Stalked in Paradise

by Charley Marsh

  One more thing to add to a growing list of tasks.

  He keyed himself through the security doors, placed his palm on his office security panel and keyed in his code. His office was as neat as he’d left it. He took a moment to try to see the space as Harriet must have seen it earlier that day, slowly taking in the blank walls, the lack of anything personal. It looked sterile and uninviting.

  Scowling, Alex strode to his desk. Police departments weren’t supposed to look inviting. They were strictly for work, where over-burdened officers solved crimes, not homey, comfortable rooms where you invited your friends for tea and sandwiches.

  Leaning on the desktop’s glossy black surface he powered up his comm system and found the WCD report. He settled back in his comfortably cushioned desk chair, put his feet up, and scanned the report.

  There had been one hundred fifty-five people on the island at the time of Higgins’ death. Alex sighed, tied his hair back, and began to read about each one.

  It amazed him how, even with the advances in genetic engineering, crime couldn’t be eradicated completely.

  Science could eliminate even the worst birth defects in the womb. They had vaccines to prevent every disease known to man and unwanted pregnancy. They bred out undesirable traits; but they couldn’t find the genes that turned people into drug addicts, made them steal, beat their spouses and children, or kill for pleasure.

  Since the WCD prided itself on being thorough, he knew that a large percentage of the report would be useless. Traffic violations, stealing a candy bar as a kid–those offenders didn’t interest him. As he read he crossed their names off the list he had showed to Harriet earlier.

  An hour later, he had whittled the suspect list down to eight. Harriet and Solomon were at the top because they had motive and they had found the body.

  He had only included the other six because he needed more suspects. None of the six had any previous connection to Bradley Higgins that he could find.

  One had done time for jacking autos and assaulting a police officer when he’d been caught pulling a young mother from her car. Another had been charged with domestic violence but released on his own recognizance.

  Two had been swept up in a gang bust and did time. Another one was an ex-cop retired involuntarily for using excessive force, and the last person of interest had been a collection agent with unproven accusations that he liked to break the fingers of those who didn’t pay fast enough.

  Alex took his feet off the desk and sat forward. Six men, none of whom knew Bradley Higgins, but all six had a violent incident in their past. How did they make it past the screening Mr. Wade had ordered on all personnel before hiring them? He would have recommended against hiring the six if he’d been asked to perform the security checks.

  Ah well, water over the dam. They were here now and at least they gave him someone to look at besides Harriet and her friend. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the six and keyed in Solomon’s name.

  Harriet had been telling the truth about Solomon’s aversion to violence. Judging from the number of times he’d been admitted to the ER, Solomon had withstood repeated beatings from a father who insisted his son prefer women and “manly” pursuits–not gardening and other fellows.

  Solomon had finally run away at the age of seventeen.

  Alex tapped his fingers together and thought about the lean, handsome gardener. No, Solomon was not Bradley’s killer, he felt sure of it.

  He keyed in Harriet Monroe. Caught shoplifting a bra at age sixteen. No known address. That jived with what she’d told him about running away and living on the streets. He felt a twinge of pity for the teenaged girl needing a bra and no money to buy one.

  There was a note that Harriet’s mother’s sister and the sister’s husband–Wendolyn and Arthur Wainwright–had taken custody of the young Harriet at the age of eight.

  He skimmed the last of the report, wondered briefly why Harriet had run away from her aunt and uncle at the age of fifteen, and then laughed out loud when he read the last line.

  “Well hot-diggity,” he said to his empty office, grinning. He chuckled again–he couldn’t help it. The last little tidbit, a piece of non-important information on Harriet, simply delighted him.

  Harriet’s parents had named their baby daughter Twinkle. Her aunt and uncle had legally changed her name to Harriet when they adopted her.

  “Twinkle Monroe.” Alex slapped his desk with his palm and shook his head, smiling. “I love it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harriet and Albie rode in silence for several minutes after leaving the amusement park, still headed up the west side of the island. The scenery hadn’t changed–there was the sparkling ocean, the birds, the jungle, the sunshine–but Harriet no longer felt like she was in paradise. Braxton Holliday’s last words had shaken her.

  “Why would Bradley’s killer want to kill me?” she asked Albie, breaking the silence.

  “Well, miss, I can think of two reasons.”

  “Two?” Shocked, Harriet twisted in her seat to look at her companion straight on. “You can think of two reasons for someone wanting me dead? That’s–that’s a little frightening.”

  Albie nodded. “Indeed it is. You need to be very careful, Miss Harry. Perhaps it would be best if I returned you to your office or cottage.”

  Harriet scowled. “Not until you tell me why someone would want me dead. What are your two reasons?”

  Albie held up a slim finger. Not for the first time, Harriet wondered how such a small, compact man managed to lift guests’ heavy bags.

  “Number one,” he answered, “you are going around the island asking questions about the killer. As you should realize from the fact that I knew about Alex’s visit to you last night, word gets around fast. What if you get too close to the killer and he panics? He will feel compelled to kill you to keep himself safe.”

  “So you agree the killer is a man.”

  “Yes.” Albie gave a curt nod. “There are no women on the island strong enough to lift a grown man into the vines where you found him.”

  “Exactly!” Harriet slapped her thigh in agreement. “I think it’s a man, too. That must eliminate a lot of people.” She nodded. “All right, your first reason is valid. Obviously the killer doesn’t want to be found. Asking questions could make him nervous. But killing me would only push Alex harder to find Bradley’s killer.”

  “The killer could easily make your death look like an accident.”

  “How?”

  “You haven’t been on the island long, only a few short days. Not long enough to learn of the dangers here. The mangrove swamp can be very dangerous, for instance. What if you decided to explore it to take your mind off Bradley’s murder? You could disappear inside the swamp and never be seen again. Eaten by a large predator.”

  Harriet’s eyes widened. “There are large predators in the mangrove swamp?”

  Albie rolled his eyes at her. “Saltwater crocs, Miss Harry. An adult male can weigh more than two thousand pounds. They’re fast too. You’d never know what hit you until it was too late.”

  “Okay. I won’t go exploring the mangrove swamp. How else could someone make my death look like an accident?”

  “Well, say you decided to explore the east side of the island and go swimming, run into a riptide. . . “

  Harriet made a disgusted sound. “I wouldn’t be foolish enough to do either of those things.”

  “You don’t have to be. The killer could knock you on the head and toss you into the sea alive. The tide and wave action would smash your body against the rocks so no one would ever know you were unconscious when you went into the water. Your lungs would be filled with seawater. The coroner will rule death by accidental drowning. Dirty deed done.

  “Same thing with the mangrove swamp, only your body probably wouldn’t be found there because it would be eaten.”

  Harriet didn’t care for Albie’s matter-of-fact tone talking about ways to kill her. And it didn’t help that
she could easily imagine either of the scenarios he had just described. She shuddered.

  “I don’t like it, but I can see how it could be done,” she admitted. “And I have to say that I find it a little scary that you so easily came up with more than one way to bump me off. So, what’s your second reason that the killer would want me dead?”

  Albie pulled the all-terrain over to the side of the road and stopped. He turned to face Harriet. “Think about it, Miss Harry,” he said gently. “We have no idea why your friend was killed. What if you are also a target? What if you are actually the main target and Mr. Higgins simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  A shiver ran down Harriet’s spine despite the heat and sunshine. “That’s–no.” She shook her head. “No,” she repeated more firmly. “I can’t believe that anyone here would have a reason to target me. Why would anybody want to kill me? The only person I knew on the island before I came here is my friend Solly and he isn’t a killer.”

  Albie shrugged. “Why would someone want to kill you? Why does anyone kill?”

  “Jealousy, or, uh, money.” Harriet shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about murder. There must be more reasons than those two. I just don’t know them.”

  Albie pulled back onto the road. “Greed, jealousy, hate, wanting to keep a secret . . . and I suppose there are still those who kill because they enjoy it.”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it closed. “How do you know so much about murder? Have you seen it before?”

  “Yes, miss. There were two murders in two different hotels I worked. This was before the Palace, of course.”

  “Of course. No one would dare commit murder in the Palace,” Harriet agreed dryly.

  Albie completely missed the sarcasm. “That’s true. The first murder was a jealous husband who caught his wife with another man. The second was committed by a pair of greedy siblings who couldn’t wait for their mother to die to inherent her money so they helped her along. Both were solved immediately. They weren’t the brightest of criminals.”

  “Wow. Who did the jealous husband kill?”

  “Both the wife and her lover. Used a knife on the man and then choked his wife to death. Made an awful mess of the room. At the trial he said they deserved to die and he’d do it again but be more careful not to get caught next time. He’ll be in a cage for the rest of his life.”

  “You were there?”

  “The front desk sent me up to tell the wife she needed to vacate the room. She had only booked it for one day and it was the next day. She didn’t answer the door so I used my master to see if she had left and forgotten to check out.”

  Harriet shuddered. “I can’t imagine what a shock that must have been for you. I’m sorry.”

  Albie looked at her in surprise. “What are you sorry for, Miss Harry? You didn’t kill them.”

  “I’m sorry that you had to witness such a terrible thing. I’ll bet those images are still with you.”

  “That they are. It’s been thirty years but I can still see that room as if it was yesterday.”

  “Was the mother’s death as terrible?”

  “It was terrible in a different way. The mother was a genuinely nice woman. She stayed with us several times and always had a kind word and a generous tip for those who served her. Her offspring couldn’t have been more different. They poisoned her and tried to blame the hotel’s kitchen. They were idiots and let their greed blind them. I felt bad about that one for a long time.”

  Harriet placed a hand on Albie’s arm and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry for your loss. Even if the mother wasn’t related to you, or a close friend, she was someone who impacted your life.”

  Albie patted her hand. “Thank you. You have a kind heart, Miss Harry.”

  “Your job is a lot more interesting than I imagined.”

  “It can be,” Albie agreed. “It can also be dead quiet. Head baggage clerks tend to work in spurts, with downtime in between flurries of activity. I hate doing nothing so I always keep reading material on hand.”

  He shrugged. “After that first murder I got kind of hooked on them. I read a lot of mysteries and police procedurals, reports on murder trials. It’s amazing how many people are driven to kill for the slightest and silliest reasons. That’s why I’m afraid Brax was right–you could be next.”

  Harriet sat back in her seat. “Okay, I get your point. I’ll be extra careful until Bradley’s killer is found. But I have to try to help Alex. I might come across something important that he wouldn’t see as important because he didn’t know Bradley.

  “So, where are you taking me next?”

  “There’s no point in checking out the carnival as it doesn’t open until next month. You can just see the tent tops from here.”

  Harriet looked to her right. Through the trees she caught glimpses of bright white and yellow. Long, skinny resort blue banners fluttered in the breeze from the peaks of four tents.

  “No one’s there?”

  Albie shook his head. “A crew came in to erect the tents and left last week. The carnies had another contract they had to fulfill so they can’t start for another month. It’s unfortunate that everything won’t be up and running when the first guests arrive but it might actually work out for the better.”

  At Harriet’s raised eyebrow he went on. “This way we get to concentrate on working out the kinks for everything else. There’s always kinks with any new endeavor”–he gave Harriet a hard look–“and they won’t be your fault. At the moment we have the guest hotel, cottages, kitchens, dining areas, spa, amusement park, and the marinas to fine tune.”

  “That seems like a lot.”

  “It is a lot. The hotel and guest cottages won’t be a problem. The hospitality staff is highly experienced and we know what to do. The spas are part of a high-end chain belonging to Mr. Wade so he simply duplicated what works and added a few extra touches. They should run smoothly.

  “The kitchens have been gradually building up to speed as more of the droids are brought on line, but head chefs are known for being divas so I suspect Lana will have a few minor glitches to handle.”

  “I didn’t see any droids working when Lana took me through.”

  “The droids aren’t activated until needed. The resort uses specialty droids for dish washers and line cooks–chopping and prepping, that type of thing. But all the hired chefs had to do their own prep work to start with in order to learn the dishes. That’s probably who you saw in the kitchen. Lana will have moved the droids into most of those positions by now, although there will still be humans prepping for training purposes.”

  “I feel overwhelmed just listening to you,” Harriet said. “I think the complexity and incredible scope of the resort is just starting to sink in.” Afraid that Albie would think she wasn’t ready to do her job, she hastened to explain herself.

  “I mean, I knew Mr. Wade intended the Island Resort to be the ultimate vacation destination, and I read everything he sent me about what we offer, but . . . seeing in person what’s involved in making it all happen is very different from reading about it. Like seeing Mr. Holliday fixing the carousel.”

  Harriet waved a hand. “Or take the roller coaster. I only saw a photo of the coaster track being built. You can’t get the same sense of how awesome the ride is from a photo that you can by standing underneath it.”

  “That’s exactly right, Miss Harry. You need to experience the resort to truly take it in and understand it. And that can’t be done in one day. Not even in one visit. That should guarantee repeat visitors.”

  Albie smiled at her. “Fortunately you don’t have to worry about how everything works. Your only responsibility is presenting us to the world in our best finery and coming up with ideas to lure visitors.”

  Harriet smiled then. “That shouldn’t be too difficult. I have a lot of great stuff to work with.”

  They passed several roads leading down to private coves and more guest cottages. Alb
ie explained that while each cove had identical sets of cottages, the coves themselves had physical differences that set them apart from one another.

  Blackbeard’s Cove was wide and deep, Black Bart’s Cove had a partially submerged shipwreck that was great for snorkelers, Morgan’s Cove was ideal for children with its large beach and shallow water.

  Without saying anything, Harriet and Albie seemed to have had enough talk about murder. They discussed other things until they reached the island’s largest marina.

  Set approximately one-third down the island from the northern tip, the marina boasted four main docks. The two smaller docks had several dozen small finger docks jutting off them. Pairs of personal water jets were moored at half the finger docks, their custom painted white-and-resort-blue hulls bobbing gently in the water.

  Florescent orange kayaks and sailboards were neatly piled upside down on the remainder of the small finger docks.

  “Why are the kayaks and sailboards colored such a bright orange?” asked Harriet. “I thought the resort’s equipment would all be the special blue Mr. Wade decided on.”

  “Not everyone knows how to kayak or sailboard well. The marina manager told Mr. Wade it would be much easier to locate a lost guest if the equipment was brightly colored. The ski-jets and larger boats all have tracking devices because they’re large enough to track individually on the map-screen, but the resort has seventy-five kayaks and fifty sailboards. Imagine if they were all out at the same time? Monitoring all those small boats would be an impossible job.”

  Harriet shook her head in sympathy. “I can’t imagine what that would be like. Let’s hope we never lose anybody. Is that the marina manager?”

  Albie had pulled into a parking space near the marina office. A large man stood in the open office doorway and was watching them with an unfriendly scowl on his face.

  Albie sighed. “No, that’s Big Ed. Ed Whitfield. He used to be married to the resort manager, but they were divorced shortly after coming here to the island.”