Peter looked up from his coffee. “Could you check in with the police and see what they have to say? You’ve dealt with that detective before when he investigated that woman’s death, the one you found in your garden. He might tell you more than he would me.”
Rory doubted Detective Green would tell her more about an active investigation than he would the victim’s family, but if it made her friend happy, she was willing to try. “Sure, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Could you do something else for me?”
“Anything.”
He held out a hotel key card with the Akaw logo on it. “Pack up Jaz’s things in the hotel room. I can’t face going up there and seeing all her stuff just...waiting for her. It’s paid for through Sunday, so there’s no rush. You can even use the room if you want.”
“What about the police?”
“They told me they’re done with it. They’ve taken everything they need.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She grabbed a felt-tip pen off the counter and wrote the room number on the back of her hand. As she prepared to leave, she said, “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”
“Don’t worry. I’m already feeling better thanks to you. Brandy said she’d come over later.”
Rory studied his face for a moment, looking for some assurance he would be okay on his own. The lost look she’d seen on it when she arrived had disappeared. A little food and some conversation had done him a world of good.
She promised to check on him later. Before heading to the convention, she sat in her car and called her mother. Once she assured Arika that Peter was okay, Rory drove to the hotel, hoping Detective Green would be there with some answers.
Chapter 7
Rory exited the parking garage elevator into the hotel lobby less than fifteen minutes later. When she passed by the hallway leading to the restrooms, the stench of rotten eggs filled her nostrils. She was on her way to report the problem to the front desk when Ian and a man in gray coveralls hurried past her into the men’s bathroom.
Moments later, Rory sank down into an empty chair next to Liz who was finishing up a call on her cell. As soon as she hung up, she turned to Rory and said, “I’m so sorry about Jasmine. She seemed sweet. Last night on the phone you said something about an accidental overdose?”
“That’s what they think right now. The police are still looking into it. But I don’t know. Something tells me there’s more to it.”
“How’s Peter doing? Have you seen him?”
“Just came from his place. He’s hanging in there. The police stopped by before I got there.”
“Dashing D? What did he have to say?”
Rory told her friend about her conversation with Jasmine’s husband.
“What’s this medicine she overdosed on? Xy-what?”
“Xyrem. I don’t really know much about it. Let’s see.” Rory drew her smartphone out of her pocket and a few screen taps later she had some answers. “It’s a liquid. It says here it’s a form of GHB.”
“The date rape drug?” Liz said. “Doctors prescribe that?”
“Apparently it helps with cataplexy. According to this, it’s a Schedule III controlled substance.” Rory scrolled through a few more pages. “Wow, talk about being tightly regulated. You can only get it from a central pharmacy. And you have to go through a special program to make sure you know how to use it. Peter said something about that today. How Jasmine had learned all about the drug’s dangers and the do’s and don’ts.” She frowned. “This doesn’t make sense. It says here that she was supposed to take her first dose at night before she went to bed and that it takes effect in five to ten minutes. Then another dose two and a half to four hours later. But that’s still hours before she died.” She looked through other website pages, but a lot of the information required more medical knowledge than she possessed. “I don’t understand half of this.”
“Maybe that ER doc can answer your questions,” Liz said.
“Maybe.”
Liz nodded toward the entrance to the Wave bar which, at this time of day, was more coffee house than tavern. “Isn’t that Dashing D?”
Rory’s heart fluttered at the sight of the man entering the bar. She shoved the feeling to the back of her mind and stood up. “Let’s go and see what he has to say. I promised Peter I’d find out the latest.” She tucked her cell phone in the front pocket of her jeans and led the way to the Wave. With its rattan chairs and pots filled with exotic-looking plants, the place reminded Rory of a tropical paradise. She soon spotted the detective at a table in the middle of the floor with Mel, talking and sipping coffee.
Rory and Liz wended their way through the tables toward them. As they approached the couple, they heard Mel say, “That’s all I remember. The paramedics took it from there.”
Detective Green jotted something down in a notebook and looked up at the new arrivals. “You must have read my mind. I was just going to look for you two. Have a seat.” He indicated the empty chairs at the table. Rory sat down next to the detective with Liz on the other side of her.
“I’m very sorry about your friend.” He reached over as if to place a comforting hand on Rory’s arm, then glanced over at his girlfriend and seemed to think better of it. Instead, his hand closed around his cup, and he took a sip of coffee. “Mel here was just telling me about what happened in class. Tell me what you two saw.” He looked at Rory. “You go first. Start with the moment you entered the room.”
She cast her mind back to the day before, describing everything in as much detail as she could. “Then there was the fire alarm. Everybody left their stuff at their places and left the ballroom as fast as possible.”
“What about her medicine? What do you know about that?” the detective asked.
“That was a little odd,” Rory said. “She told me the other day she planned on carrying it with her. Didn’t want to leave it in her room because she was afraid it would be stolen. So I was surprised when I didn’t find it in her purse. I heard you found it in her hotel room.”
“You talked to her husband, then?”
“Just came from his house. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“What about her purse? Did Jasmine take hers with her during the fire alarm?” he continued.
“I guess so. I don’t really notice that kind of thing. I don’t carry one myself.” She turned toward Liz. “Do you remember?”
Liz frowned in concentration. “Sorry, I don’t. I was too busy making sure everyone got out okay. But it was on the floor by her seat after she collapsed. You took it to the hospital with you.”
Rory nodded. “That’s right. I gave it to Peter. I thought he might need it.”
“What about her demeanor yesterday?” Detective Green asked. “Did she seem her usual self?”
“I guess.” Rory thought back to when she’d last seen her friend. “You know, there was something. She seemed a little out of sorts at the beginning of class. I asked her about it, but she said it wasn’t important, she’d speak to me after class. I have no idea what she wanted to talk about.”
He plied both of them with questions that they answered as best they could. As the conversation went on, Rory realized how she could be of help to the police.
“I can track Jasmine’s movements the day or two before she died if that would help. People might talk to me when they won’t talk to you,” she said to the detective.
“No investigating by you—” His steely gaze landed on each of the women at the table. “—or anyone else. Leave it to me. Do you understand?”
They all nodded, but Rory silently vowed to find out what she could. She told herself he didn’t really mean it when he said she shouldn’t ask questions. She was sure he would appreciate the information once he had it. Besides, she might discover something he wouldn’t be able to find out otherwise.
Detective Green ended the interview with a request for the list of students in the class. Liz was digging it out of her purse when Rory said to him
, “Has the police lab had a chance to check out her medication yet?”
He stared at her as if deciding how much to tell her. “We’re still processing the bottle. We should know something soon.” He cocked his head. “She was a friend of yours. What do you think happened?”
“It wasn’t an accident and definitely not suicide. I feel it in here.” Rory pressed her hand against her heart. “She was too excited about attending the convention and moving to town.”
“Really?”
Rory narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you saying?”
“Ask her husband,” was all he said before bending over to study the class list Liz placed on the table.
As she tried to puzzle out what the man meant, Rory’s gaze swept the bar. The only other customers were a black-haired woman sitting on a stool at the counter talking with the bartender, her back to them, and someone at a table in a corner so dark Rory couldn’t tell who it was. As Rory watched, the waitress carried a glass of white wine to the customer and returned to the bar with an empty glass.
Rory was squinting her eyes, trying to make out who the unknown person was, when Ian approached them. “Detective, could I speak with you a moment, please?” He nodded toward an empty table. “In private.”
“Excuse me, ladies. Thank you for your time. Let me know if you think of anything else.” The detective stuffed the class list into his jacket pocket, then leaned forward and said, “Remember what I said. No investigating.” After those words of warning, he stood up and walked over to join the hotel manager at a table far enough away they couldn’t hear what the two men were saying.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Liz said.
Rory strained to hear the conversation, but couldn’t make out a single word. Not for the first time, she wished she knew how to read lips. “Ian doesn’t look happy, whatever it is,” she finally said. “Maybe he’s asking about Jasmine’s death. Can’t be good for business to have someone collapse in your hotel.”
“It’s something hotels and motels have to deal with all the time,” Mel said. “I’ve dealt with a lot of emergencies at them for work.”
Rory nodded her head. Given the sheer number and variety of people who stayed in hotels, there were bound to be all sorts of accidents and medical issues that required a paramedic’s attention. She turned to Mel. “You said you know the paramedics who treated Jasmine. Could you introduce me to them? I’d like to ask them some questions. I want to make sure Peter has all the facts.”
“Sure.” Mel jotted down two names and a phone number on a cocktail napkin. “The fire station’s only a few blocks away. Let them know I sent you. But I’m not sure they’ll be able to tell you anything you haven’t already heard.” She glanced at the clock above the bar. “I need to get to class. Let me know if I can be of any more help.”
As Mel passed by the table where the hotel manager and detective sat, the men stood up and shook hands. The detective and his girlfriend exited the bar together while Ian headed toward the table in the corner.
Rory stuffed the napkin in the pocket of her jeans. The next time she left the hotel, she planned on stopping by the fire station to see if the paramedics who treated Jasmine were on duty.
“I wonder what Ian wanted to talk to Dashing D about,” Liz said.
The woman at the counter shifted in her seat, revealing a fuchsia streak in her black hair.
“I know how we can find out.” Rory nodded toward Veronica who stood up, took a final sip of her soda, and placed a bill on the counter. “She was practically falling out of her chair trying to hear what the two of them were saying.”
As the woman turned toward them, Rory motioned the reporter over to the table. For once, Veronica’s quest for the next big story might come in handy.
Chapter 8
As soon as Veronica settled down into the chair Detective Green had recently occupied, Rory got straight to the point. “What did you hear?”
The reporter fingered her nose ring and stared at each one of them in turn as if deciding how much to reveal. “I’ll tell you what I heard if you tell me about your friend, the one who died.”
Rory considered the reporter’s request. She would probably write an article anyway. At least this way, Rory would have a chance to make sure people knew what a good person Jasmine was and that she was more than her medical condition. “Deal, but I get to see what you write before it gets published.”
Veronica nodded in agreement, then leaned in and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Sabotage. That’s what they were talking about.”
Rory stared at the reporter in disbelief. She’d expected to hear something about Jasmine’s death and Ian being worried about the bad publicity it would cause, not this. “The alarm?” she finally said.
“And the bathroom. Someone placed a stink bomb in the men’s room.”
That would explain the horrible smell she noticed earlier, Rory thought. “Any idea who put it there? Or when?”
“It was on some sort of timer. Ian thinks the protesters are responsible, but that detective didn’t seem as convinced. He said he was keeping an open mind until they know more.”
“But he’s investigating?” Rory asked.
Veronica nodded. “Ian’s handing hotel security footage over to the police, but I don’t know how much help it’ll be. There aren’t any cameras in the restrooms.”
“There might be in the hallway. Maybe they can get something from that.” Rory tried to visualize the area. She couldn’t remember seeing any cameras, but they might be hidden in a plant or behind a decoration. “I wonder if the same person who planted the stink bomb also threw the rock through my window. Have you heard anything?” she said to Veronica.
The reporter shrugged in a noncommittal gesture. Rory suspected any news would end up in the paper or on Vista Beach Confidential long before it made its way to them. She made a mental note to periodically check the blog over the next few days.
Veronica sat back in her chair. “Okay, I’ve told you everything I know. Tell me about Jasmine. You were childhood friends, right?”
Rory was gathering her thoughts, deciding where to begin, when the sound of loud voices reached their ears. Everyone in the bar turned to stare at a table in the corner where Ian was arguing with a woman Rory now recognized as the convention organizer.
When a waitress approached the table with another glass of wine, the hotel manager waved her away. He stood up and grabbed a partially empty glass off the table. “I’m cutting you off. It’s for your own good.”
Ian brought the glass over to the bartender and repeated his instructions. Nixie stood up and, a little unsteadily, headed toward the lobby. She was concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other, she didn’t notice the group of women staring at her. As soon as Nixie passed by their table, Veronica left the bar, mumbling something about looking after the tipsy woman.
“Do you think Nixie will be okay?” Rory asked.
“Veronica can handle it. She has a lot of experience with drunks,” Liz said.
Rory stared at her friend, a question in her eyes, and waited for her to elaborate.
Liz’s face turned red. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Her parents were alcoholics. I’m not sure she wants anyone to know.”
Rory mimed zipping her lips shut with one hand and fingered the hotel key in the front pocket of her jeans with the other. “Let’s go upstairs. I promised Peter I’d pack up Jasmine’s things. She was staying here for the convention.” She looked at the back of her hand where she’d written down the number. “Room 643.”
They exited the elevator on the top floor and headed down the hallway, smiling at the maid pushing her cart toward the service elevator. When they found the room they were looking for, Rory drew the key card out of her pocket. She was about to insert the card in the lock when Liz tugged on Rory’s arm. “Wait. Do you hear something?”
Rory pressed her ear against the door and listened. A faint sound reminiscen
t of a drawer sliding open came from behind the locked door. “Someone’s inside.” She slipped the key card in the lock and turned the handle.
Chapter 9
Rory cautiously pushed open the hotel room door. A short hallway led to the main area of the room where she could make out a flat screen TV, a low dresser, and a neatly made up king-size bed flanked by twin night stands. The room appeared empty, but noises came from somewhere inside. She motioned Liz forward. They crept down the short hallway and peeked around the corner. Light streamed through the half-open bathroom door. From their position at the end of the hallway, neither of them could see who was inside, but whoever was there was making little attempt to keep quiet.
Rory looked around for something they could use to defend themselves. She pointed toward the bolster pillows on the bed and Liz nodded. They each picked one up and, as quietly as possible, crept forward.
Liz pointed her index and middle fingers at her own eyes then at the bathroom door, then repeated the motion.
Rory whispered, “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” Liz whispered back. “But they always do it on TV shows.”
Rory stood on one side of the half-open bathroom door, Liz the other. Just as Rory was about to kick it open, the intruder came through the door.
Veronica jumped and squeaked her surprise when she saw the two of them brandishing their makeshift weapons. “Give a girl a little warning. You scared the pants off of me.”
Rory lowered her pillow. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were taking care of Nixie.”
Paint the Town Dead Page 6