Murder Packs a Suitcase

by Cynthia Baxter

  Or maybe people simply like vanilla, Mallory thought. But she wasn’t about to argue. Not when she was hoping to get more than just ice cream from this woman.

  “This is a great building,” she said, taking her first few licks while she waited for her change.

  “No kidding,” the woman said with pride. “This place is a classic.”

  “I’m actually pretty interested in this kind of thing. Old Florida, I mean.” Mallory swiped at her cone with her tongue, forestalling a nasty drip in the nick of time. “I’m a travel writer, and I’m writing an article about whether the old Florida still exists. I’m focusing on places just like this that recapture the feeling of the past.”

  “Then I guess you’ve already been to Shell World and Orange World,” the woman commented, handing over a pile of coins.

  “I just came from both. But I’d love to include something about these ice-cream stands that are actually shaped like ice cream.” She paused. “There’s somebody in particular I’m trying to get in touch with. I understand there’s a woman who had a place like this about twenty years ago, back in the late 1980s. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d have ever run into her…?”

  “I might have,” the woman said. “The tourism business is a pretty small world, at least around here.”

  Just like the travel-writing world, Mallory thought.

  “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Patrice Diamond. At least, that was her married name. She’s gotten divorced since we lost touch, so I don’t know what name—”

  “Sure, I know Patrice. At least I used to. I haven’t talked to her in ages, though.”

  Mallory tried not to let her excitement show. “Is her ice-cream stand still around?”

  “Nah. They knocked it down. I think they put up a KFC instead.”

  “That’s too bad. But what about Patrice? I understand she left Florida a long time ago.”

  The woman cast her an odd look. “Why would you think that?”

  Mallory blinked. How about because that’s what Desmond Farnaby explicitly told me? she thought.

  “You mean she’s still in the area?” she asked.

  “Sure is. You could probably find her in the phone book. Of course, she’s using her maiden name these days. It’s Hammond.”

  “Patrice Hammond,” Mallory repeated. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, anytime. And enjoy that ice cream.” With a shrug, she added, “Who knows how long this place will survive before somebody puts some fast-food joint on the property—all in the name of progress.”

  Energized by the possibility of having found a new lead, Mallory wolfed down the rest of her ice-cream cone as she drove along the highway, then pulled into the first parking lot she spotted. After digging out her notebook and a pen, she dialed Information. Sure enough, within seconds an automated voice recited a local number that belonged to a Patrice Hammond.

  She dialed that number next.

  “Patrice?” Mallory asked when a woman answered.

  “You got her. Who’s this?”

  Mallory did some fast thinking. She hadn’t expected to get Patrice on the phone this easily, so she hadn’t planned out what to say.

  “My name is Mallory Marlowe.”

  As she paused to think of what her next sentence should be, Patrice said, “If you’re selling something, I’m not interested.”

  “Actually,” Mallory said haltingly, “I’m the person who found your ex-husband’s body a couple of days ago.”

  While she hadn’t intended to be quite that blunt, her simple statement seemed to have the desired effect.

  “Go on,” Patrice said, her tone wary.

  “I should explain that I didn’t actually know him,” she went on, speaking quickly. “I’m down here in Florida for the same press trip he was on. It’s my first, since I just started writing travel pieces for a magazine. I actually live in New York. Well, outside of New York. Anyway, what really matters is that the police have this ridiculous idea that I might have had something to do with his murder.”

  She stopped talking, hoping that what she’d said so far would be enough to keep Patrice from hanging up on her. As she was debating whether or not to add anything about the clippings about her and her deceased husband that had turned up in Phil’s hotel room, Patrice asked, “What do you want from me?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mallory replied honestly. “I’m simply trying to find out whatever I can about the man, since I’m suddenly in the horrible position of having to convince the police I had nothing to do with him, either dead or alive.” She could hardly believe her life had taken her to a place in which she would actually utter the phrase dead or alive.

  “I don’t know how helpful I can be.” Patrice’s voice had softened. “I mean, I haven’t seen the guy in, what, more than a decade?”

  “It’s not his recent past I’m interested in,” Mallory told her. “I can’t help wondering if maybe some of the stuff he was into in the past could have led to his murder.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, it’s kind of hard to go into all this on the phone. Is there any chance you’d be willing to meet with me? Even for half an hour? Just tell me where and when, and I’ll accommodate your schedule.”

  “I could do that,” Patrice agreed. With a hoarse laugh, she added, “It’s funny: No matter how much time goes by, women never get tired of bad-mouthing their ex. How about Thursday afternoon, on the late side? Like around four?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Polynesian Princess Hotel on International Drive.”

  “Of course.” Patrice laughed. Once again, there was a definite undertone of bitterness. “The place where Phil finally got what he deserved, right?”

  Mallory made a note to add Patrice’s name to the list of people who had apparently felt the exact same way about Phil Diamond.

  “I could meet you at the McDonald’s on Sand Lake Road, right off International,” Patrice suggested. “Do you know where that is?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Just ask anybody where the world’s largest McDonald’s is,” Patrice said. “They’ll know.”

  Somehow, it seemed fitting to Mallory that she meet with Phil’s ex-wife in a McDonald’s that held the distinction of being the largest in the world. Everything in Orlando was the biggest, the best, or at least the weirdest. Why should something as mundane as a fast-food restaurant be any different?

  But she knew perfectly well that it wasn’t the meeting place that mattered. It was the information Patrice would hopefully have about her ex—information that Mallory hoped would lead her closer to the man’s murderer and farther away from Detective Martinez’s list of persons of interest.

  13

  “If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.”

  —James A. Michener

  Mallory actually felt optimistic as she headed back to the hotel. She was finally making progress with her investigation. Tracking down Patrice—and getting her to agree to talk to her—represented a major step in unraveling the details of Phil Diamond’s past. She was still hopeful that understanding everything he had done and everyone he had angered while doing it would enable her to reconstruct the emotions and events that had led to his murder.

  She was about to go back to her room to luxuriate in this rare wave of good feeling when she suddenly remembered that today was Annabelle’s birthday.

  Oh, my gosh! she thought guiltily. Here I spent the entire morning with her and not once did it occur to me to wish her a happy birthday.

  The likelihood that no one else had remembered, either, only made her feel worse. Spending one’s birthday alone struck her as terribly sad, especially since turning forty was a major milestone in any woman’s life. On top of that, this particular woman had just lost the love of her life—because he was murdered, no less. She wracked her brain, trying to come up with a way to ack
nowledge the occasion without looking as if she had forgotten about it until the very last minute.

  She realized she was holding the solution to the problem in her hand.

  Mallory thought of calling first, but decided that birthdays were all about surprises. And if Annabelle had gone out to celebrate, Mallory decided as she rode up the elevator, she would simply try again later.

  She rapped on Annabelle’s door, braced for the possibility that no one would answer. Instead, it opened almost immediately.

  “Mallory!” Annabelle exclaimed, her eyes widening. “I thought you were Room Service.”

  Annabelle was dressed in the fluffy white bathrobe the hotel provided and a pair of dark socks. She would have looked as if she was enjoying an evening by herself if her eyes hadn’t been rimmed in red. The television, which was tuned to CNN, blared from the other side of the room.

  “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by unannounced,” Mallory said, realizing that calling first wouldn’t have been a bad idea, after all. “I have a birthday present for you.” She handed Annabelle one of her purchases from Shell World, wrapped in a cloud of white tissue paper.

  A look of astonishment crossed Annabelle’s face. “You remembered?”

  “Of course.”

  “Come in.” Annabelle still looked stunned as she studied the small gift. “Wow. That was really thoughtful, Mallory.”

  “It’s not much,” she said quickly. “Just a token.”

  Annabelle switched off the TV with the remote and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Can I open it now?”

  “Please do.”

  The vehemence with which Annabelle tore off the paper reminded Mallory of Jordan when he was five years old. She half expected the woman’s face to droop with disappointment when she saw what the present was. Instead, she simply looked confused by the tiny square box that was covered with seashells. She opened it, as if she thought there might be something inside, then snapped it shut again when she saw it was empty.

  “I know it’s tiny,” Mallory said apologetically, “but I suppose you could put jewelry in it. Small jewelry, anyway.”

  “Where on earth did you find something like this?”

  “I went to a store called Shell World today. It was full of things that were either made out of shells or decorated with them. Shell night-lights, shell wind chimes, shell jewelry, you name it.”

  “It was very thoughtful of you,” Annabelle assured her, placing the box on the night table. “Thanks a lot. I mean it.”

  “I was glad I found something that’s unique to Florida,” Mallory babbled. “That way, it’ll always remind you of this—”

  She stopped mid-sentence, having realized the implications of her statement just a few seconds too late. Of course Annabelle would never forget this trip. How could she, when the man with whom she’d been having an affair for years had been murdered?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Anyway, happy birthday.” She paused, trying to think of something else to say to get past the awkward moment. “That birthday cake Courtney promised never materialized, did it? I guess she forgot about it after everything that happened.”

  “It’s okay,” Annabelle insisted, her tone just a little too brusque. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need a big celebration with a lot of people making a fuss over me.”

  As she spoke, her eyes drifted over to the round table in the corner. Mallory automatically looked in the same direction. Sitting on it was a tray that looked as if it had been delivered earlier by Room Service, littered with the remains of a dinner eaten alone in a hotel room. A white linen napkin smudged with lipstick was loosely folded along one side, and a few chicken bones stuck out from beneath the silver dome that was askew on the dinner plate. A small carafe containing only a quarter-inch of red wine stood next to an empty glass.

  Sitting on the table next to the tray was a partially eaten piece of chocolate cake decorated with a single birthday candle.

  Mallory pretended she hadn’t noticed any of it. She averted her eyes and looked around the room, hoping to find something less embarrassing to focus on.

  Her eyes lit on the top of the dresser, where she noticed something that was very small yet so shiny that it glinted. It took a moment or two for her to realize it was a ring.

  Next to it was a black-and-white photograph in a silver frame. Even though it lay flat, she could see that the woman in the picture wore an old-fashioned white dress. Her dark hair was styled in a way that reminded Mallory of a 1940s Joan Crawford movie. Oddly enough, she was holding her hand toward the camera.

  Annabelle’s eyes traveled in the same direction as Mallory’s. “Oh!” she squawked.

  “What a pretty ring,” Mallory commented, wanting to smooth over Annabelle’s obvious embarrassment, even though she didn’t understand what Annabelle was embarrassed about. “Mind if I take a closer look?”

  “Be my guest,” Annabelle said woodenly.

  Glancing over at her, Mallory noticed that all the blood had drained from Annabelle’s face. Still, she picked up the ring and examined it. The intricate filigree ring was set with a large diamond, with at least half a dozen small diamonds studding the delicate strands of gold that surrounded it.

  “Wow, it’s gorgeous,” she commented. “Kind of old-fashioned, though. It’s so ornate. Rings tend to be a bit plainer these days.” She made a point of looking at Annabelle so she could gauge her reaction as she added, “Especially engagement rings.”

  There was a frantic look in Annabelle’s eyes. “It was my grandmother’s ring,” she blurted out. “That’s her in the photograph. This was taken on her wedding day, right before the ceremony.”

  Comparing the ring in her hand with the one in the picture, Mallory could see that they were indeed one and the same.

  “This ring looks pretty valuable,” she said, putting it back on the dresser.

  “I suppose it is,” Annabelle replied. “But what’s even more important than its monetary value is the fact that it’s a family heirloom.”

  “In that case, shouldn’t you keep it in the safe? There’s one in my closet and there must be one in yours.”

  “I have been,” Annabelle said defensively. “I just took it out a minute ago to look at it.”

  “I’m kind of new to this travel thing,” Mallory said in what she hoped was a conversational tone, “but wouldn’t it be better to leave something that valuable at home? It would be so easy for it to get lost. Or stolen.”

  “I’m taking excellent care of it.” As if to demonstrate, Annabelle strode over to the dresser, picked up the ring, and slid it on her finger. Mallory noted that she slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

  “Maybe I’m just cautious by nature,” Mallory said, hoping she wasn’t pushing too hard, “but I can’t help wondering why you’d bring such a valuable ring on a trip like this.”

  “I just wanted to have it with me, that’s all.” Annabelle’s voice sounded much higher than usual. “Today’s my fortieth birthday, and…and it seemed like something it would be nice to wear. As a way of celebrating such an important occasion, I mean. I don’t own that many valuable things. Or beautiful things, for that matter.”

  “Of course.” Mallory smiled, wanting to make sure she hadn’t generated any bad feeling. “My engagement ring is special to me, too. It’s funny, I hardly ever wore it when I was married. But after my husband died, I put it on and just kept it on. It was as if I wanted to remember the beginning of our relationship once it had come to an end.” Sadly, she added, “I finally took it off when I took off my wedding ring.”

  “Why did you take either of your rings off?” Annabelle asked. “Some women simply keep wearing them.”

  “I know they do,” Mallory replied. “But for me, I guess it was a way of finally acknowledging that I wasn’t actually married anymore. I had to find a way of letting go.”

  The two wo
men remained silent for a long time.

  “Well, I’d better get in the shower before the health department comes after me,” Mallory joked to lighten the mood. “Again, happy birthday, Annabelle. I hope next year’s is better.”

  As she rode the elevator to her floor, Mallory pondered the strange interaction with Annabelle.

  Why on earth would she bring a ring like that on a press trip? Mallory thought. It doesn’t make sense. Even if she was taking good care of it, there was a risk of losing it or having one of the hotel employees walk off with it. It’s not as if she ever gets dressed up. Even on Sunday night, when she showed up in the ballroom for the reception, I don’t recall her wearing it….

  Suddenly a lightbulb went on in her head.

  Of course! The reason Annabelle brought an engagement ring on this trip is that she expected to get engaged!

  Annabelle had known she’d be seeing Phil on this trip. Maybe she’d decided that it was time to change their haphazard relationship. After all, she was about to turn forty, an occasion that was enough to make any woman stop and take stock of her life. Perhaps she had hoped Phil would propose.

  But why now? Mallory wondered. If they’ve been continuing on in the same way for years, why would Phil suddenly want to get married?

  The fact that she couldn’t come up with a single reason led her to another conclusion: Annabelle had planned to propose to Phil.

  Or maybe she already had, Mallory thought. Maybe she popped the question on Sunday night, showing up for a rendezvous with that engagement ring in her purse.

  If she had proposed marriage and if Phil had said yes, chances are she would have told everyone. What newly engaged woman wouldn’t be so excited that she’d babble about it to anyone who’d listen?