Out of Her Depth

by Brenda Hiatt

  AS IT HAPPENED, no one attempted to molest me in the night, so as soon as I was dressed the next morning, I went back down to the business center, camera in hand and ring in pocket.

  It wasn’t cheap, but half an hour later I had prints of the pictures I’d taken last night. Because of the low light, they were grainy, but the woman still looked like she could be Melanie Melampus.

  After some trial and error—mostly error—I then managed to attach the pictures to an e-mail. I addressed it to my home account, and, for good measure, to each of my daughters, with a note asking them to hang on to them for now and that I’d explain when I got home.

  Breathing easier, I bought a package of bright blue 8 x 10 envelopes—the only color they had—and put the prints into one and headed for the elevators. Now, what I should do with them? Show them to Ronan, certainly, assuming he contacted me again, but what then?

  Thinking of Ronan reminded me of his suggestion yesterday, the one I’d regretted forgetting last night. I stopped and reversed my course, going back to the hotel’s front desk.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I have something I’d like to put in the hotel safe,” I told the girl at the counter.

  To my surprise, she looked distressed. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible until this afternoon, or possibly tomorrow morning, ma’am.”

  “It won’t? Why?”

  Now she looked embarrassed as well. “The safe was, er, damaged overnight. We expect to have it repaired very soon, however.”

  A tiny little chill ran up my spine. “Damaged? Do you mean someone broke into it?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m not—That is—I don’t actually—”

  “It’s all right. I won’t tell the manager you told me. I’ll just use my room safe for now. Thanks.”

  I walked slowly back toward the elevators, wondering if there was any possible way that this could be mere coincidence. First my room, and now the hotel safe. A mini–crime wave at the Royal Aruban? Or something more personal?

  Had my stalker come here after her ambush failed? Or maybe it was her accomplice, assuming she and that man in the black shirt had been together. It seemed like a plausible theory, anyway.

  Not until the elevator doors opened at the fourteenth floor did it occur to me that Ronan had also had good reason to believe the ring would be in the hotel safe last night.

  Chapter Eight

  I REALLY, REALLY didn’t want to believe it. Ronan was the closest thing I had to a friend here in Aruba. And okay, I was more than a little attracted to him. But much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the possibility that he’d broken into the hotel safe.

  Ronan was the one who had insisted I put the ring there. And he had shown an unusual degree of interest in the ring—and in the woman I’d seen last night. Could he be working with her?

  But why tell me so much about the Melampus case—all of which turned out to be true—if he was planning to steal the ring from me anyway? That didn’t make sense either.

  Though I’d almost managed to convince myself of Ronan’s innocence with all that rationalization, I retained enough common sense to hang on to a shred of suspicion. So where did that leave me?

  Ronan had advised against calling the police, but now I had to question everything he’d told me. Still, I doubted the local authorities would do anything, since I had no evidence of a crime committed here in Aruba.

  In fact, all I had at this point were theories and circumstantial evidence, in the form of the ring.

  And photos.

  I looked down at the envelope in my hand. No one knew about these yet, but maybe I could make use of them somehow. First, though, some safeguards.

  I slid the photos out of the envelope and spread them on the bed. I’d made three prints each of the four best shots, which gave me twelve pieces of “evidence” to play with.

  Two I put into my room safe, even though I knew that wasn’t necessarily secure. Still, it was something. Two more I tucked into the Gideon Bible in my nightstand, leaving me with two complete sets. I put them into two separate envelopes, stuck both envelopes in my purse, and headed back downstairs.

  This time I had to wait for a computer in the business center. While I stood there, trying not to be conspicuous, it felt like those blue envelopes in my purse were sending out alert signals. I kept glancing over my shoulder, which probably made me a lot more conspicuous than I’d have been if I weren’t so worried about being conspicuous.

  Five eternal minutes later, a computer opened up, and I was able to log on. I managed to find again one of the articles I’d read yesterday about the Melampus case. Yes, there it was: “Anyone with information is requested to contact Agent Frank Truman at the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” followed by a phone number and an e-mail address.

  Opening a new e-mail window, I typed, “Dear Agent Truman, I am vacationing in Aruba and have found something that may be evidence in the Melampus murder case. Please e-mail or call to advise me what my next step should be.” I concluded with my name, cell phone number, and e-mail address, then sent it before I could change my mind.

  Realizing that it could be hours or even days before I heard anything back, I logged off and went to the hotel’s front desk again. The same girl I’d spoken with earlier came over to help me, looking a bit wary.

  “I know I can’t use the safe right now, but would it be possible to leave an envelope here at the desk that I can pick up later?”

  “Oh, of course,” she replied, her expression clearing. “Just write your name and room number on the outside, and I can put it in a locked drawer until you call for it.”

  “Perfect.” I pulled one of the blue 8 x 10 envelopes out of my purse, sealed it, jotted the requisite info on the back, and handed it to her. “Thanks.”

  Feeling more than a little proud of myself for mapping out such a logical plan, I moved on to the next step, which involved visiting the hotel gift shop.

  I looked over their selection of chains and realized cheap surgical steel would be stronger than solid gold or silver. Darn it. I bought the sturdiest-looking one they had. As soon as I was out of sight of anyone, I took the ring out of my pocket, slipped it onto the chain, fastened it around my neck, and tucked the ring inside my shirt. No one was likely to look for anything valuable there.

  It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t had breakfast yet. I headed for the hotel dining room to check out the buffet only to discover Ronan loitering near the entrance.

  “I didn’t know you were staying at the Royal Aruban,” I said in greeting, mainly to keep myself from blurting out a question or an accusation that I might regret.

  He smiled his slow smile. “I’m not. When you didn’t answer your room phone, I thought this might be the best place to wait.”

  Great. The man had known me two days, and already he associated me with food. I couldn’t deny I was hungry, though, so I shrugged—mostly mentally—and continued forward.

  “Good guess. Since I did room service for dinner last night, I felt like a real breakfast this morning. Care to join me?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  He put a hand on my elbow as we approached the hostess, and at the warm tingle of his touch, I sternly reminded myself that I had reason to suspect this man of worse than attempted seduction.

  “Two?” asked the hostess.

  At Ronan’s nod, she led us to a small table near the windows, overlooking the beach. A beautiful, romantic setting. No doubt she thought we were vacationing together—anniversary or honeymoon. I stifled the bubble of hysterical laughter that rose unexpectedly to my throat. What was wrong with me?

  “So, any luck finding your quarry last night?” I asked once a server had poured coffee and left us to make our own way to the buffet.

  Amusement twinkled i
n his eyes, probably at my discreet phrasing. “Not a sign of either of them. Everything quiet here?”

  I nodded, waited a beat, then said, “Except that the hotel safe was robbed in the night. I just found out a few minutes ago.”

  “Robbed?” His surprise and concern seemed genuine. “Then the ring—?”

  “I still have it. I, um, forgot to put it in the safe yesterday. Luckily, as it turns out. It was when I remembered to do it this morning that I found out what had happened.” I started to touch my new chain, but then changed my mind and dropped my hand back to my lap.

  “I guess your room safe will have to do, then, if the hotel safe isn’t, er, safe,” he said. “No more calls, I take it?”

  “Not yet.” I wasn’t going to tell him about my e-mail to the FBI until I was sure I could trust him. Besides, they might assume I was a crank and never get back to me.

  On that thought, my cell phone rang, startling me badly. I tried to think quickly. “This is probably one of my daughters. Why don’t you go on to the buffet? This should only take a minute.”

  “Sure.” He rose as I fumbled in my purse for the phone and headed away from me.

  Other diners were starting to shoot me dirty looks as it rang a second time, then a third as I finally pulled it out. I didn’t recognize the number displayed on the caller ID screen, so I jumped up and scurried out of the restaurant as I answered it.

  “Hello?” I said the moment I was out in the lobby, my voice as breathless as if I’d been running.

  “Ms. Seally?” came an unfamiliar male voice. “This is Boyd Walters with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m calling about an e-mail you sent to Frank Truman, my partner in the Melampus case. We’d like to know what sort of evidence you believe you’ve discovered.”

  Wow, these guys sure didn’t go in for the small talk, did they? But then I remembered the bogus call that had claimed to be from the jewelry store.

  “Um, is Agent Truman not available?” Even as I asked, I realized that an imposter would have claimed to be Frank Truman himself, and I’d never have known the difference.

  “He lets me screen out the crackpots. If it sounds like you have something, I’ll let him know.”

  I guessed that made sense. They probably got all kinds of weirdos claiming to have had dreams or sightings or theories that never panned out.

  I scanned the area around me to make sure I couldn’t be overheard before saying, “I found a ring while diving that appears to be one Melanie Melampus was wearing when she disappeared.” I described it in detail.

  “You found this in Aruba?” He sounded frankly skeptical. “You do know that Melanie Melampus’s murder—ah, alleged murder—took place less than a mile offshore from Miami, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I read up on the case after I found the ring,” I told him, seeing no reason to mention Ronan—yet. “But that’s not all . . .” I craned my neck and could see Ronan returning from the buffet. “Look, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of breakfast right now and don’t have much privacy.”

  “All right. You can call this number or Frank’s cell.” He gave me the number, and I jotted it down on a scrap of paper I dug out of my purse. “Meanwhile, I’ll look up the ring you mentioned.”

  He hung up without a word of thanks. Hmph. I hurried back to the table just as Ronan reached it.

  “So, everything okay at home?” he asked, setting down two plates heaped with eggs, waffles, fruit, and pastries, one in front of me. “I didn’t know what you liked,” he explained, with a shrug and a grin.

  I was touched, in spite of my lingering suspicion about his motives. “Wow, you didn’t have to do that—I could have gone myself. But it all looks delicious, thanks. And yes, things are fine at home.”

  “Glad to hear it. I take it your daughters are staying with their father while you’re here?”

  “Um, no. These waffles are divine,” I said then, mainly to change the subject. I had no business eating waffles, but I wasn’t ready to give him more details about my family . . . or my age.

  “Yeah, they’re not bad.”

  He accepted my change of subject, probably thinking I didn’t want to discuss my ex. He didn’t mention the ring again while we ate, either, instead telling a couple of amusing stories about past dives.

  “—then he completely refused to swim through the tunnel,” he was saying as the server left the check. “We ended up using the rest of our bottom time going around it, when the swim-through was the whole point of the dive.”

  He was a good storyteller, and I chuckled despite my preoccupation—and the fact that his story hit a little close to home, since I’d probably be just as cowardly as his friend, in the same situation.

  “Isn’t it dangerous to swim through something like that?” I asked. “What if you got stuck?”

  Ronan smiled at my inexperience. “In an unfamiliar area, that would be true. But this was a well-known site. Dozens of divers a day go through that particular tunnel, and I’ve never heard of one getting stuck. He was just claustrophobic and wouldn’t admit it.”

  My sympathies were still with his hapless friend, but I didn’t say so. I charged the meal to my room, and Ronan handed me a twenty, which more than covered his share plus the tip. I protested, but he waved my argument away, and we headed for the exit.

  Before he could disappear, maybe for good, my curiosity overwhelmed my common sense. “Ronan, you didn’t have anything to do with breaking into the hotel safe, did you?” I blurted out, then immediately wished I hadn’t.

  He looked surprised, then thoughtful. “So that’s the way your mind’s been working, is it? Since I’m the one who suggested you keep the ring there, I can see why you’d think that. But no.” He swept the lobby area with a glance, then he turned back to me. “What do you say we take a walk on the beach?”

  When I hesitated, he tilted his head to look into my eyes. “It’s broad daylight, Wynne. What is it you think I might do?”

  Feeling foolish, I nodded. “Sure. A walk on the beach will be fine. Do you mind if I run up to my room for a hat first?”

  “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

  It didn’t take me five minutes to ride the elevator up, race to my room, slather sunscreen on my face and arms, grab my beach hat and sunglasses, and ride back down to the lobby.

  “Okay,” I said breathlessly when I reached him. That was starting to become my theme for the day, being breathless. “Let’s go.”

  He accompanied me silently through the lobby, across the landscaped pool and patio area, and down to the sand. Once we were alone, walking parallel to the gently breaking surf with our backs to the wind, he said, “To answer your earlier question, my guess is that whoever tried to break into the hotel safe is the same one who tried to lure you to the jewelry store last night. Doesn’t that make more sense than me doing it?”

  It did, of course, but I had other questions. “I suppose so, but I’ve been thinking over everything you told me yesterday, and it seems like you’re way more into this Melampus case than the average news junkie. For example, how did you know where to find that information about the ring? I’ve worked in insurance myself, and I don’t have a clue how to do that.”

  Rather to my surprise, he grinned. “You’re sharp, I’ll give you that. I know because I was involved in the case a few months ago.”

  In spite of the hot Aruban sun, I felt like someone had poured cold water down my back.

  “Involved?” I squeaked, abruptly remembering that I knew absolutely nothing about this man, except that he was from Miami and I found him attractive. I increased the distance between us as we walked. “In a murder?”

  “An alleged murder,” he corrected me. “And I said I was involved in the case, not the crime.”

  My heart rate slowed, making me aware only then that it
had accelerated. “Then you’re a cop? I thought you said you were in insurance.”

  He was still grinning, which made me feel like I was missing something. “Not a cop, no. I work as an investigator for various insurance companies.”

  Finally, I thought I understood. “And insurance companies don’t like to pay out when there are unanswered questions. So you . . . answer the questions for them?” I couldn’t suppress a surge of relief that there was such a logical explanation for Ronan’s interest in the case—and his expertise.

  “Usually. I have a good record, but in the Melampus case I drew a blank. I couldn’t come up with anything better than a gut feeling that Stefan Melampus was telling the truth when he said he didn’t kill his wife. Until you found that ring.”

  Acutely aware of the ring under my shirt, I had to resist an urge to pull it out. Instead, I said, “And then there’s my sighting of Melanie herself last night. That should get the insurance company off the hook completely.”

  “Definitely—if we had proof. The ring, at least, is something concrete I can show them.”

  I frowned, but I didn’t want to argue about what I had or hadn’t seen. “Do you really think the ring alone can prove that Melanie Melampus wasn’t murdered?”

  “No. Ah, look, have you seen those kite surfers yet?” He nodded toward the water, where several young men on surfboards were harnessed to big, colorful kites, using the wind to “fly” for short distances above the waves.

  It was an impressive sight, so we stopped to watch them for a minute or two, but I refused to be distracted completely until I got to the bottom of this. “If it can’t prove anything, why is the ring so important?” I asked, turning to head back to the hotel.

  He smiled at my persistence. “It can provide reasonable doubt, maybe enough to clear Melampus of a murder charge.”

  “Okay. But if Stefan Melampus is some kind of mob boss, why are you trying to clear him?”