Dead Roots

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Do we really need another theme park, though?”

  “A new attraction will bring jobs to the area.”

  “Oh, like there aren’t enough construction workers here already?”

  His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, as though wondering at her persistence. “Why do you care?”

  “Butler wants the hotel restored to its former glory,” she said, answering indirectly. “Cousin Jeff, on the other hand, favors tearing it down. He’s been adding money to Albright’s campaign coffers. Any idea what his angle might be?”

  Bruce’s winged eyebrows lifted. “That’s news to me. Don’t get me wrong, Marla. I love this place. Sugar Crest resonates with history, but Florida doesn’t have a living-history museum where people can experience what it was like in the early plantation days. This is the ideal location.”

  “Have you been to St. Augustine? They didn’t tear down the fort and rebuild it so people could experience fake battles. Work out a compromise. Isn’t family history more important than your land development schemes? My grandfather owned this place. It’s part of our heritage. Respect the hallowed ground on which it was built. Remodel the hotel, and open the top floors to the public.”

  Bruce grinned, his eyes reflecting the light from the shooting flames. “You present a mean argument. I’d forgotten about those Indian burial mounds. They may have archeological significance.”

  “So you haven’t talked to Jeff about this at all?”

  “Nope. He’s got money, so maybe he’s looking for a good investment. I understand he’s due to inherit a fortune some day. He and Lori may want to retire to the Gulf Coast and look upon this as their haven. They vacation over here a lot.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s why Jeff is endorsing the councilwoman’s goals. Anyway, thanks for listening. I hope you’ll consider what I said.”

  “I will.” He nodded solemnly.

  She spotted Vail waving to her. A few steps later and she was at his side. “What’s up?” she asked, taking the bag from him and stuffing a marshmallow into her mouth.

  He handed her the skewers. “I know you want to spend time with your family, but I’m really beat. Would you mind if I turned in early? Usually I can roll with the punches, but it must be all this sea air.”

  His eyes did look bleary, she noted, although his fatigue might be due to avoidance behavior rather than lagging energy. He’d probably had enough polite conversation for one day. “Go ahead,” she said with an indulgent smile. “I’ll be quiet when I enter the room.”

  He kissed her. “You’re a peach.”

  She missed him when the evening swung into full gear with sing-alongs, charred, gooey marshmallows, and spooky tales that tickled the hairs on her nape. She glanced over toward the beach, where dancing lights caught her eye. Blinking, she looked again but this time saw nothing but yawning blackness.

  Letting her curiosity lead her, she edged away from the crowd. Most likely, her imagination had been stimulated by tonight’s stories and she’d discover nothing more than the pulsating tide and no-see-ums looking for warm-blooded food stock. Yet…

  “Marla, you’re not leaving, are you?” Champagne Glass’s crystal voice rang out. The social director, in charge of their evening event, hobbled toward her in a pair of high-heeled sandals.

  “I want to take a walk along the beach before I go to bed.” Marla didn’t slow her pace.

  “I wouldn’t advise going there tonight. The bugs are atrocious. You’ll get eaten alive.”

  “I’ve sprayed myself with insect repellant. Don’t worry about me. I won’t be gone long.”

  Champagne’s eyes glistened in the moonlight. “You won’t be able to see the jellyfish in the sand. It isn’t safe.”

  Is that the only reason you don’t want me to go there? “All right,” Marla lied, “I’ll just head back to my room from this direction. Creatures of the night hold little appeal for me.”

  Crickets sang their ritual chorus as she plodded along a winding path toward the beach. Crossing through a brief stretch of pines that hid her from view of the campfire, she hoped it was true that bats ate mosquitoes and tried not to think of the possibility of the flying mammals using her hair as a landing site. Strange cries echoed through the hammock, and then she saw another waving light, this time coming from a window high in Oleander Hall. Underfoot, spongy pine needles gave way to firm sand as she neared the dunes.

  A low murmur rose above the swell of the waves. Keeping well behind the mounds covered with sparse grass and sea oats, Marla let her ears guide her. As she continued on a route parallel to the ocean, she found herself nearing the condemned wing, where a babble of voices drifted on the wind.

  Suddenly two forms dashed into sight directly in front of her. Ducking behind a dune, she watched each man topple to the ground in a limp heap. Someone else ran up, pointing an object in his hand. George Butler. Had he shot them? At his forceful gesture, several hefty fellows arrived and carried the pair away.

  Marla’s jaw dropped when she saw where they were heading: not to Oleander Hall, but to a door in the wing that could only lead to the storeroom behind Butler’s office. Daring to peek over the rise, she felt her heart leap into her throat. Small boats lined up on the beach, spilling out dozens of men. She could barely discern the lights twinkling on a larger vessel farther out to sea.

  Who were these guys, and what were they doing there? Where had that ship come from?

  Wanting to learn more, she scuttled to the next dune. Her skin itched from insect bites, but she ignored the discomfort, wishing she had a pair of binoculars. The thought of binoculars reminded her of Wanda Beake. She hadn’t seen the birdwatcher in a while. But that didn’t mean Wanda wasn’t involved in this operation, whatever it was.

  Swatting away a bug that brushed her cheek, Marla licked dry lips. If only she had a camera that took pictures in the dark. Wait, Spector might be able to help her. Or was he part of this, acting to create a smoke screen under the manager’s pay?

  After each boat unloaded, its sole remaining crew steered the craft back toward the mother ship beyond the waves. Meanwhile, on shore, a brawny man waving an object in his hand ordered the disgorged passengers to fall into place. The scruffy individuals snaked toward the hidden entrance to the hotel, moving like silent wraiths through the shadows.

  Another figure broke into a run and was quickly cut down. Two men quietly moved to cart him off.

  Enough. Marla decided she’d learn what it all meant later. Right now she needed to get out of here before anyone spotted her.

  She’d just sprung to her feet when a shout sounded from behind. A sharp sting burned her neck. She felt herself sliding to the ground but couldn’t stop herself. Consciousness slipped away, and the last thing she felt was strong hands gripping her under the armpits and hauling her to oblivion.

  Awareness seeped into her mind. She heard voices murmuring somewhere close. Her ears prickled as the sounds drew her to the surface. Feeling buoyant as a strand of seaweed, she floated toward the light, while a monotonous buzzing rose and fell like ocean waves.

  She blinked her eyes open.

  Darkness, interspersed by ghostly forms, surrounded her. Squinting, she made out draped furniture before her gaze fell on Wanda Beake snoring beside her. They lay on a carpeted floor in what she surmised was Oleander Hall.

  Dust tickled her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, a sneeze threatening to erupt, but she managed to suppress it when heavy footsteps sounded nearby. A door crashed open. She snapped her eyes shut and regulated her breathing, her senses on alert.

  “The woman still out. I give her another dart?” said a man with a heavy Hispanic accent.

  “No, don’t shoot her up yet.” Butler’s smooth answer sent chills up Marla’s spine. “I’m not sure what I want to do with her. That cop boyfriend will get suspicious. We’ll have to get rid of her soon, but in a manner that looks like an accident.”

  “He not be fooled, Senor. What about the other lady?
”

  “Wanda can stay here. Either she cooperates, or she’s history. She knows the score, but I’ll deal with her later. Let’s get the boys processed.”

  “You want me to bind the women?”

  “These windows are boarded. With the door locked, they can’t go anywhere. Give our guest another half hour to come around, and then give her another dose. I don’t want her too sedated. I’ll think of some means of disposal before that wears off.”

  “Why not the water? It happens often.”

  “Hmm, a drowning at sea? We’ve had people go for a swim at night while underestimating the current. Yes, that’s good. She’ll even leave behind some clothing on the beach.”

  “You want me to do now? I will like removing this one’s blouse. She have nice body.”

  “Later. Let’s go.”

  Marla waited while the door slammed, the lock turned, and footsteps receded. Enough moonlight shone between the planks on the windows so that she could find her handbag when she shuffled around on all fours. She didn’t find much else, certainly nothing she could use as a weapon. There weren’t any lamps, heavy picture frames, or other loose objects.

  Prodding Wanda, she hoped to rouse the woman enough to solicit her help. But the birdwatcher’s snores merely increased in volume. Deciding to leave her behind wasn’t easy, but Marla figured she could always bring assistance later.

  She counted on Butler not being aware that she knew about the secret passages. Harvey Lyle wouldn’t have wanted to incur his boss’s displeasure by confessing Marla had seen the bootlegger’s storeroom. So she approached the fireplace and inched her fingers along the cold stones supporting the arch, trying to focus her energy and squelch her nervous tremors at the thought of Butler’s henchmen returning suddenly. One of the stones moved. Using the heel of her hand, she wedged it sideways.

  Nothing happened.

  No panel slid open, nor did she hear a latch clicking. Could she be wrong?

  Her pulse throbbing in her throat, she pressed frantic thumbs on each stone to no avail. Then inspiration hit—she fumbled in her purse for her penlight. Thankfully, the contents of her purse remained untouched, and she found the penlight. Shining the small beam at an angle along the archway, she looked for protrusions. When that tactic failed to yield results, she turned the blue light to the back wall inside the fireplace. It was necessary to twist her body and turn her face upward to give it a full examination.

  A crawly object fell on her cheek. With a sharp intake of breath, she brushed it away. Her body experienced a violent shudder. Losing balance, she tumbled sideways and hit the hearth, her sore shoulder connecting with something sharp on the way down.

  “Ow,” she cried, but her pain quickly receded when she heard a familiar clicking noise and the rear panel gave way. “Yes!” she muttered, tumbling into the tunnel. “At last, something is going right.” Releasing the mechanism on the other side, she waited for the portal to close securely before illuminating the passage ahead. “Now, which way to go?”

  Murmuring voices led her to a spiral staircase on her left. This wasn’t the route she might have chosen, because her sense of direction told her the main hotel would be to the right. But another instinct told her to follow the sounds. Maybe her ghostly ancestors were drawing her that way, she thought.

  Sparing a moment, she retrieved her cell phone from her handbag. Fortunately, it still had service, possibly because she stood near an outside wall. She dialed Vail’s number.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?” he demanded as though he’d been waiting by the phone.

  “I’m in Oleander Hall. Do you want to meet me?”

  He cursed, then said, “Okay, how do I get inside?”

  “Enter the tunnel from our room. Keep going down until you get to the lowest level, then pick a direction that takes you toward the main hotel. I’ll join you around there.”

  “You’re adding white hairs to my head, woman.”

  “We can fix that,” she said, grinning in the near dark.

  Five minutes later, she was creeping along the tunnel following louder, but real, voices on the third floor. These passages must act like conduits to amplify sound, she thought, pressing her ear against the wall. Spanish! She couldn’t understand what the men were saying, but it didn’t matter. Now she knew Butler used the condemned hall to house these guys who arrived by boat under cover of darkness.

  This train of thought bore a germ of suspicion that erupted into conviction when she saw trailing wires and odd electronic devices.

  “I get it,” she murmured, almost tripping in her haste to reach Vail downstairs. She called him again to get a fix on his location. Using their cell phones like directional beacons, they met at an intersection on the ground floor.

  “Dalton, there has to be a control room somewhere. I’ll bet it’s near Butler’s office. This whole place is a fake.”

  His powerful form crouched in the narrow passage. “What are you talking about? And where’s the exit?”

  “Come with me. Remember I said there’s a storeroom behind Butler’s office that used to be where the bootleggers stashed their rum? It has an outside door, and I’ll bet we can reach it from this end. Oleander Hall must have a way out, too, but we don’t want to risk running into Butler’s gang there.”

  She told him how she’d ended up in the condemned section.

  “Christ, Marla, you’ll be the death of me yet. I can’t leave you alone for one minute before you get into trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t look for it. It kinda finds me. Look at all these wires fixed along the wall. We didn’t notice them before.” She followed the cables until they reached a branch with a stairway curving upward to an apparent dead end.

  “Now what?” Vail asked, pressing a hand to the small of her back. “If my guess is right, going straight ahead will take us to the administrative wing.”

  “That’ll bring us to the storeroom. I’d hoped we could find Butler’s command station. He must have created the whole show: sound effects, holographic images, and other tricks. Hiring Spector’s team was just a ruse. Don’t you see? He’s already created a theme park.”

  “Huh?” Vail looked at her as though she’d loosened a few mental screws.

  “The ghost stories, the sightings, even the bell ringing out by the old sugar mill—Butler designed it all.” Never mind the part of her soul that wanted to believe in ghosts. Here was concrete evidence that things were not as they seemed.

  Vail touched her arm. “For what purpose? To increase business, because he thinks a haunted hotel would draw more guests?”

  “Partially. I also think it’s a way of keeping people away from the old wing. He scares them off with ghoulish tales and warnings that the building is unsafe. Truthfully, it doesn’t look much different than the rest of the place. No wonder he doesn’t want it torn down. That’s the real source of his income, and he needs extra money so he can add to his expensive walking stick collection, along with his retirement funds, I suspect.”

  She started up the unfinished staircase, with Vail in her wake. “Explain,” he ordered.

  “During the war, Andrew smuggled in Jewish refugees, hid them on the resort property, then dispersed them up north. Assuming Butler knew the history of the place, I figure he converted this scheme to his own purposes. Instead of persecution victims, he boats in illegal aliens across the Gulf of Mexico. I heard the men speak Spanish, so that clinches it in my mind, along with the way they’re treated.”

  She paused for a breath. “Butler houses them in Oleander Hall until he can sneak them off the grounds in the guise of construction workers. I’ll bet he uses some of the guys as maintenance men at the resort and sends the others to labor camps. It could be quite a lucrative deal for him.”

  Vail’s eyes gleamed. “I think you’re onto something. And if he’s running a smuggling operation, I’ll bet your Aunt Polly found out about it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “
We need more evidence,” Vail said when they’d returned to their room for a strategy session. Their attempt to locate Butler’s special effects console had ended in defeat. “Did Butler kill Polly, or did that nurse’s aide do the deed?”

  “I think the aide was Wanda Beake in disguise,” Marla said, lounging on the bed in her nightshirt. “She and Butler must have had a falling out.”

  “Do you think Wanda is in danger?”

  “Not if she’s smart and pretends to agree to Butler’s plans. Maybe you can get her to turn witness.”

  “That may not be necessary. If we knew when those boats came in, we could set up a surveillance operation.” Pacing the room, Vail plowed a hand through his peppery hair. “Or we can follow Butler when he takes those guys into town.”

  “Champagne said he gives the workmen a lift home, but that can’t be true. He must transport them somewhere else. More people have to be involved.”

  Vail regarded her thoughtfully. “If you’re right, we wouldn’t want to tip their hand too soon. Approaching Wanda as a possible informant is a good move, but I’d also like to tail Butler when he leaves the next time.”

  “Why do you suppose the manager killed Seto? The old man said he’d kept quiet out of respect for Polly. I’m not sure what he meant. Was Polly afraid it would ruin the hotel’s reputation if they exposed Butler’s scheme? Yet she tried to warn me that something was wrong.” Her heart thudded into her throat. ‘You don’t think…Polly was part of it?”

  Her companion shook his head. “Nope. Your aunt might have had a loose socket, but I think she was guarding some other secret. We still have to figure that one out. Meanwhile, I’ll notify the local boys about Butler when we have additional proof. All we’ve got at the moment are theories.”

  “How many staff members do you think are involved?”

  “Could be all of them.”

  Marla tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think Champagne understands the scope of things. She may keep herself ignorant on purpose to avoid getting sucked in. Dr. Angus, despite his claims to the contrary, probably gets paid to cover up the construction accidents as natural events.”