Dead Roots

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “It was Jeffrey who funded Donna Albright’s campaign for the living-history experience,” Marla reminded them. “He wanted the hotel destroyed, along with Polly’s letters and all evidence of his parents’ illegal union. Greed and fear of exposure were his motivators.”

  Marla scanned the crowd but didn’t see Lori. She felt sorry for her cousin, but at least Lori had been released from an unhappy marriage. Marla would find her later to express condolences and offer encouragement.

  “Awesome,” Rochelle said, sashaying into view, her young face aglow in the moonlight. A breeze lifted the hem of her floral skirt. Wearing a ruby tube top and strappy heels, she flaunted her assets in front of her young male cousins. “Andrew must have been happy you found his humidor, but it’s a bummer the jewels were all gone.”

  “I think Seto buried the humidor. That’s why he hung out at the ruins, so he could make sure it was safe,” Marla said. She tightened the glittery shawl she wore around her black cocktail dress. “Besides Ruth’s will and her sale agreement for Sugar Crest, we found the detective’s report in the document pouch. Seto had enclosed a confession as well.”

  She paused while her relatives hung on her words. ‘Those two visitors who wore Cossack hats…It was a disguise meant to fool Andrew into believing they were from his home country. Once they were admitted to see him, they showed their true colors. They were Nazis spies.”

  “Oh, wow,” Rochelle breathed, a dreamy look on her face.

  “Here comes the best part. Seto and Andrew killed the men, bashing their heads in with those heavy candlesticks on the fireplace mantel. The stress of the event made Andrew ill, and he staggered out, after his trusted caretaker promised to dispose of their bodies. Mulch dragged them into the secret passage and later buried them under his flower beds.”

  “You’re saying Papa was a murderer?” Anita said, gasping. Her shock was reflected on the faces of her siblings, who stood by with their families, glued to Marla’s tale.

  “Rumrunner, bootlegger, killer. Grandfather was a lot of things, but he wasn’t done in by any of Ruth’s siblings as she suspected. No, it was the stroke that got him. He died of natural causes. I think Polly figured it out and wanted to mend fences this weekend by bringing everyone together.”

  “What about that nurse’s aide? Did you ever find out who hired her to take care of Polly the night she died?” Anita inquired.

  “Yeah. Would you believe Polly hired the woman herself?” Marla’s face split into a sheepish grin. “Here I was ready to accuse Wanda Beake, because of a resemblance between the two. When I looked through Polly’s papers again this afternoon, I found a phone number for another nursing service. Polly didn’t want anyone to know she needed help, so she hired the aide and instructed her to pretend she’d been sent as a gift. Apparently, this woman had worked for the other agency previously and still wore that name tag. That’s why they said she wasn’t in their employ when Dr. Angus called.”

  “Did you contact this person?” Anita said. “She would have been the last person to see Polly alive.”

  “I spoke to her briefly on the telephone. Polly was fine when she left, around eleven o’clock that night.”

  “So what’s going to happen to the resort?”

  Marla shrugged. “Champagne has been put in charge until a new manager is appointed. She wanted to fire the steward, but Harvey promised to go on the wagon if she’d keep him. Brownie will stay on as dessert chef until she finds another position. She really didn’t do anything wrong, except to act as a snoop for Jeffrey.”

  “I thought the council already voted to sell the place,” Cynthia said, smoothing her linen pants set.

  Bruce smiled at his wife. “Another development company has made a better offer. They’ve got plans to explore the site’s archaeological value, so the ruins will remain untouched. But they’ll restore the grand hotel. It’ll be a gold mine, with its legends, ghosts, scandals, and secret passages. This will be a true living-history experience with a glimpse into the past.”

  Marla’s jaw dropped. “Bless my bones, is that your doing?”

  Rubbing his hands together, Bruce nodded jovially. “It promises to be an exciting project. I think we’ll leave Butler’s special effects in Oleander Hall and charge extra for folks who want to stay in the haunted wing. The concierge level, of course, will move to the penthouse. And the speakeasy will make a great lounge, as you said.” He made a slight bow.

  Marla gave his shoulder an affectionate swat. “Leave it to Bruce to see that the hotel remains in the family.”

  She had one more piece of unfinished business. Spotting her brother chatting with one of their uncles, she waved. “Hey, pal, can I see you alone for a minute?” She glanced at Vail. “You won’t mind, will you? I’ll be right back.”

  He tilted his head. ‘Take your time. While I’m waiting, I’ll hit the bar for a drink refill. This whole megillah has left my head spinning. Ma, can I get you anything?” he asked Anita.

  Marla beamed with pride as she watched him fold Anita’s arm into his own and stroll away. Her fiancé seemed much more comfortable with her family than when they’d first arrived. That had been her goal in bringing him along, after all. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Dalton would fit in just fine with her family.

  “So tell me, bro,” she said to Michael, “did you talk to Charlene about your problems?”

  He regarded her warmly. “Yep, and you were right. She had some good ideas that will help us get off the ground.”

  “You may not owe Polly any more money, but you’ve lost your savings.” When they reached a darkened corner, she rummaged inside her purse and then withdrew her fist. “I’m giving these to you on one condition. You don’t tell anyone about this exchange.”

  She opened her palm, and gleaming in the moonlight were three smoky stones.

  Her brother’s eyes widened. ‘You found the jewels. Where?” he choked out.

  “They were under a false bottom in the humidor. I don’t think even Seto knew they were there. He might have given them to Polly otherwise.” She leaned forward. “Promise me you’ll use these stones to clear your debts with any extra going into your retirement funds.”

  He didn’t make a move to take them. “Are there more?”

  “No, this is all that was left. Don’t argue with me. I want you to have them.” Marla chuckled. “In my mind, this isn’t the real treasure. Would you believe we’re all descended from Russian royalty? I found another document in the humidor: Andrew’s true identity papers.”

  His face sobered. “We’re all his heirs. Those stones belong to our parents: Ma and her brothers. They should sell them and divide up the money.”

  “Not really. Ruth may have put the proceeds from the hotel sale into her estate, but she left her personal possessions to Polly. That means these belong to me now. I’m giving them to you along with my blessing.”

  “But you—”

  She shook her head, soft waves of hair brushing her face. “I don’t need them. I’ll get Andrew’s furniture and paintings that I suspect will fetch a decent price, plus whatever Polly has in her accounts. I’ve been thinking of adding spa services to my salon. Maybe now we’ll be able to expand.”

  If she had anything left after paying off her loan from Miriam, that is. She’d rather move the salon to a bigger space in a more upscale location. That wasn’t her main reason for wanting a change. She couldn’t stand dealing with her landlord any longer. They’d had too many run-ins for their continued association to remain pleasant. Getting away from him had become her new goal.

  “Marla, I still feel bad about taking what’s rightfully yours. How can I ever…?” Michael’s voice broke.

  “Consider it an investment for my niece and nephew.” She hugged him, patting his back.

  After dropping the stones in his palm, she strode away.

  Vail stood by the pool tapping his foot. The Jamaican steel band had kicked off the dance party with a fast beat, and a mass
of jiggling bodies crowded the deck. Waitresses strolled among the seated observers, hawking tropical drinks with chunks of pineapple and party umbrellas while flaming torches added to the ambience. Fuel tainted the air with a chemical scent.

  “I guess your good deed got accepted,” Vail said when she accosted him with a kiss. “Let’s get out of here.” Grabbing her hand, he wormed through the throng toward an isolated section of beach, where they shed their shoes.

  Marla’s feet sank into sand as he led her along the shoreline. Edging closer to the water, she splashed into the sea foam, feeling the sting of salt water on her legs. The guitar music receded as they increased their distance, and soon she heard nothing except an occasional seagull taunting its prey with a shrill cry and the soothing swoosh of the ocean. Out to sea, moonbeams cut the crests into sprays of diamonds.

  She gave Vail a sidelong glance. His impressive profile quickened her pulse. He looked handsome in a gray sweater, black trousers, and sport coat. His clothing highlighted the silver streaks in his hair.

  His gaze darkened as he halted to face her. He said nothing, clearing his throat in an uncharacteristic manner.

  Her toes sifted warm sand while she waited for him to speak. Would this be good news or bad? Her stomach muscles clenched.

  “I’m glad I got to meet your family this weekend, despite the events that transpired. You’ll get your chance to meet mine soon enough,” he said, chuckling, while Marla considered an appropriate response.

  “About the holidays,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I’ve decided it’s time to let go of certain things.” He kicked at a seashell. “Like ghosts of the past. If I’ve learned nothing else from being here, it’s that people’s spirits deserve their rest. It hurts them for us to keep them here, and it doesn’t do us any good, either.”

  He drew a deep breath and spurted out his next words. “So I propose that we look for a new house when we return home.”

  Stunned, Marla stared at him. “Are you sure?”

  “I know you hate being in the same house that Pam and I shared. Brie can still keep what she wants from her mother’s collections. Meanwhile, we can work out what we’ll each contribute to our new home. You might even want to add some of Andrew’s furniture.” He stroked her chin. “Your mother made this suggestion to me a while back, but it’s taken me this long to realize she’s right. Could you accept me on these terms?”

  Too choked with emotion to speak, Marla nodded. She never thought she’d get him to budge from the house he’d lived in with his late wife, but the fact that he could finally move on meant he was ready to let Pam go. Afraid her bubble might burst, she bit her lip and kept silent.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said, taking a velvet box from his pocket. “I thought of hiding this inside a conch shell, but you’ve had enough treasure hunts for one trip. Open it.”

  Marla trembled as she raised the lid and spied the diamond solitaire nestled inside. “Oh, Dalton.”

  “Now it’s official.” His lips curved upward as he took the ring and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand.

  It might have been Marla’s imagination, but she thought she heard muffled cheers and applause wafting from the direction of the old sugar mill.

  Author’s Note

  This was a great story to research. I used the Haunt Hunter’s Guide to Florida by Joyce Elson Moore to read up on haunted sites in the state and then visited the Gamble Mansion in Ellenton, Florida. With its rich history as a sugar mill plantation and its location among moss-draped oaks by a river, it inspired my design for Sugar Crest Resort in Dead Roots. Reading the history of other grand resorts in Florida also provided information, as did the www.ghosttracker.com Web site for explanations of ghostly phenomena. And, of course, don’t forget the Tower of Terror in Walt Disney World. If you get the chance, watch the film based on the attraction; it’s a lot of fun.

  Marla’s family history is based on my own; my maternal grandmother had eight children, and my ancestors come from Russia and Poland. However, I cannot claim any royal lineage.

  I love to hear from readers. Write to me at P.O. Box 17756, Plantation, FL 33318. Please enclose a self-addressed stamped #10 business-size envelope for a personal reply.

  Email: nancy.j.cohen@comcast.net

  Web site: www.nancyjcohen.com