Stalked in Paradise

by Charley Marsh

  “Where did you live before?”

  “Solly and I have shared a place since we were . . . young.”

  She hesitated, then decided to tell Alex the truth. If he was as good a detective as he claimed he would find out anyway.

  “You know we both came from Portland, Maine. We were teenage runaways. I was fifteen and Solly was seventeen when we met on the streets and teamed up. We watched each other’s backs, shared what food we could scrounge, protected each other, that sort of thing. Then when we both had jobs we shared a small room. The jobs got better, our apartments got better, we helped each other through schooling.”

  “I can understand why Solomon is your best friend. You were fortunate. Most runaway females end up living a short, hard life.”

  Harriet nodded.

  “So when did Bradley Higgins come into the picture?”

  “I met Bradley at a function I organized for a hotel I worked for at the time. That hotel was my first real PR job. Bradley and I started dating. He was an attorney and had inherited a lovely old Victorian on Portland’s Eastern Promenade. I was . . . enchanted that someone like Bradley Higgins–successful attorney from one of Portland’s wealthiest families–could seemingly fall in love with a nobody like me.”

  She shrugged. “He asked and I moved in. And he changed. He became possessive and controlling. I lost contact with the few friends I had. I knew I had to get away but it wasn’t until Solly told me about the PR position with the Island Resort that I saw a way to make it happen.”

  “Did you tell Bradley about your plans to leave and come here?”

  “No.” Harriet shook her head. “I made a point to conduct all communications with Mr. Wade away from the house so Bradley couldn’t overhear. I don’t know how he found out.”

  Alex entered a few notes into his desk pc. “I’ll find out. I’ll need the names of your co-workers.”

  Harriet supplied them. “What if Bradley’s murder doesn’t have anything to do with me? Maybe it was because of something else entirely.”

  “Very doubtful. But we’ll explore all avenues until we find the answers–and the killer. Did you bring your personal pc with you to the resort?”

  “Yes. It’s in my bag.” Harriet rummaged through her bag and came up with the sleek handheld unit.

  It had been a one year anniversary gift from Bradley. She’d been touched and so proud of it, an item she could never afford to buy herself.

  She handed the pc to Alex. “What do you need it for?”

  “I want to look and see if it’s been hacked. You say you didn’t tell Bradley you were leaving, or about taking the PR position here. So how did he know?”

  Harriet’s eyes widened, then narrowed with anger. “You think Bradley hacked my pc?”

  “That, or he planted a bug in it. I’ll look at it this afternoon and return it to you this evening if that’s all right with you.”

  Harriet rubbed at the ache that was starting to throb behind her forehead.

  “Sure. Whatever you need. I’d offer to feed you but I haven’t placed a food order yet so the cupboards are still bare.”

  “I’ll bring something. Pizza okay with you?”

  Harriet remembered the wood-fired oven she had seen in the resort’s large kitchen the previous day.

  “I love pizza,” she admitted.

  “Good. I’ll see you out and then get to work on your pc. Where are going now?”

  “To my office. I need to organize myself so I can start work day after tomorrow.”

  Alex walked her to the entry. “Follow the alley between here and the kitchens to the left. You’ll come out opposite the office complex.”

  Harriet followed Alex’s directions and found herself at her office building in a few short minutes.

  She never noticed Lana watching her from the kitchen’s back doorway.

  Chapter Ten

  Harriet decided to take a few minutes to re-acquaint herself with her office space and shake off her recent meeting with Alex Hayes. How could he believe that she and Solly had anything to do with Bradley’s murder?

  She opened the glass doors to let in the warm, fragrant breezes and took off her thick-soled sneakers before settling at her desk. She found it ironic that there had been a time when she couldn’t afford to buy a pair of sneakers and was forced to roam Portland’s streets barefoot. Now she owned shoes and still preferred to be barefoot when possible.

  Firing up her comm unit to check for messages as well as to see what, if anything, the news feeds had to say about Bradley’s murder, she mulled over the possible repercussions.

  With luck, news of Bradley’s death wouldn’t have reached beyond the island yet. That wouldn’t last long, she knew. The Island Resort was news all by itself. To have an unsolved murder only days before the world’s poshest resort was scheduled to open would be a worldwide story.

  The fallout from the story could go two ways, she mused as she scanned the headlines.

  There would be guests who would be afraid to come to the resort and would cancel their reservations, no matter what assurances the resort manager gave them.

  And then there would be the opposites–the ghouls and freaks who would want to come to the resort because of the murder.

  The second group were not the class of visitor that Island Resort wanted to encourage. They needed to try to prevent the rush of cancellations that Harriet expected to see so there would be no openings for the ghouls to take advantage of.

  She stood and went to the hidden chiller and pulled out a bottle of water. Sipping the cold water as she walked in circles around her office, Harriet tried to come up with an ad blitz idea to counteract the news stories.

  She was interrupted by a soft tap at the door.

  Expecting to find either Solly or Albie on the other side, she padded to the door in her bare feet. Instead, a large woman with a worried face stood in the hall.

  “Hi. I’m Cassie,” she said. Her voice was the warmest contralto Harriet had ever heard. “Are you Harriet Monroe?”

  “Sure am. Come on in.” Harriet ushered Cassie into the office and led her to the comfortable seating area. Taking one of the upholstered chairs and tucking her bare feet under her, she waved Cassie into another.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, after Cassie declined her offer of something to drink.

  “I’m the resort manager.”

  “Oh! Of course. You’re Cassandra Montgomery. I should have realized. I meant to look you up today. We need to talk.”

  Harriet inspected the woman who was responsible for most of the day-to-day decisions at the resort. She was an older woman–Harriet guessed her to be around fifty-five or sixty–with intelligent brown eyes set in a round, pretty face covered with a mass of dark brown curls.

  A floor-length caftan printed with brightly colored flowers flowed around her ample body and she wore several rings and bracelets on both hands and wrists.

  Cassie looked like a woman who knew who she was and was comfortable with it. Harriet liked her immediately.

  “I wish we could have met under different circumstances,” Cassie said, “but the murder is already causing problems.”

  Harriet furrowed her eyebrows. “I was just checking the news feed. I didn’t see anything about it yet. What kind of problems?”

  “Apparently someone on the island called the World News and told them about the murder. I just got off the comm with one of their reporters. Their headline should go live immediately.”

  Harriet sighed. “I was just now thinking about how to counter the story, but I’d hoped to have more time. Do you think people will cancel their reservations?”

  Cassie gave a humorless laugh and shook her head. “Oh, yes. Are you kidding? The Nervous Nellies will be calling any minute now. I’ve already programmed an auto-response into my comm system stating that we are confident the murderer has left the island and there is no danger to our guests.”

  “Smart. Unfortunately no one has left the isl
and since Bradley was killed, according to Alex.”

  “Bradley?”

  “Bradley Higgins. The dead man. Solomon and I knew him, although neither of us knew he was on the island. Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

  Cassie’s eyes widened. “You knew the victim? Maybe I’d better take a glass of lemonade after all.”

  Harriet set down her water and walked to the chiller. She found a fresh pitcher of lemonade and after a few false starts, a cupboard containing glasses. She carried the drink back to Cassie and sat again.

  “We need to do something,” she said, picking up her water again. “I was thinking about a new ad campaign but people will be focused on the murder and ads won’t change that.”

  “Nope, once this breaks that’s all people will be talking about,” Cassie agreed. “The timing couldn’t be worse. Days before we open? Sheesh. How did you know–Bradley was it?–and what was he doing here?”

  “He was my ex. I’m not sure why but it looks like he followed me here. Only he didn’t follow me, he arrived before I did. If that makes any sense.”

  “He was stalking you?”

  Harriet thought about Alex’s theory that Bradley had somehow bugged her personal pc and frowned. “I hadn’t really considered it in those terms but yes, I suppose he was.”

  “Exes can be bad news. I sympathize. I’m about to have one of my own. Unfortunately he works for the resort too so I can’t get very far away from him.” She set down her lemonade. “What are we going to do? I’d like to take care of this ourselves before it gets dumped in Mr. Wade’s lap.”

  “I agree. I don’t officially start my job until the day after tomorrow. I’d hate to start with this cloud hanging over the resort.”

  They sat in silence for several more minutes, mulling over the problem and sipping their drinks.

  Harriet set her water down and got up to pace around the office.

  “What if . . . ,” she began.

  Cassie raised finely arched eyebrows. “Yes?”

  Harriet hurried back to her seat and sat on the edge. “Well, first off the murder needs to be solved in the next day or two and the killer removed from the island. The security director is working on that. But what if we turn the murder into an attraction?” She waited expectantly for Cassie’s reaction.

  Cassie stopped with the lemonade glass halfway to her mouth and frowned at Harriet.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, lowering the glass to the table. “You want to make the murder . . . an attraction? Isn’t that rather macabre? In bad taste?”

  “Yes and no. Not if we do it right. A century ago dinner theatre was a popular form of entertainment, and one of the most popular types was what they called Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre.”

  Harriet grew more excited as the idea began to gel. She stood and began to pace again. “Basically the actors would choose some of the diners to play various roles, including suspects and the actual killer, and the other diners would follow the clues and figure out the killer’s identity by the end of the meal.”

  She saw that Cassie looked doubtful and was shaking her head. She hurried on, eager to overcome the resort manager’s quick dismissal of her idea.

  “Don’t you see, Cassie? If we can solve the murder quickly and quietly we can use it as the set-up for the resort’s own murder mystery dinner theatre. People will roll them together in their minds and forget there was an actual murder.”

  “I don’t know, Harriet–”

  “Harry, please.”

  “Right. I don’t know, Harry. It seems a little tasteless. What will Bradley Higgins’ family think?”

  “He doesn’t have family so no one will complain. And yes, it might seem somewhat tasteless as you say, but we have to do something. Otherwise there will always be a black cloud hanging over the resort. Whenever the Island Resort is mentioned people will invariably say something like, ‘Too bad, didn’t they have a murder there?’ or, ‘Isn’t that the place where the guy was found hanging in the greenhouse? I wouldn’t want to vacation there.’”

  Harriet stopped beside Cassie’s chair. “If we try to brush it under the rug it will never go away. It will never go away,” she repeated with more conviction. “A permanent cloud before we get a chance to really make something of this place. We need to embrace the murder and try to capitalize on it. The Murder Mystery Dinner Theatre could become trendy again and we’ll be at the forefront.”

  “Fine.” Cassie shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll try it. I don’t have any better ideas. I’ll need a list of everything we’ll need for the dinner theatre, plus a detailed description of how it works so I’ll know how the hell to set it up. We’ll have to bring Lana in on this. The dining areas are her bailiwick.”

  Harriet did a mental head slap. She had not thought of Lana. Would she go along with the idea or let her jealousy get in the way? She had a sinking feeling that Lana could prove to be difficult.

  Cassie heaved her bulk out of the chair. “Your brain moves in strange ways, Harry. I hope your idea works. Get me that info asap so I can get started on it right away. I assume you’ll come up with some type of ad campaign for the dinner theatre?”

  “Yes. I’ll get you what you need first, then I’ll write something up for everywhere we advertise. It will work, I can feel it.”

  Cassie walked over to the door and opened it. Before she could leave, her wrist comm buzzed.

  “Cassie.” The resort manager listened for a minute. Her expression turned grim.

  She turned back to Harriet. “That was my assistant. News of the murder has hit. Cancellations are already coming in. We’d better pray that Alex finds the murderer soon and your idea works or we’ll both be looking for new jobs.” She swept out the door.

  After closing the door behind the resort manager Harriet sat at her desk to think about the situation.

  Losing her dream job was not an option.

  She began to compile lists. How complex could it be? She printed out a couple of old reviews on murder mystery theatre and a synopsis of how to conduct one as well as a guesstimate of how many extra staff Lana would require.

  She was pleased to see that if the current waitstaff was willing and able, they could pull the dinner theatre off without hiring any more bodies. That would make it easier to convince Lana to give it a try. And if she presented it in the right light the wait staff should be excited to try it.

  She shot everything off to Cassie’s office before pulling up the latest headlines to see what the news feeds were saying about Bradley’s murder. To her horror, her own name was mentioned several times.

  As she read the stories it became obvious that someone had leaked the murder to the press, and also that that same someone had not seen the body and had made up “facts” surrounding the murder.

  Why would anyone do that?

  There was little she could do at the moment, Harriet decided. It didn’t help that Bradley was connected to her, that she was the reason he had come to the island and people would naturally assume that she was involved.

  A horrible thought struck her. Mr. Wade would also assume that she was involved. He would blame her for the bad publicity and the cancellations. Even the dinner theatre idea might not be enough to save her job.

  Feeling shaky and fighting tears, Harriet decided to go back to Mermaid Cottage and take a walk on the beach to clear her head. She found her sneakers and put them back on, then grabbed her pack and locked the office door behind her.

  Payson Douglas was parking one of the resort’s carts in front of the office building when she exited. He looked sporty yet elegant in lightweight white pants and a blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

  “Hi, Mr. Douglas. Can I help you find someone?” Harriet hoped he couldn’t hear the tears in her voice. She tried to smile but felt it wobble and gave up the attempt.

  “Actually, my dear, I was looking for you. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  Harriet’s alread
y low spirits plummeted. The only reason Mr. Douglas would be looking for her was because he’d seen the news feeds about her connection to Bradley’s murder.

  “Sure,” she answered, resigned. “I was just headed to my cottage and a walk on the beach.” She climbed into the passenger seat and pointed the way.

  Although she waited in silence for Mr. Douglas to begin questioning her, he chatted instead about the beauty of the island as they headed down the shell road toward Mermaid Cottage.

  Harriet felt herself relax just the tiniest bit. Perhaps the resort’s early guest hadn’t watched or listened to any news feeds yet that day.

  Mr. Douglas pulled up beside her cottage and placed a hand on her arm before she could climb out of the cart. “I know you’re worried,” he said quietly. “Don’t be. Alex Hayes will find the murderer and this will soon all blow over.”

  Hot tears sprang to Harriet’s eyes. Whatever she’d been expecting from Payson Douglas, it wasn’t this calm understanding and support.

  “Thank you.” She dashed away the tears with the backs of her hands and wiped them on her pants. “I . . . thank you.”

  She blew out her breath, sucked in another. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job. Mr. Wade is going to blame me for all the trouble–the murder, the cancellations, the bad publicity. And I love it here. I don’t want to leave.”

  She turned to look at the slim, distinguished man beside her. “I really love it here,” she said again. “I know I can do a great job for the resort, but now I won’t get the chance to show Mr. Wade what I can do. And I feel terrible about everything. The bad publicity. The cancellations. Bradley. I mean, who would kill him and why? It makes no sense.”

  Mr. Douglas patted her knee. His pale blue eyes were kind. “Don’t go borrowing trouble, my mother always used to tell me. Have you heard from Mr. Wade?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Then knock that worry off your list. If, and when, you hear from him then you can deal with it. Focus on the things you can do something about in the meanwhile.”

  Harriet managed a half-smile. “Thanks. Your mother gives good advice.” She climbed out of the cart, took two steps, and turned back to him. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked.