“Then we need to discuss damage control,” he said.
Celeste walked to the door. “Unless we can talk in the kitchen, we’ll need to meet later.”
He followed her out and matched her brisk pace.
“The first thing I suggest is making room 401 the honeymoon suite.”
“What?”
“Well, what couple is going to want to spend their wedding night in a room where someone died?”
“I had no intention of revealing to future guests the room in which Mr. Carlyle met his demise.”
“He was important enough that his death has made the news. If it’s determined that it was murder and someone is brought to trial, it will become a matter of record that he died in room 403.”
His use of the correct room number didn’t go over her head. So, he’s studied Gran Vista’s room layout. As she caught a whiff of his cologne, another thought occurred to her. Or maybe, he visited Emma in the honeymoon suite on the morning of her wedding.
“If it’s determined that it was murder.” She echoed his words adding emphasis to the first word of his statement. “I’d like to believe that there’s still a possibility that it was natural causes but at least one of Mr. Carlyle’s children is determined to prove it wasn’t.”
“Yes, Emma told me that Roger is spearheading this.”
She reached for the storm door handle but didn’t go inside.
“You seem to know the Carlyle family well,” she said.
He blinked. “Only by reputation—not personally.” He paused to rub the cleft of his chin. “Emma and I went to college together. We shared the same major so I saw her often at school.”
“Emma told me as much,” Celeste said. “Look, I’m neglecting my work, Bill. Please, if the hotel suffers any damage from this, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
He followed her inside. “Do you mind if I get a cup of coffee?”
“You can do more than that,” she said. “Help yourself to the buffet.”
“Oh, I rarely eat breakfast,” he said. “Coffee is fine.”
She couldn’t help but feel that he was hanging around for a reason that had nothing to do with the hotel experiencing blowback from Wes Carlyle’s death. Abby came to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Are you doing okay? You seem to be run ragged this morning.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Celeste said. “I feel for the family and especially Emma. Losing a spouse is bad enough but to be questioned by the police…”
She stopped talking when Bill came into the kitchen with his coffee.
“Give Emma my best when she’s done in the conference room,” he said. “Call me if any news people come sneaking around, and you need me to run interference.”
“I hope that won’t happen,” she said. “But I worked for a large city television station for twenty-five years. I can handle news people.”
He nodded. “Still, I’m your PR person. It’s my job to take care of these things.”
Celeste didn’t respond, and he departed. Through the storm door, she saw him make a call on his smartphone.
“There’s something about him that’s beginning to bother me,” she said to Abby.
She wanted to confide her suspicions regarding Bill to her friend, but Maddie came through the double doors. Celeste glanced at the clock. Time has gotten away from me. It’s almost eight.
“Mrs. Adams, I saw the news this morning,” Maddie said. “This is terrible.”
“Terrible is an understatement,” Celeste said.
“The reporter said that the police are investigating the death as a possible homicide.”
“Possible is the operative word.”
Celeste reached for the tray of turnovers that Henrietta had taken from the warming oven.
“I can’t believe that Mrs. Olson…er…Carlyle had anything to do with her husband’s death,” Maddie said. “They looked so happy yesterday.”
“She spent the night in my cottage last night, and I’m having a hard time believing it, too but that leaves his sons or daughters-in-law as suspects.”
Maddie followed Celeste out to the buffet table.
“Yeah, it sucks no matter how you look at it,” Maddie whispered. “Well, let me grab a cup of coffee and get to work.”
“If our other guests express any concerns involving Wes’s death, refer them to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maddie said. “You can count on it.”
Chapter 7
Celeste looked out through the bi-fold doors that covered the kitchen pass-through window. Hotel guests were meandering into the café for breakfast, and she slid the doors further apart to check the buffet trays.
“Henrietta, we’re going to need more scrambled eggs,” she said.
“On the way,” Henrietta said.
“I hope Emma is doing okay,” Celeste said to Abby.
“You’re a good person for caring about that young woman,” Abby said. “But she’s essentially a stranger to you. Are you taking on too much?”
The memory of Roger Carlyle’s words struck a chord with Celeste.
“Maybe I feel a kinship with her because of our shared experience.”
“Howard died under entirely different circumstances,” Abby said.
“I was speaking of her first husband’s accidental death. It opened some unhealed wounds for me.”
“I thought you’d been doing a good job of healing and accepting what happened to Howard,” Abby said.
“Oh, Abby, sometimes that’s just a face I wear for the benefit of other people. I’ll never fully get over what happened to him or the unfairness of it. We were finally our own bosses and living a good life. Then, in an instant, he was gone.”
“Eggs are ready,” Henrietta said.
Celeste grabbed a platter and a spatula and turned to the stove. Abby stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders.
“If Mr. Carlyle’s death was murder, who else but Emma would’ve had the opportunity to do it?” Abby asked.
Abby followed her to the buffet table, and Celeste related how the suite had been searched and where she’d found the missing keycard.
“So it could’ve been anyone…well, not anyone.” Abby cringed. “One of his children?”
“I’d be more likely to suspect one of the not-so-happy wives of Wes’s sons,” Celeste said. “Those women have issues. And then there’s Bill. He’s been sneaking around the hotel all weekend.”
Abby gave her one of those Where’s your tinfoil hat? eye rolls.
“Celeste, you can’t possibly think that your PR man had anything to do with Mr. Carlyle’s death.”
“Abby, I’ve learned that he has connections to the family starting with the fact that he and Emma graduated from ASU in the same class and apparently, worked for the same company before Bill struck out on his own. Emma confessed to me last night that it was Bill who suggested she have her wedding here. It had nothing to do with his brilliant, social media ad campaigns.”
Abby straightened and rested her hands on her hips. “So he arranged this whole wedding to murder her husband? Come on, Celeste. You watch too many of those old Perry Mason episodes or maybe it’s the puzzles. You always loved working puzzles.”
“Puzzles keep your mind sharp. I had a grandmother who lived to ninety and never lost her cognitive abilities because she worked puzzles every day. Anyway, I didn’t say that Bill murdered anyone, but there’s something else.” She ushered Abby into the kitchen and moved away from Henrietta’s earshot. “I feel like I’m telling tales in junior high school, but I saw Bill kissing Alan’s wife, Kylie, and she worked for her father-in-law.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “That’s some juicy gossip, but it still doesn’t give him much of a motive for killing Wes. Wouldn’t he have been more likely to do away with Alan?”
“You’re right. I’m probably letting my imagination run away with me because I’m beginning to dislike Bill. He’s pushy, and I don’t like to be
pushed.”
The secondary kitchen doors from the hallway swung back and forth, and Emma walked into the kitchen. Oh, no, she’s been crying.
“What did they say, Emma?”
She glanced at Abby.
“You can trust my friend,” Celeste said.
Emma inhaled and exhaled a deep breath before speaking. “Wes had a type of amphetamine in his bloodstream,” she said. “The doctor said that with his other health issues and the medications he was taking, it could’ve caused his stroke, but they need to do a full toxicology and autopsy to be certain of it.”
“Do you mean amphetamine, as in meth or ecstasy?” Abby asked.
Abby’s question seemed to catch Emma off-guard.
“I’m a retired pharmacist,” Abby said. “I tried to stay informed on illegal drugs as well as the legal ones.”
“Well, I’m not familiar with illegal drugs,” Emma said. “I have no idea what kind it was.”
Celeste grasped Emma’s shoulders. “So are the police saying that they believe someone knew that drug could cause Wes’s death and gave it to him deliberately?”
Emma nodded and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Celeste said. “If I wanted to murder someone, I wouldn’t give him a substance that may or may not cause his death. I’d give him poison to be certain it would kill him.”
“Unless you wanted the death to look like the result of natural causes,” Abby said. “But of course, you’d want to lace the stuff with something that would make sure of it.”
Henrietta’s head shot up, and she glared at both of them.
“Not that we would do that,” Celeste said. “We’re just speculating, Henrietta.”
The cook still gave them the side-eye as she turned back to the stove.
Emma closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “I didn’t give any toxic substance to Wes, and he was conscientious when it came to his health and medications. He wouldn’t have taken any kind of illegal drugs.”
“Well, obviously, they didn’t arrest you,” Celeste said.
“No, but they don’t want me to leave Blowing Rock until their investigation is complete.” She started to crumple, and she grabbed the chair for support. “I had no motive to harm Wes, much less give him some drug that would kill him. We hadn’t even been married a whole day. The detective asked me how much I stood to gain from Wes’s death. I couldn’t give him an answer.”
“Didn’t you discuss wills or insurance policies?” Abby asked.
“No, but Wes and I had an understanding that I wanted no part of his business. I have my own money. I didn’t need his.” She paused and patted her cheeks with a wet, wrinkled tissue. Abby handed her a clean paper napkin. “I appreciate your letting me stay with you last night, but I’ll be glad to pay for a room in the hotel until they let me go home.”
“Oh, Emma, I don’t have a room available. Maddie told me that we were booked this week except for two suites on the fourth floor. Do you really want to go back up there?”
Emma shook her head. “The police said that I can collect the rest of my things from the honeymoon suite, and I dread even going in there to retrieve my suitcase.”
“Would you like for me to do it for you?”
A sad smile meandered across Emma’s mouth as she nodded. “I wonder what I should do with Wes’s luggage.”
“Put that out of your mind for now,” Celeste said. “I’ll store it in the supply room.”
Emma moaned and closed her eyes. Both Abby and Celeste caught her and kept her from falling to the floor. Henrietta ran over with a wet towel and wrapped it around Emma’s face. She came to almost as quickly as she’d fainted. Thank goodness. They helped her stand, but she seemed to have trouble balancing. Please, Lord, don’t let her have a stroke.
“You need to go to my cottage and get into bed,” Celeste said. “You didn’t sleep enough last night, and I’ll bet you hardly touched the breakfast I sent over.”
Especially with Bill intruding on you the way he did.
“I’ll walk with her,” Abby said.
Celeste reached in the pocket of her jeans, found her house key, and handed it to Abby. She waited until they’d cleared the door before speaking with Henrietta.
“Emma worries me,” Celeste said. “She almost fainted last night, too.”
“She’s had an awful shock,” Henrietta said. “You can relate to that.”
“Not this,” Celeste said. “There were no accusations of foul play surrounding Howard’s death.”
The idea that a member of the family could slip that drug into his food or drink nagged at her. While they hadn’t been the most pleasant people she’d ever met, she couldn’t believe that one of them was capable of patricide. She peeked between the bi-fold doors to see if the buffet needed replenishing and spied Maddie scurrying toward the kitchen. She held the door open for her.
“Mrs. Adams, a reporter and cameraman are in the lobby.”
“Oh, crap,” she said. “Usher them into my office and tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes.”
She didn’t bother to remove her apron because she didn’t intend to appear on camera.
“I’m sorry, Henrietta, I haven’t been much help to you this morning.”
“You kind of have your hands full right now. I wouldn’t want to switch places with you.”
Rather than go through the café, she went out the other door and through the hallway. A woman that she’d seen many times on the local news came into view. Celeste took note of the woman’s red dress, professionally coifed hair, and make-up. This lady came here expecting to do an on-camera spot. A man holding a camera waited near the reception desk. Not in my hotel. Recalling the relaxation exercises she’d learned in her grief support group, Celeste stopped, inhaled a deep breath with her shoulders raised, and released the breath slowly while she lowered her shoulders. When she felt calm, she proceeded into the lobby.
“I’m Celeste Adams, owner of the Gran Vista,” she said.
“Sharon Kelly with Greater Charlotte News Service,” she said. “Do you mind if we speak on camera?”
Through the window, she caught sight of Beverly Douglas arriving at the hotel. For Emma’s sake, I’m glad she’s here.
“Actually, I do,” Celeste said and ran her hands down the front of her apron. “We’re in the middle of serving breakfast.”
“Then, can we have a statement off-camera but on-the-record concerning the death of Wesley Carlyle?”
Having prepared for the question, Celeste rattled off the words she’d been rehearsing since she’d spoken with Bill.
“As the owner of this hotel, I express my deepest sympathies to the Carlyle family and in particular, to his wife,” Celeste said.
“Can you address the rumors that there was foul play involved?” the reporter asked.
“I’m not at liberty to make any kind of statement or divulge any details concerning the death.”
“Are the family members still on the hotel premises?”
“I can’t speak to where they are at the moment. I’m respecting their privacy, and I would ask that you do the same.”
The door to the conference room opened, and Sgt. Hammond emerged followed by Roger Carlyle. Ms. Kelly rushed over to him with the cameraman on her heels. Celeste spied Roger hurrying down the hallway and entering the stairwell. Thank goodness, he dodged them. He’s an attorney. He’s probably used to it. The reporter confronted Sergeant Hammond who stood in the doorway blocking their entrance to the conference room.
“Officer, could we have a statement on your investigation?” the reporter asked.
“Not at this time,” Sgt. Hammond answered.
“Sergeant, can you respond to the rumors that Wesley Carlyle was murdered?”
“Now, wait a minute,” he said. “I have no idea how that rumor was started. At this time, our department is treating the death as suspicious. We haven’t yet determined if there was foul play.”
“We’re interviewing all of the family members,” he said. “But I can’t give you any further details.”
Detective Woods appeared in the doorway behind Sergeant Hammond. “That concludes this interview. The press will be notified when we’re ready to make an official statement.”
Celeste looked around. Some hotel guests entering the lobby from the internet café had stopped and seemed to take notice of the encounter. I don’t need a media circus in my hotel. Celeste stepped over to the exit doors and held them apart.
“To echo the detective, we’ll call you if there’s anything to report,” she said.
Ms. Kelly pushed past her followed by the cameraman. Celeste heaved a sigh, and Detective Woods flashed a sympathetic smile her way.
“Mrs. Adams,” Maddie called to her. “Roger Carlyle called down to the desk. It looks like he and his siblings are going to have to stay another night, but we’ve already booked their rooms for other guests.” She paused and whispered, “Do you think they’d be willing to stay in the room where their father died?”
She shook her head. “Call Kristy Stone at The Evergreen B&B and see if she can accommodate at least one of the couples. Perhaps, the other two would be willing to share suite 404. The sofa in the living room of that suite makes into a bed.”
“I’ll tell him that we’re working on it,” Maddie said.
Celeste saw Jessica exit the elevator and head toward the conference room. I’m sure she’ll give them an ear full.
She walked to the pool access door and stepped outside where Kevin was changing the pool chemicals.
“Kevin, have you emptied the recycling containers, yet?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I checked them a little while ago and they weren’t full.”
“That’s fine. Don’t take any of the garbage away, either.”
“The waste management company won’t pick up any trash until tomorrow morning,” he reminded her. His shoulders raised a notch, and his brows knit together. “Could someone have tossed some vital evidence in the garbage cans?”
Mrs. Carlyle's Second Honeymoon Page 8