The Postman Always Dies Twice (Movie Club Mysteries, Book 2): An Irish Cozy Mystery

by Zara Keane

  Marcus smirked. “How should I know?”

  “Maybe Eddie used Carl’s cake as part of his seduction ritual,” Sven said. “It would be the sort of thing he’d do. He probably told women he’d baked it himself.”

  The by-now-familiar clip clop of Melanie’s high heels on the marble floor alerted us to her presence. She marched into the salon with Lisa the receptionist at her side. “What are you doing sitting around?” Melanie demanded. “I don’t pay you to drink coffee.”

  The men leaped to their feet. “We were on our coffee break,” Sven said. “Just a few minutes.”

  “Something’s wrong with the phone,” Lisa said in her clipped monotone. “I can’t get through to the beauty center from the reception.”

  Marcus took a step toward her. “I’ll take a look. Last time, someone had hit a wrong key.”

  “Yes, do,” Lisa said, sounding so like an android that I had to stifle a giggle.

  The tall massage therapist flashed me a grin. “Bye, Maggie.”

  After he and Lisa had disappeared into the hallway, Melanie rounded on Sven. “Time to get back to work,” she snapped, and then focused her attention on me. “We need you upstairs. One of the maids has taken ill and gone home early. I need someone to finish cleaning the rooms on the second floor.”

  Casting a conspiratorial wink at Sven, I followed Melanie out of the beauty center. In the hallway, we passed a vending machine that offered an array of snacks. My eyes fixed on the chewing gum. I sucked air through my teeth. So that was what had bothered me when I’d reviewed the contents of the mail van. The pack of chewing gum. I stepped closer to the machine and examined the package through the glass display. The chewing gum I’d seen in Eddie Ward’s van wasn’t sugar-free.

  Of all the tasks I’d tackled since starting work at the hotel, making beds was the one that almost finished me. After engaging in a wrestling match with a ridiculous number of sheets, I stood back panting and regarded my handiwork. And groaned. Somewhere in the middle of tucking in the requisite two sheets, two blankets, and an elaborately embroidered coverlet, I’d created a lump in the middle of the bed.

  “Well, heck.” I took a deep breath and hurled myself onto the bed. I rolled from side to side several times, but the lump stubbornly refused to flatten.

  “What you do, Maggie?” Zuzanna, my Polish cleaning partner, emerged from the bathroom, rattling the cleaning cart. “Oh, no. That bed is mess.”

  “It’s a hot mess,” I agreed, still face-down on the bed. “I’m trying to get rid of the bulge. If I roll around on it for a while, maybe no one will notice.”

  Zuzanna clucked her tongue. “Mrs. Dennehy notice everything.”

  I pushed myself up and looked at the stubborn lump. Ingenious as it was, my lump-killing technique wasn’t working. “Hey, I’m new. Maybe Mrs. Dennehy will give me a pass.”

  “That dragon give no one a pass. She rule her kingdom with the iron rod.” Zuzanna circled the bed and regarded my bed-making efforts with scorn. “You tuck all wrong. Do you never make bed before?”

  “Sure I have,” I said indignantly. “I shake out my quilt every morning. I’ve even been known to pummel my pillow back into shape.”

  Zuzanna shook her head. “You’ll never make it as a maid.”

  “Well, shucks,” I said. “I guess I’d better stick to burning scones.”

  “Do you take nothing seriously, Maggie?”

  “Yeah, but apparently not the fine art of making beds with a thousand sheets.” I swung myself off the bed and tugged at the hem of my ridiculously short skirt. “This fancy sheet is a waste of time. I bet half the guests pull off the whole shebang and use the spare quilt in the closet.”

  The girl shrugged. “I know they do, but this ‘fancy business’ is what guests expect. It’s a five-star hotel after all.”

  I gave a derisive snort. “I bet most of the guests would prefer a regular quilt to getting tangled up in their bedclothes. I mean, for heaven’s sake, you could strangle yourself in these sheets.”

  “The only person getting strangled is you if Mrs. Dennehy sees that lump.” Zuzanna sighed. “Come on. I help you.” Five minutes later, Zuzanna and I had wrestled the various layers back onto the bed and ensured it was a lump-free zone. My companion checked her watch. “Only one room left on this floor, and then we can eat lunch.”

  As if powered by rocket fuel, we zoomed through the last room. This time, I tackled the bathroom, while Zuzanna made up the bed. When we wheeled the supply cart out of the room and locked the door, it was after two o’clock. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “We can see if the kitchen has leftovers,” Zuzanna said. “They’re not supposed to give to us, but Bernadette always does.”

  I remembered the good-natured chef from my first day on the job. Yeah, she’d be the type to sneak us a hot meal. I quickened my pace, my mouth already watering in anticipation of eating some of the delicious food I’d helped to prepare yesterday. We’d just passed one of the suites we’d cleaned earlier when an eerie wailing stopped me in my tracks. My pulse pounded, and a shot of adrenaline coursed through my body. Was this the infamous ghost?

  Beside me, Zuzanna made the sign of the cross and muttered something in Polish.

  The ghostly wailing increased in volume until it was eclipsed by the sound of a very human scream inside the suite. A woman charged out of the room, arms flailing, her face chalky white. “Help me,” she cried when she saw us, and clutched a towel around her ample bosom. “There’s a ghost in my room. It’s thrown my stuff everywhere.”

  “Nonsense,” I said, and marched past her into the suite. “There’s no such thing as— ”

  The final word froze on my tongue when I saw the state of the suite. The bed that I’d fought to make earlier was in disarray. Drawers and closets had been emptied, and their contents lay strewn around the room. A picture on the wall was askew, and the window had been thrown up. I ran to it and looked outside. The only place for someone to go was down the fire escape. If they’d used it as their exit route, they were long gone. I pulled my head back into the room and frowned. The wailing had stopped by now, but it had to have a source. I scoured the suite from top to bottom but found no evidence of a speaker.

  “Come, Maggie,” Zuzanna said with a touch of irritation. “There’s nothing here.”

  “What on earth is going on?” The large form of Mrs. Dennehy, the hotel’s head of housekeeping, loomed before me. She had her hands on her ample hips and a menacing expression on her homely face.

  “A guest claims a ghost ransacked her room,” I said. “I’m looking for a recording device or speaker. That wailing had to come from somewhere, and I don’t buy the ghost theory.”

  “Not that nonsense again.” Mrs. Dennehy glared at me as though I were personally responsible for the mayhem in the hotel. “People these days have no common sense.”

  I spread my arms wide. “Ghost or no ghost, the room didn’t trash itself. Someone was in here while the room’s occupant was in the shower.”

  Mrs. Dennehy took a phone from her pocket and hit a number. “Mrs. Greer? You’d better come up to Room 245. There’s been another incident.”

  “The half-naked woman streaking through the lobby probably tipped her off,” I said dryly, earning another glare from the housekeeper.

  I hunched down and scanned the perimeters of the room. And then I spotted the anomaly I’d been looking for. I took a Swiss Army knife from my pocket and unscrewed a section of the baseboard.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Dennehy screeched. “You’re wrecking the place.”

  “The room’s already wrecked,” I said, unperturbed. “Me unscrewing a piece of baseboard that can easily be replaced isn’t going to make a difference.” I eased the baseboard away from the wall to reveal a small hole. I laid the wood paneling on the floor, took a tissue from my pocket, and reached inside the hole. The instant I grasped the object, I knew what I’d found. “Look,” I sa
id excitedly and opened my fingers to show Mrs. Dennehy the tiny speaker sitting on the tissue. “This is the source of the wailing.”

  The older woman pursed her lips. “I always said a mischief-maker was behind these shenanigans.”

  Zuzanna stepped into the room and stared at me in awe. “How you know where to look?”

  I shrugged. “Whoever tampered with the baseboard didn’t put it back on straight. I figured some sort of speaker had to be hidden in the room.”

  A moment after I’d found the speaker, Melanie arrived on the scene, looking flustered. “Mrs. Blake wants to leave,” she wailed, “and she wants a refund for her stay. She and her husband were booked through St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “At least we know how the banshee wailing is being transmitted.” I showed her the mini speaker.

  Melanie examined the device and pursed her lips. “That’s all very well, but we don’t know who planted it, or who ransacked the Blakes’ belongings.”

  I forced a smile and said through gritted teeth, “Give me a break, Melanie. I’ve made more progress than you or Paul.”

  She glanced around the room nervously, not meeting Mrs. Dennehy’s curious gaze. After all, I wasn’t supposed to be on a first-name basis with the boss. “Come downstairs, Maggie. Your technically inclined friend is waiting for you in the lobby.”

  My mood brightened. “Lenny’s here?”

  She nodded. “I told him you’d assist him with that little job we discussed. Now that the cleaning’s finished, you can manage without Maggie, Mrs. Dennehy.”

  The housekeeper bristled. “But what about this mess? That Zuzanna’s run off to eat her lunch.”

  “Then you’ll just have to tidy the room yourself, won’t you?” Melanie swept out of the room and propelled me down to the lobby.

  Lenny’s easygoing grin was a welcome contrast to his tense expression last night. “Hey, Maggie.” He nodded to my companion. “And Melanie.”

  “Let’s go into the security room.” Melanie gave the lobby a surreptitious scan and led us across to a locked door. She opened it using a key card and gestured for us to enter.

  Inside, a gray-haired man hunched before a series of screens, his attention on none of them. He leaped out of his seat when we walked in, and made an ineffectual effort to shove the newspaper he’d been reading into a drawer.

  “Stellar security guard,” Lenny whispered to me. “That’s Pat Inglis. He divides his free time between propping up the bar at Murphy’s Pub and losing money at the races.”

  I stifled a giggle. Judging by Pat’s red face, he wasn’t happy at being caught in the act of not doing his job. “I was just—”

  “Save it,” Melanie said with a weary sigh. “I want you to show these people the surveillance footage from the days of the various hauntings.”

  Pat frowned. “But we’ve already looked at it several times. What will they see that we didn’t?”

  “I want to check if the footage was doctored.” Lenny slung his backpack onto a desk. “If someone is staging the hauntings, there has to be evidence on the tapes. Otherwise, they’ve been tampered with. How many cameras do you have, total?”

  Pat shifted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided looking at Melanie. “There are two rotating cameras on each floor, one outside the beauty center, one in the restaurant, one in the kitchen, one in the lobby, and, uh—” he counted on his fingers, “—four outside the hotel.”

  “Fourteen cameras and six screens.” Lenny shook his head. “Shoddy setup, Melanie. You should at least have a separate screen per camera.”

  Pat snuck a look at his boss, who was staring resolutely into space, her mouth an uncompromising slash. “The thing is,” he said, “a few of those cameras are on the blink.”

  I raised an eyebrow and looked at Lenny for an explanation.

  “A few cameras are broken,” he translated for me. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “We haven’t been able to fix them.” Melanie sounded curt. “I wanted to, but my father-in-law overruled me.”

  “Given that the hotel is being terrorized,” I said, “I’d have thought Mr. Greer would want to fix the cameras pronto.”

  “I know, but replacing them costs money we don’t have at the moment.” Melanie opened a drawer in a filing cabinet and withdrew a piece of paper. “Here are the dates and times of the various ‘hauntings.’ I’ve saved the relevant days’ surveillance footage on this laptop.” She pointed to a battered-looking laptop on a corner desk. “Look through it and see what you think.”

  I took the piece of paper from Melanie and scanned the dates. One leaped out at me. “Hang on a sec. There was a haunting incident on the night the postman was murdered?”

  Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes, but I can’t see how that’s significant.”

  Trouble was, neither could I. It was probably just a coincidence, but like all cops, former or active, I didn’t care for coincidences.

  Lenny exchanged a glance with me before addressing Melanie. “Is it okay if I copy the footage? I’d like to replay it at home where I’ve got all my gear.”

  “If you must,” she replied with a sniff, “but only copy the relevant times.”

  “Fair enough.” Lenny dropped into the chair in front of the laptop and gestured for me to take the one beside him.

  “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.” Melanie’s heels clicked out of the room.

  The instant she was gone, the security guard lumbered to his feet. “I’m going out for a smoke. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

  “We’ll do our best.” Lenny shot me a wicked smile.

  The security guard leaned over the laptop and muttered something indecipherable. “I don’t know what you two think you’ll find. We had a thorough look at those recordings, and there’s nothing to see.” With these discouraging words, the man stomped out of the room.

  “Eejit,” Lenny said after Pat had left. “Inglis is a lazy oaf. I doubt he looked through all the footage. And even if he did, he’s too stupid to notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me recommending you to Melanie. I know you’re busy at your parents’ store.”

  “I’m delighted, Maggie, and Mum doesn’t mind covering for me for a couple of hours. Frankly, serving customers doesn’t require much brain power, and I could do with the distraction.”

  “Any news on your grandfather and Carl?”

  “Nothing much. Carl’s still locked up, but Granddad’s been released on bail.” He snorted. “Sure, where do they think he’s going to run to? Carl did mention one interesting piece of info, though.”

  My ears pricked up. “What?”

  “The knife used to stab our dead guy went missing on the evening of the murder. Carl remembers it clearly because there was a haunting in the restaurant, and total chaos in the hotel. He left the kitchen to see what the fuss was about—”

  “And when he returned, the knife was gone,” I finished for him and slapped my palm against my thigh. “I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

  “Do you think the haunting was staged deliberately to steal Carl’s knife?”

  “It’s a possibility. The other option is someone took advantage of the chaos to take Carl’s knife.”

  We both fell silent and looked at the laptop. Lenny tapped the keyboard. “If we locate the footage from that night, maybe we can see who took the knife. Assuming, of course, that the camera in the kitchen is one that works.”

  “It’s worth a shot.” I scooted my chair closer. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

  Two painful hours later, Lenny removed the flash drive he’d inserted into the laptop and stood, stretching his neck from side to side. “Nothing more we can do here today. The footage was definitely doctored, but I want to take another look at home to be sure.”

  “I feel square-eyed,” I said, getting to my feet. “I have no idea how tech forensics do this all day.” We let ourselves out of the security room and
I accompanied Lenny out to the car park. “Thanks for doing this, Lenny. I’m sorry we didn’t find any info to help your brother.”

  “It was worth a try. And I’m happy to earn a bit of extra cash.” He held up the flash drive. “At least this will help me earn the extra two hundred. It should be easy enough to prove the footage was doctored.”

  “Unfortunately for me, all it does is prove the Greers’ terrible security system was hacked. It doesn’t bring me any closer to finding out who is faking the poltergeist.”

  Lenny cocked his head to the side. “So…you’re finally admitting you’re working undercover for Melanie and Paul?”

  “There’s no point in denying it now.”

  “I guess not.” He slipped his keys from his pocket. “Want a lift into town?”

  “No, thanks. I have to report back to Melanie. My shift doesn’t finish until six. Listen, before you go…” I slipped the speaker out of my pocket and showed it to him. “Do you know what this is? I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of wireless speaker.”

  Lenny took the device in his hand and whistled. “I’ll bet this cost a pretty penny. Where did you get it?”

  “Behind the wall in one of the hotel suites. It was the source of the wailing woman during a so-called haunting incident. Is this the sort of thing someone could order online?”

  “Sure. You can order pretty much anything online if you know where to look.”

  I sighed. “That was what I was afraid of. If it was an online purchase, it’ll be harder to trace the buyer. I can’t imagine this is the sort of equipment you stock at your electronics store.”

  Lenny slipped a toothpick out of his pocket and chewed it carefully, a frown etched onto his forehead. “No, but I know a place where you can buy this stuff on a hush-hush basis.”

  My heart leaped and my body buzzed with anticipation of a useful lead. “Where? Can we go there today?”

  “Don’t you have to finish your shift at the hotel?”

  “Yeah, but I can persuade Melanie to let me leave early if I have a lead to pursue.”

  Lenny shook his head. “Sorry, Maggie. You’ll need me to approach Chivers. He’s…prickly around strangers, but he knows me and he owes me a favor.”