Laina Turner - Presley Thurman 07 - Cupids & Crooks

by Laina Turner

  “That’s a pretty good run,” commented Denise.

  “There is an article here that says an unidentified source said Ms. Vegas was found facedown in the pool at the Grand Cabello Resort with two bullet wounds. It is not known at this time whether Ms. Vegas drowned, or was shot first.”

  “Wow. Dead in the pool. I’m not so sure I want to go back in there,” said Denise.

  Regina grimaced. “I have to agree with you there.”

  “Does it speculate as to who killed her?” asked Denise.

  “Hmmm…it says police have no leads at this time and goes on to say she was well liked by her co-workers on Rich Man, Poor Man and didn’t seem to have any enemies. Everyone is shocked and saddened by the loss…more typical stuff.”

  “Just goes to show you always have an enemy out there somewhere,” said Regina.

  I put my iPad back in my bag, leaned back, and closed my eyes again for a few minutes. As we all sat in silence I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucia Vegas. A gorgeous, according to the photo online, actress who was reasonably liked, in the prime of her career. Was it jealousy that turned someone against her? A competitor or jilted lover?

  I tried getting my mind off Lucia by pulling out my Kindle and opening to a book I had been reading on the plane and really enjoyed. Regina and Denise were doing the same thing and I should have been enjoying the relaxing sunshine and my Bloody Mary. I just couldn’t focus and my mind kept going back to the murder. What would the harm be in asking a few questions? Just to satisfy my curiosity. Of course Cooper would tell me it was none of my business that we were here on vacation and I should stay out of it, but he wouldn’t even have to know. A couple questions and then I could drop it. I was in a foreign country, so it was not like I could do a whole lot. My Spanish didn’t go much past ‘hi’ and ‘what is your name’. I sat up and put my things back in my bag.

  “Ladies, please excuse, me I think I am going to go back to my room and cool off.”

  “It was great meeting you, Presley. I’m sure we will see you around the hotel.”

  “I look forward to it.” I headed back to my room and changed out of my suit into a bright green maxi dress. I had brought one every color. They were so comfortable and cool. Matching flip-flops and no jewelry completed the look and I grabbed my big tote again. It had my laptop and Kindle. You never knew when you might need electronics. I had plenty of time before Cooper came back from golf to poke around and I was going to take advantage of it.

  I headed back down to the main lobby and was hoping Roberto was still working. He seemed talkative and maybe would be willing to give out more information if he knew any. Other than that I wasn’t sure as to what I was going to do. Stepping off the elevator there were a lot less people standing around than earlier this morning. Maybe that meant the police were almost done? Though I agreed with Regina. I’m not sure I would care to go in that pool after a dead body had been in there. Surely they drained it and filled it back up.

  I saw what looked to be reporters standing by the police tape talking amongst themselves. Maybe one of them would be willing to share. I walked up to them and received a couple friendly smiles.

  “Are you a reporter,” one of the women of the group asked me after a few minutes of me just hanging out there. She was well dress in a soft yellow linen suit, a fabric I was never very successful at wearing without looking like a wrinkled mess. Which she was not. A wrinkled mess that is.

  “No. Just a curious hotel guest,” I shrugged somewhat shamefully. I did feel a little bad being a rubber necker to someone’s untimely demise.

  She smiled again warmly, sensing I was a little uncomfortable being called out. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one curious,” she spoke with English just as good as mine and only a hint of an accent.

  “Then may I ask what happened?” I stepped a little closer to her.

  “Another young life wasted in senseless tragedy,” she said with a bit of a dramatic flair. I could tell already I was going to like her.

  “Is that your headline,” I asked, assuming so because people didn’t usually speak like that.

  “You like?”

  “Very catchy.”

  She laughed. “I’m Belinda. Belinda Garcia,” she said holding out her hand.

  “Presley Thurman. Nice to meet you.”

  “Murder. A well liked actress who was pretty good at her job,” Belinda said.

  “I did hear that much. Lucia Vegas. Was she really found in the pool?”

  “Yes,” Belinda grimaced. “But I overheard the police talking to each other and it sounded as if she was shot and killed then put in the pool.”

  “Like maybe she was shot poolside and then fell in?”

  “Could be.”

  “I got in last night. I didn’t hear any gun shots.”

  Belinda shrugged. “Maybe a silencer? All I know is this is the fifth actress killing in the last two years.”

  “Are you thinking serial killer?” I asked with surprise.

  She nodded. “I’m the only one who really feels that way,” she said motioning to her peers around us, “and the police have blown me off. It just seems too coincidental to me not to be related.”

  “Like how?”

  “Why so curious?” Belinda asked suspiciously.

  I held up my hands. “No official reason. I’m just a curious person. I guess that kind of sounds bad,” I shrugged.

  Belinda nodded, seeming to accept that statement for what it was worth.

  “So tell me about this serial killer theory of yours,” I asked her.

  “Let’s go over there and sit down,” she said, motioning to the chairs and tables in the sitting area of the lobby and walked in that direction. I followed her and we sat down. “Over the last two years actresses bearing similar physical attributes have been murdered in a similar fashion. They were all mid twenties, brunette, actresses on a soap opera, murdered in a pubic place with two bullets to the back. Of course we don’t know that is for sure what happened to Lucia, too soon to tell, but I would bet my next paycheck it is.”

  “If the evidence is so conclusive then why doesn’t anyone believe you?”

  “Because I’m just a reporter,” she said somewhat bitterly. “The police think we’re nuisances not information seekers. I haven’t been able to get anyone to listen and I’ve tried.”

  “But as a reporter surely you can make so much noise that someone has to listen.”

  “I’ve tried. Believe me I’ve tried. I’ve just got to find the right angle and prove to them these are connected.”

  “Have you been able to uncover any leads as to who might be the one committing these murders?” She really had my interest now. I had in the past had the unfortunate experience to be right smack in the middle of a murder investigation. First when I took a job requiring me to interview a senator who turned up dead the next day, and then when someone murdered by boss at the store I worked at, Silk. While I wasn’t a real detective I couldn’t deny that a puzzle such as one like this really got my interest.

  “Two people I thought were good for the murder, but nothing I could prove or that the police thought were worth looking at. They were both present at two of the four murders working at the establishment the murder happened at. Both have criminal records and have done time for violence against women. I know the police did pull them both in, along with others, for questioning but nothing came of it. It’s just so frustrating! How many young women have to die before anyone will do anything about it?” she said vehemently.

  “Well let’s find a way to make the police pay attention!”

  She looked at me strangely, not that I could blame her, I mean I was essentially a nosy tourist whom she had just met five minutes ago.

  “I would love some help, but I’m not sure exactly how you could do that.”

  “Me neither, so lets’ figure it out. I realize I’m only here for a few days, but I’ve had a little experience in this area, and maybe together we can f
igure this thing out.”

  “What are you, a policewoman or something?”

  I laughed. “Not even close. I used to be in human resources, and then I managed a store, tried my hand at writing, nothing which prepared me for solving murders, but somehow I’ve been right in the middle of a few,” and I proceeded to fill her in.

  “I will take all the help I can get, even if it is just for a short while.”

  “Then let’s do it. Here’s what I think…”

  Chapter 3

  Belinda and I thought that if I followed up on some of the leads she had and came to the same conclusions that maybe we would have something more concrete to go to the authorities with. So armed with addresses for the four other places where women were killed programed in the map app on my iPhone, and tips on how to communicate with Mexican cab drivers, I was on my way. My first stop was a fancy restaurant called La Maison. The first victim, Malia Ortega, was killed prior to an event to celebrate her most recent award. Belinda told me it was a private party in the banquet facility and Malia had been found murdered by servers preparing for the guests. Two bullets to the back, she was found behind the bar. Something Belinda said she found odd since Malia was known as someone who didn’t drink alcohol. The plan was that I would go there to see if anyone still worked there who had worked the party two years ago. If I could find someone, and the chance was slim as waiting staff had high turnover here just like in the US. If I was lucky enough to find someone who had been working at that time the plan was to ask them a few questions about what they saw that night. Maybe I would have a different take on things than Belinda.

  The taxi driver let me out at the front of the restaurant. It was in between lunch and dinner so there wasn’t a valet, just a host to open the door.

  “Just one today, miss?” the host asked.

  “Actually, I’m not eating. I am looking for a Diego Vazquez. Does he still work here?”

  “What do you want with Diego?” he asked suspiciously. I couldn’t blame him. I was obviously not a native and therefore not a friend or relative.

  “I just need some information from him. Nothing bad, I promise,” I said giving him one of my best smiles hoping it would show him I was harmless.

  “Wait here,” he said curtly.

  I waited for about fifteen minutes, just watching the street and the people, about to give up - thinking the guy had just left hoping I would eventually go away - when he appeared through the doors with someone I presumed to be Diego. The second man was young, slight, and had an apron on. That made me think he was working in the kitchen.

  “Are you Diego?” I asked after a few minutes went by and no one said anything.

  “Si. I mean yes,” he said shyly, and I was thankful he seemed to be able to speak at least a little English.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this, but I was wondering if you remember anything about the night Malia Ortega was killed.” I saw him startle. “I’m just doing this for a friend, you have nothing to worry about,” I tried to reassure him, but he didn’t look all that reassured. “I heard that you were working the night Malia Ortega was killed?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you notice anything unusual that night?”

  He looked at me strangely, like maybe he didn’t understand, which maybe he didn’t.

  The host, who hadn’t left us, spoke to Diego in rapid Spanish, none of which I could understand. Diego nodded.

  “There was a man she argued with. I told police this.”

  “Before the party? Did you recognize the man?”

  The host spoke more Spanish, he was obviously translating.

  Diego shook his head. American, white haired, tall.

  “White hair like blond?”

  Diego shook his head. “White, silver, older man.”

  “Anything else you remember that happened that night?”

  He shook his head. “She wanted more Champagne. I go to get and come back she was dead.”

  Hmmm. Since Belinda surely had this information I wonder if she knew who the man was. We had agreed she wouldn’t tell me what she knew until after I tried to get information as to not sway my opinion.

  “One more thing, Diego. How did Malia seem before the argument? Was she happy, sad?”

  “She seemed happy. She was very nice.”

  “Thanks, Diego. You’ve been helpful.”

  He nodded and said something in Spanish to the host who replied and then Diego went back into the restaurant.

  “Is that all?” the host said rather coldly. I had the feeling he didn’t really want me here.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He turned his back to me and walked into the restaurant. I made my way down to the corner where there was a taxi stand and wished I had a clue as to who the old American guy was. Sugar daddy maybe?

  Chapter 4

  “How was golf?” I asked when Cooper sat down at the restaurant across from me. He had been running late so I had decided to come down before him and relax with a glass of wine. I knew he was going to ask me about my day, and telling him the truth was going to probably cause an argument. One I would be better equipped to handle after a glass or two of Riesling.

  “Great! The course is amazing and the guys I was teamed up with were fun to hang out with. I even had some mutual acquaintances with one of them. Such a small world we live in.”

  “That’s interesting. Did you get a good score?”

  “Not bad for me. I was only ten over par, which fell about the same as the others, so we were pretty evenly matched, which is the whole point. Anyway, I know you couldn’t care less about golf, so lets’ talk about food and then your day. What looks good to eat?” he said picking up the menu.

  “I have no idea. I just looked at the wine list so far.”

  We both looked at the menu and settled on fresh lobster tail with drawn butter and a wedge salad to start. The waiter took our order and brought Coop his Dos Equis and me another glass of wine, and then Cooper finally asked the question I was dreading.

  “So tell me, how was the pool?”

  “It was good. Met a couple nice women, Denise Pruitt and Regina Spice.”

  “One of the guys on my golf team is Denise Pruitt’s husband, Randy. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, so were the ladies. They weren’t afraid to order cocktails before noon so we got a long well,” I laughed.

  “So is that all you did? Hang out by the pool?”

  I paused and he looked at me questioningly.

  “Is there something you don’t want to tell me,” he asked. “What, did you flirt with a pool boy?” he joked.

  “No, but I will admit there were quite a few cute ones out there.”

  “Then what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Promise you won’t get mad before you hear me out.”

  “Presley, nothing good comes out of a conversation that starts that way.”

  “Just hear me out. So Denise, Regina, and I were chatting about the murder of Lucia Vegas and I got curious.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Don’t interrupt,” I scolded. “I did some research on her and then went back to the lobby area and met a very nice reporter named Belinda.”

  “You talked to a reporter?” he exclaimed. “What were you thinking?”

  “Calm down, calm down. She’s really nice. Anyways, she told me about this theory she has that the murder that happened here is connected to 4 four other murders in the area over the last two years.”

  Cooper sighed. “What proof does she have?”

  I proceeded to fill him in on what Belinda had told me and my trip to La Maison.

  “So let me get this straight. You just met this Belinda person today and decided it would be a good idea to just take off investigating what could potentially be a string of murders in a country you don’t know and that just this morning were worried you might be kidnapped and sold into the sex trade?”

  “I mentioned it. I wasn’t worried. And yes.
I like Belinda.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s still not a good idea to go traipsing around a country you don’t know.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  He didn’t say anything just took a bite of the lobster the waiter had just sat down before us.

  “If you’re that worried, come to the next place on my list with me tonight and you can keep me safe.”

  “I don’t want to be part of this ridiculousness. We are supposed to be on vacation.”

  “You’re the one who said you were worried, and I told Belinda I would check out each of the four places were a girl was murdered. So either you’re in or you’re out.” I shrugged, taking a bite hoping he would soften and agree to come with me. I was a little apprehensive to be out and about at night when I had no idea where I was going. Not that I would ever tell him that.

  “Ok, fine. I will go with you. But not because I think you should be involved in this, but because I know how hard headed you are and don’t want you out at night alone.”

  I smiled and leaned across the table to give him a kiss. “Thanks!”

  “I mean it, I want you to stay out of this.”

  I pretended he didn’t say anything and proceeded to tell him about where we needed to go.

  We finished dinner and were headed out of the restaurant to grab a taxi and start on our mission when we ran into Denise and Randy Pruitt.

  “Hi, Presley,” Denise said. “Regina and I were hoping you would come back to the pool. We had some yummy daiquiris after our mojitos.” She turned to her husband. “Honey, this is the person I met this morning that I was telling you about. Presley Thurman. Presley this is my husband Randy.”

  “Hi, Randy. Cooper told me you two played golf together today.”

  “That we did,” he said shaking my hand and nodding in Coopers direction. Randy wasn’t what I would have expected as Denise’s husband. I found it interesting how you could make up a picture in your mind of how someone would look before meeting them. She was bubbly and seemed very extroverted, and while he was very handsome with dark hair, blue eyes, tall and thin, he had a hard face. Like it might hurt him to smile or laugh. But then who was I to judge. He might be a hoot.