Beauty & Bloodshed
Beauty Secrets Mystery 5
Stephanie Damore
Pink Sapphire
Stephanie Damore
Copyright © Stephanie Damore 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
1
My eyes were pressed hard to the binoculars’ eyepiece as my husband paddled out to catch another wave. Whose idea had it been to learn how to surf anyway? That’s right—Vince. As soon as we told my best friend and her husband that we were honeymooning in Puerto Rico, Vince told Finn that he had to try surfing. “The waves are some of the best in the world!” he had said. So now I sat there praying that my hubby didn’t break his neck on the reef or get eaten by a shark. Why, oh why must Finn be such an adrenaline junkie?
I wasn’t sure if I should focus on him more or the surrounding water. It didn’t help that it was early evening. Every shadow I saw in the water had me convinced a man-eating shark was about to surface. I could see the headlines now: Man eaten by shark while on his honeymoon! I reminded myself to thank Vince for his great idea when we all had dinner together next week.
I held my breath as Finn got his board in position and waited for the wave to roll up underneath him.
The wave crashed and swallowed him whole. I swear my heart stopped.
I tried to judge the height of the waves. The forecasters said the surf would be churning more with the hurricane out in the Atlantic and heading our way. If Finn was determined to learn how to surf, I’d rather it be today than having him tackle the tides in a couple of days. I knew hurricanes were a fact of life if you lived in Puerto Rico, but, as my Uncle José kept reminding us, Puerto Rico never took a direct hit. I prayed he was right, but we weren’t chancing it. That meant we had a little more than three days left of our honeymoon. I sure as sugar hoped it didn’t end with Finn breaking his neck or getting swallowed by JAWS.
I sat soaking up the sun in my five-minute panic reprieve, the time it took Finn to paddle back out, and scanned the water for any signs of trouble. All looked quiet. Satisfied, I turned the binoculars beachside, staring up at the impressive hotel we were staying at. Looking at it now, it reminded me more of a castle, or one of the nearby fortresses, as opposed to a hotel. We had scored big-time with our room courtesy of my aunt, she was the property’s assistant manager. Well that and the construction taking place on the twelfth floor. The hotel had been undergoing a major renovation, floor-by-floor, with the top floor being the only one left under construction. I enjoyed the hotel’s historical nature but could appreciate modern aesthetics. The majority of hotel patrons would probably agree, but that didn’t mean they wanted to stay through the renovations. We didn’t mind so much, especially since my aunt was able to upgrade us to a gorgeous oceanfront room ’and still charge us the ridiculously low friends and family rate.
Had I left our patio doors opened, I questioned, looking up at curtains blowing into a corner room I was sure was ours. I counted the floors up from the bottom until I landed on number ten. Sure enough, it was our room. It’s corner location with its stone patio was a dead giveaway. Sweet sugar, you could see right in. Even if the door hadn’t been left open, you’d be able to see right in. I prayed no one had been on the beach with binoculars while Finn and I were in that room. I had mistakenly thought being on the tenth floor gave us some sort of privacy. I’ve never been more wrong in my life. I’m pretty sure that if we’d left the TV on, I would’ve been able to watch it from the beach with no problem.
At that moment, I caught sight of someone in the top edge of the binocular’s’ frame. They were in the window one floor up. I was about to drop the binoculars and mentally apologize when a bloodied hand smacked the window and slid down, leaving a trail of red behind it. At that instant, I did drop the binoculars. Right into the sand. I sat stunned for a second while adrenaline flooded my system. I looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed what I had. I was alone. I turned toward the water to get Finn’s attention.
“Hey!” I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the crashing waves.
“Hey!” I tried again, waving my hands over my head and running toward the surf. Finn would never be able to hear me. I stared hard at his back before glancing back at our hotel. Finn would have to figure out that I left, because I wasn’t about to wait around when someone needed help. I raced back up the beach, binoculars forgotten in the sand, and ran into the hotel, searching for my aunt.
An older gentleman working the door rushed forward to open it for me. He looked alarmed, but I walked right past him. I don’t even know if I said thank you. I was just grateful to see my aunt working the front desk.
“Ziva, what’s wrong?” she asked when she saw my wild eyes.
“Aunt Lupe, I saw something. Someone. They’ve been hurt. Upstairs.” I pointed to the ceiling.
“Where honey? Who?’”
“I don’t know. I saw them through the curtains. I was on the beach. There was blood like they’d been attacked. You need to call someone.”
“Carlos, lock the doors,” my aunt said to the bellhop as she picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” snapped a bald, middle-aged man who clearly suffered from short-man complex. I hadn’t even seen him come out of the office.
“My niece witnessed an attack. I’m calling the police. Don’t let anyone leave,” Lupe reiterated to the bellhop.
“Balderdash. Leave the doors open and hang up the phone. We don’t know what your niece saw. I’m not going to call the police until I know for a fact there’s a crime.”
“Louis—
“It’s Mr. Roberto, Mrs. Sanchez,” the general manager said, putting my aunt in her place. He lowered his voice. “Look around. People are checking out left and right ahead of this storm. I’m not about to start another wave of panic unless we have a justified reason to do so.”
“What room did you say, ma’am?” Mr. Roberto asked me. The way he folded his hands in front of him and cocked his head to the side you would’ve thought he was asking what room I wanted fresh towels delivered to.
I thought for a second. “It would be the room directly above mine, so 1102? If the numbering is the same.”
“Mr. Hayden’s room,” the manager said, mostly to hi
mself. I didn’t know who Mr. Hayden was, but I didn’t care.
My aunt didn’t either. “The president could be staying there for all I care. Now you better get someone up there to check things out,” Lupe said to her manager.
Mr. Roberto shot her that look again. The one that said Stand down. To my surprise, my aunt did. That was a first. And I had had enough of it. I went over and hit the up arrow on the elevator. I would check things out and call the police myself. I would’ve called them that instant if my cell phones weren’t still on the beach in my bag. Yes, I said cell phones, plural. More about that later. Anyway, regardless if it had been an accident or an attack, someone in 1102 needed help. If it was the latter, I highly doubted the intruder would be waiting around for someone to catch them.
Mr. Roberto power-walked after me. “Mrs. Sanchez, stay at the front desk. I’ll accompany Ms.—” he looked to me to fill in my name.
“Mrs. Hudson,” I said, emphasizing the misses.
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Sanchez’s famous niece.”
I wanted to ask what he meant by that but chose to get in the elevator instead.
2
We stepped off the elevator and into silence. The elevator’s doors closed behind us and it rolled back down before either one of us moved. My senses were on high alert, but I came up empty. No one else was in the hallway, and no sounds were coming from behind the closed doors.
“This way,” Mr. Roberto said to me, seeming more annoyed, if that was even possible.
Whereas our hotel room was a single bedroom suite, room 1102 looked far more impressive. That is, if the double entry doors were any indication. A single do not disturb sign hung from a door handle. Mr. Roberto winced and looked back at me.
Oh good gravy. “Would you like me to knock?” I asked. I found it hard to believe that Mr. Roberto was debating honoring the sign’s request. Did he not hear me say someone was hurt?
Mr. Roberto knocked on the door and took a step back, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. I have to admit that I took a step back, too, but not because I was worried about an angry hotel guest being disturbed. In fact, my moment of bravery was fleeting and I found myself rethinking my positioning. I took cover behind Mr. Roberto’s shoulder, anticipating the unexpected.
No one answered.
Mr. Roberto knocked again. A bit louder this time. We waited in silence.
“Do you have a key?” I asked.
“Of course, but—”
In that instant, my bravery was back. “Listen, someone’s hurt in there. What if they can’t answer the door?”
The sound of a door opening made me jump. It was only a maid coming out of the room across the hall.
“Marie, have you seen anyone come out of Mr. Hayden’s room?” Mr. Roberto asked the woman.
“No, sir.”
“Anyone else walking around on this floor?”
“No, sir.” Marie looked at me for only a moment. If she had thought about asking a question, she didn’t show it. She took a fresh stack of towels and toiletries and walked back into the room.
“Do you want to call the police?” I asked Mr. Roberto. He gave me his best glare, but it didn’t work on me. I put my hand on my hips and stared right back. If he wanted to have a showdown, he would lose.
“Fine! I’ll open the door.”
Mr. Roberto put his keycard up to the security pad and clicked the door open as soon as the light turned green. I held my breath, unsure of the carnage we’d find inside. My bare feet were ready to bolt in a heartbeat.
He cracked the door and peered in first. I followed suit, leaning around him. The lights were off, but there was just enough natural light to make out the details. My eyes went to the window first, and then the floor, coming up empty.
“What the what? Where is she?” I asked, walking past Mr. Roberto and into the room. I flicked the light on, bathing the room in warm, soft light. The manager walked in behind me and looked around himself.
I was dumbfounded. The room was perfectly normal. The sheer curtains were in fact sheer and perfectly white. Not a smear, stain, or drop of anything was on them. I picked up the delicate fabric and examined it closely. How was that possible? Nothing in the room seemed amiss.
“Can I help you?” A man’s voice demanded. I hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Mr. Hayden. I’m … I’m so sorry to disturb your room.” Mr. Roberto bowed to the man standing before us. With white tennis shorts, a light blue polo shirt, and sunglasses on top of his head, he hardly looked like royalty. In fact, if he was a ruler of anything, it was of the tennis club.
“We had reports of a disturbance, if you will. We were just making sure your room is secure.”
“And is it?” Mr. Hayden beelined to the in-room safe. I watched him fiddle with the dial until the small safe swung open. I resisted the urge to whistle. Why did people feel the need to travel with so much cash these days?
“What type of disturbance?” Mr. Hayden asked while counting his cash.
“It’s nothing to be concerned with, sir,” Mr. Roberto replied.
“Was your wife out with you?” I looked at the scattered cosmetics and short floral robe in the front guest bathroom. The fact that her possessions weren’t in the master spoke volumes to me.
Mr. Hayden followed my line of vision. “No, she’s … shopping. You know how you womenfolk are fond of spending money.”
I ignored his comment. “How long were you out for?” I asked.
“What is this, some type of interrogation?” Mr. Hayden’s temper flared.
“No, but if you do find that something is missing,” or there’s a dead body stuffed in your closet, “it would help us to piece together a timeframe”
“I see.” I wasn’t sure if Mr. Hayden would accept my explanation. Mr. Roberto surely didn’t. The man’s complexion was turning redder by the second.
“In that case, I would guess an hour,” Mr. Hayden said after a moment. “I went for a walk on the beach.”
“In tennis shoes?” I motioned to the man’s footwear.
“Mrs. Hudson—” Mr. Roberto had started to say, but Mr. Hayden interrupted him.
“Is that a crime?” he said to me.
“Maybe.” Of fashion, I thought.
Mr. Hayden threw his hands up in the air. Was that a cut on his index finger? It was hard to tell since he quickly tucked his hands back in his pockets and seemed keen on leaving them that way. I eyed him suspiciously.
“Look, I stayed on the boardwalk. I’m not a sand kind of guy.”
“Right,” I replied, not believing a word he had just said. I may not be an expert interrogator, but I knew when someone was lying to me. And Mr. Hayden was.
“Now if you guys don’t mind.” Mr. Hayden motioned to the door. “Unless I should take my business elsewhere?” he asked Mr. Roberto.
“Sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, sir,” Mr. Roberto replied, bowing once more.
“Yes, please do.” I heard him say as we walked out. I didn’t care. I had a case to solve. If the attack hadn’t taken place in Mr. Hayden’s room, then where had it? I needed to find out.
“I must have the wrong room or maybe the wrong floor,” I said, mentally recounting the floors. “Maybe the room next door, or even up a floor,” I said to Mr. Roberto.
I would have been better off keeping my thoughts to myself.
“Mrs. Hudson, I’m not about to knock on every door in the hotel, disturbing my guests, because you think you saw something. Your behavior back there was completely out of line. If you were my employee, you’d be fired!”
“As it is, I’m not your employee, I’m your guest. And I don’t think I saw something. I know I saw something. And it wasn’t something, but someone,” I said.
“Guest or not, I cannot have you creating massive panic and going around insulting other patrons. As it stands, you have presented me with no evidence to this alleged attack.”
“I know wh
at I saw,” I insisted.
“Really? What did this person look like?” Mr. Roberto looked more annoyed than ever.
“I—I didn’t get a good look. I think it was a woman. Maybe.” I closed my eyes, trying to make out the details, but I couldn’t see past the bloody handprint.
“I see. So, I need to look for a hurt woman, maybe.”
I opened my eyes and glared something fierce at Mr. Roberto.
“You see, Mrs. Hudson, I’ve heard of your reputation. Your aunt can’t seem to stop spinning your tales, but let me tell you, I will not have you turning my hotel into one of your elaborate stories.”
“It’s not a story!” I snapped. I was this close to having an all-out temper tantrum. I hated not being believed. It was the worst feeling in the world. Add in Mr. Roberto’s patronizing attitude, and I was about to lose it.
“Fine. But until you can present me with some sort of evidence, I am done listening to this nonsense. Now, I understand that it’s your honeymoon. Perhaps you should try and enjoy it. May I suggest our roof-top whirlpool? It’s quite enjoyable under a blanket of stars.”
I nodded my head because throat punching people was frowned upon. Plus, I’d seriously hate to cause trouble for my aunt.
“Good then. I’ll leave you to it.” The elevator doors opened, and Mr. Roberto quickly exited. He ignored my aunt’s inquiring look and marched straight back to his office.
So, what did you find?” My aunt asked me as soon as I was in earshot.
“Nothing,” I said. I walked across the lobby and back to talk with her at the front desk.
“Nothing?” she asked incredulously.
“Nada. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I’m still thinking about calling the police.”
“You can’t, Ziva.” My aunt’s eyes were wide, and truthfully, her expression shocked me.
Beauty & Bloodshed: A romantic, cozy mystery: Beauty Secrets Mystery Book 5 Page 1