Finley, and Mimi. They were talking and laughing, and none of them glanced at the camera.
Cady loved taking candid shots and never told anyone she was photographing them. She didn't like stiff poses.
The last one was of Barclay and Greer by the bar, and they didn't look happy. This was that tense moment I'd observed between them.
"See? Nothing special," Cady said.
The more I stared at the shot of Barclay and Greer, the more I wouldn't say it was nothing exactly. I flipped back to the one of Whitney, Finley, and Mimi. That had been taken at the table, and their meals were before them. Three plates piled high with cutters and fries.
"Anyone remember what Barclay ate?"
"Nothing," Aiden said. "He ordered the fish cakes with a side of macaroni pie, but he didn't touch it. Not one bite. I remember throwing away the entire dish. He hadn't even moved the sprig of kale I used to dress the plate."
"Then why did the police say allergic reaction or food poisoning?"
Aiden shrugged and continued cutting his fruit. "Didn't your boyfriend suggest it was an allergy?"
Heat immediately flushed my face, and I stammered.
Cady laughed a little longer than necessary.
"He's not my boyfriend, and he did, but the sergeant must've thought it was a real possibility."
"What was he drinking?" Cady asked.
Aiden smirked. "Soda water. He asked me to only serve him seltzer in a tumbler with ice and a twist of lime to make it look like vodka and soda. That was what he meant when he asked for his usual."
"Why?"
"I didn't ask. It wasn't my business. I didn't know the man. Never said more than 'what do you want.'" He chuckled, but it sounded forced and fake.
So Barclay didn't eat anything and pretended his seltzer was booze. Why the pretense? There was no way his death was due to something he didn't eat, which meant Aiden was one hundred percent innocent. This was great!
"I saw you last night," I said.
Aiden sliced a lemon into wedges and looked up, realizing I was staring at him. "What? Where?"
"Lagoon Blue. I was there with some cast members, and you were out front by the cabs."
He pointed his knife at Cady before continuing cutting. "You were there and didn't come over?"
"I was asleep on the ship. Zibby went without me." She pouted and then grinned, and I wasn't sure if she was playing around or actually upset she hadn't tagged along.
"Oh, yeah, they have a nice place there," Aiden said. "I was um, I-I…"
Cady and I stared at him and didn't say a word. It felt like he was being evasive on purpose.
"I was so upset about having to close down for the night, and I wanted to be someplace loud and to have a drink. Can't do that at home."
Cady nodded like she understood perfectly. Wish I did.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we left Aiden with his fruit, wished him a prosperous day, and promised to be back later. I would've left sooner, but dragging Cady away wasn't easy.
"Where are we going?" she asked as we crossed Main Street.
"To the hotel. I want to offer my condolences to the others."
"That's a great idea," she said and sounded sad.
"What's wrong?" I asked as we stopped in front of The Frond. Wow, it was majestic.
It was set back on the street, with a couple of palm trees flanking the white brick fence that circled the property. A pink cobblestone walkway led from the sidewalk to the three red steps. A narrow front porch combined with two white pillars and dark wood double doors reminded me of a plantation, or what I'd seen of them on television. It was five stories high, but the top one didn't extend the entire width of the stucco structure.
"I'm worried about Aiden," Cady said.
I squeezed her shoulder. "I know, but he'll be okay."
She shook her hair, tossing her blonde strands across her face. "No, Zibby. You don't understand. I haven't mentioned how much he struggles. He is the oldest of seven siblings, and the youngest is in diapers. The second oldest i
s in junior high school. His dad died earlier this year, and his mother works two jobs on top of being a single mom."
Wow, that had to be extremely hard, and that must've been why he said he couldn't drink at home.
"They all rely on the income from the bar. If he loses that…" She sniffled, and my heart broke for all of them.
"I am sure the police will find out soon that Barclay's death had nothing to do with the Ocean Grille. Shawn mentioned that a heroin overdose could look similar to what happened to Barclay."
She perked up and grabbed my hands hard. "Seriously? How can we find out for sure?"
We? Last I looked, we didn't wear police uniforms or have badges.
She widened her eyes. "His friends would know, right? They should. We can ask them when we go up."
"Um, they'd probably know, but we probably shouldn't ask them now. They're going through a lot."
She bit her thumb cuticle. "Yeah, that would be insensitive."
Her shoulders slumped, and she was back to feeling miserable.
I hated seeing her like this. I was used to happy, perky Cady with a healthy dose of optimism. "How about we keep it on the back burner, and if we find a natural way to ask, we can?"
She nodded and squared back her shoulders. "Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Let's do this."
I raised a brow. She was wound tighter than I realized. I'd try extra hard to find a way to broach the subject of drugs. I just hoped Barclay's friends were here.
We hurried along the walkway, and I pulled open the hotel door. We stepped into a lobby with high beamed ceilings and shiny charcoal gray floor tiles. The air conditioning felt like magic against my hot, sticky skin.
There was a small seating area to our right and a long front desk to our left. Beside that was an archway and a sign that said The Frond Restaurant. Along the back wall was a bay of elevators and a doorway that led to the stairs.
"Will they tell us which rooms they're in?" Cady asked while looking at a young man in a white short-sleeve shirt and burgundy tie standing behind the desk.
"I don't know. There's only one way to find out."
Before I took a step, Cady said, "We could go up there and shout until one of them steps into the hallway."
I smiled and walked to the front desk. "Hi, I'm here to visit a friend. Um, Mimi Janson."
I remembered I only knew a couple of their names.
Up close, the young man was very young, like straight from high school. He clicked at the keyboard in front of him and frowned at the screen. "I can't find her."
Of course. Chances were the room was under her boyfriend's name.
"Oh, look under Greer…" Crap, what was his last name again?
"Murdock. Barclay Murdock," Cady said, and while he typed, she whispered to me, "I heard Finley tell one of the cops."
Thank goodness for her listening skills, but they weren't going to tell us the room a dead man stayed in. Then again, this kid probably shouldn't have been looking up guests' names at all. Wasn't there some sort of privacy rule in the Caribbean? Or was this guy too new to remember it?
"Here it is," the man announced with pride. "Room 502."
"Thank you," I said and headed toward the elevators.
"Do you want me to call up?" he shouted after us.
"No, thanks. We got it," Cady said and chased after me.
We didn't want Barclay's room. We wanted the others. It would be easy enough to find them. Had they cleaned out Barclay's belongings yet? Who would be responsible for that—the hotel or one of his friends?
The elevator doors whooshed open, and we exited into a small alcove. Directly across stood room 500—gold numbers nailed on a white wooden door. The other rooms were hidden from our location. We stepped forward, off a foot of tiled flooring and onto light gray carpeting, which brought the rest of the floor into view. The fifth floor consisted of a short hallway with three other doors, one leading to a stairwell exit. It wasn't very large at all.
The room next to 500 was Barclay's, 502, and a housekeeper stood in front of it. Her short and wide cart full of cleaning supplies and extra linens sat in the center of the hallway. She pushed a key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door a few inches.
Cady grabbed my arm, jerking me back into the alcove.
"What?" I whispered.
"If we can get into Barclay's room, we can see for ourselves if he has drugs. Friends won't have to betray any trust, if they know, and if they don't, then we'd still have our answers."
I raised a brow at my brilliant friend. It was a great idea, but how would we get inside? The housekeeper didn't look young and inexperienced like the guy downstairs.
A door opened. It had to be 501 because we could see 500 and 502 was already open.
Mimi called out, "Excuse me. Can you bring in some extra towels?"
That meant 500 was Whitney and Finley's room.
"Of course," the housekeeper said and plucked two from her cart.
I peeked farther into the hall and watched the woman hand them to Mimi, who was dressed in a plush white bathrobe. Probably compliments of the hotel.
"Thank you," Mimi said and shut the door.
The housekeeper approached Barclay's door. This was the moment. But how would we get inside?
"Duck," Cady whispered in my ear before she flung herself onto the carpeted floor in front of Mimi's room and let out a loud—overexaggerated—sigh.
The housekeeper turned, and I crouched behind the cart.
Was Cady crazy? We were so getting caught. What if Mimi or Whitney came out into the hall to see what the commotion was and saw me hiding beside the toilet bowl brush?
"Are you all right?" the housekeeper asked and squatted down.
Cady softly whined and bugged her eyes out at me.
I had to move, or my best friend had risked broken bones for nothing. I hurried around the cart and squeezed into Barclay's room. A quick glance back, and Cady nodded at me. I guessed I was doing this alone. Of course, this didn't mean I was home free. The housekeeper was likely still coming inside to clean, which meant I had just seconds to figure out where to hide.
I stepped behind the ajar door and faced the room.
Wow! It was huge.
My eyes scanned a living area and a fireplace that stood as a partition in the middle of the room. I didn't take in every piece as I ran to the other side and stood by the foot of a king-sized bed. I contemplated hiding in the closet, in an adjoining bathroom, or on the balcony through the French doors. The drapes were mostly shut, but if she wanted to let in sunlight, she'd open them and definitely spot me.
I bit my bottom lip and thought of the closet. Would the housekeeper need to go in it? I couldn't risk it.
Tick, tock, Zibby.
Sweat formed on my forehead and panic rose into my chest until I feared I'd stay frozen in this position and I'd definitely be discovered.
"Thank you for your help. I must've tripped," Cady said, using her outside voice.
Her words bolted me out of my haze, and I dove for under the bed. I wasn't sure I'd fit, but there looked to be just enough room. I was shimmying and tucking in my foot when the door opened wide and the housekeeper walked in and stood beside the fireplace—totally in my view.
She was still, and I held my breath.
"Where are you?" she said.
Crap. I was so dead.
CHAPTER NINE
My heart thundered against my chest. How could she have seen me? The bed was huge, and I had wiggled close to the back wall. It was possible she'd spied me as I'd scooted under, or maybe she'd seen me entering the room after Cady's less than graceful fall, but wouldn't she have spoken out then?
"There you are," the housekeeper said in a chipper tone that didn't suggest she was about to call hotel security.
From my position, I watched her knees bend, and I cringed. She was going to look under the bed.
She crouched down and plucked something from the carpeting. "Silly pin. Stay attached
."
That wasn't about me. I started to laugh and cupped my mouth hard. I didn't need to be caught now.
She grabbed something from the cart and entered the bathroom, where she hummed a song I didn't recognize. I listened to the sounds of the shower spray hitting the bottom of the tub, the flush of the toilet, and the hard flow of water in the sink.
How long was this going to take? And what if she needed to vacuum under the bed? Shoot. Why hadn't I thought of that?
When she returned to the room, I tried to take shallow breaths so she wouldn't hear me. It sounded like she was dusting every surface. I watched her pull out the trash bag and replace it, and then she went about changing the sheets on the bed. She was quick and seemed super efficient. I wished I could've observed her with the bedding because her speed made me think she had some handy tricks.
Then she pulled out the vacuum. Crap. She moved it around the entire room and then aimed for the bed.
I scooted over a few inches when she came from the right. In and out, back and forth. If she looked down…
I contorted my body in every direction, making sure the electronic beast didn't hit me, because if she felt any resistance, she was sure to peek.
Luckily, she didn't care about doing a thorough job, turned it off, and pushed it out of the room.
I lay there, breathing freely and allowing my nerves to calm down.
When I finally felt that she wasn't coming back, I squirmed out and stood up. Wow, that had been a mini workout. I went to the door and looked out the peephole. The hallway appeared empty. Where was Cady? I figured she'd do this with me.
I pulled my phone from my purse and texted her. Where are you?
Then I turned and faced the room and truly took it in.
Wow, again!
The double-sided gas fireplace was embedded into a white partition that ran from floor to ceiling, but you could walk around on both sides. A flat-screen TV hung in the space above the glass enclosure, and across from it all was a long, sleek black sofa and smoky glass side and coffee tables. A mini bar with an accented mirror stood behind the couch, and a small, round table with a couple of chairs was pushed up against the far wall. The drapes were drawn on this side of the room, but I imagined that most of that wall was glass, where you could enjoy the view of Bridgetown. We weren't far from the water. Maybe you could see that too.
Killing in the Caribbean Page 6