Murder Packs a Suitcase

by Cynthia Baxter

  But what if she had proposed marriage early on Sunday evening and Phil had said no? What if she’d taken it a step further, giving him an ultimatum? What if she’d said “We wed or I walk” and he’d chosen option B? Wouldn’t she have reacted strongly, perhaps even by flying into a rage?

  A rage fueled by so much anger and disappointment and frustration that she killed him?

  14

  “All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.”

  —J.R.R. Tolkien

  As Mallory slipped her card key into the door of her own hotel room, she was still pondering the possibility that Annabelle had killed Phil in a fit of fury. A love affair that went awry had certainly been the motivation for more than one murder. The fact that Annabelle had gone so far as to bring an engagement ring with her on this trip struck Mallory as a pretty fair indication that the woman was determined to take their relationship to the next level. Yet it wasn’t difficult to imagine that Phil had seen their love affair in an entirely different way.

  She tossed her purse on the bed and was contemplating taking her second shower of the day when she noticed the red light on her phone was blinking.

  She froze, staring at the phone as if it was a ticking bomb.

  No, she thought. What now?

  Her heart was pounding so hard as she punched the Listen To Messages button that she felt sick. She braced herself for the sound of Detective Martinez’s voice. So when the male voice that had left the recorded message turned out not to be his, it took a few seconds for the meaning of the words to register.

  “Hey, Mallory, it’s Wade. It’s almost five, and I just got back from a trying day of research. Got a massage, sat in a sauna, drank some complimentary champagne…tough life, huh? Anyway, I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you might be interested in getting together for dinner again tonight. Give me a call. I’m in Room 718. Later!”

  She was so relieved that she wasn’t being hounded by Martinez again that after she hung up, she forgot all about Wade’s invitation. It wasn’t until she was towel-drying her hair and her eyes wandered over to the phone that she remembered.

  She was agonizing over whether or not to return his call when the phone rang again.

  This time, she wasn’t sure who she hoped was calling.

  “Hello?” she answered uncertainly.

  “Glad I caught you,” Wade said casually. “I don’t know if you got my earlier message, but I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight. I found a place that may be kitsch enough for you to write about but still sounds as if it has decent food. It’s called Bahama Breeze, and it’s just down the block. If we can get past the steel drums and all the coconut that’s undoubtedly sprinkled on everything on the menu, I think we might actually enjoy it.”

  She tried to think up an excuse. Then reminded herself there was no reason to.

  “I’d love to,” she replied.

  Two nights in a row, she thought after they made plans to meet in the lobby a half hour later. She rationalized her decision by telling herself that checking out another theme restaurant was simply part of her research. As for having dinner with a man who bore the distinction of not being on her list of suspects, the prospect was positively refreshing.

  Just as its name promised, Bahama Breeze embraced a Caribbean theme. The restaurant reminded Mallory of the estate house on a sugar plantation. The wooden building had a wraparound porch made of natural wood that segued into a deck. The outdoor seating area was illuminated by strings of white lights. Inside, banquettes upholstered in bright tropical colors lined the walls, and an energetic band played the requisite reggae tunes.

  “Let’s sit outside,” she suggested eagerly. She found the idea of dining alfresco irresistible, given the fact that back home, January was undoubtedly inflicting its usual wrath.

  “This place is confusing me,” Wade commented once they’d been seated far enough away from the band that they could hear each other speak. “I thought I was in Florida. But all of a sudden, I feel like I’m in Aruba.”

  “Then they’ve done their job,” Mallory replied. “Actually, this is the perfect sequel to last night’s dinner. That one demonstrated the ‘before,’ when pirates ruled the Caribbean islands. This one shows the ‘after,’ how it is today.”

  “Right. Now that the Royal Caribbean cruise line rules them.”

  Mallory laughed. She realized she did that a lot when Wade was around. And that it was something she hadn’t been doing enough before coming to Florida.

  In fact, she was amazed at how much was changing. This trip was forcing her to do so many different things. Renting a car and finding her way in a new and unfamiliar place, making decisions about where to go and when to get there, recording her impressions so she’d be able to write an article that other people would look to for guidance…She felt as if she was doing new kinds of exercise that utilized muscles she hadn’t even realized she had. But afterward, instead of feeling sore, she felt stronger and more energized.

  Of course, she couldn’t say the same for some of the other new things she was experiencing, like being interrogated by a homicide detective and taking late-night trips to the police station. But at the moment, thanks to the pulsating music and the festive lights and the congenial company, she felt as if she’d even find a way of solving that crisis.

  “So what looks good?” Wade asked, skimming the menu. “Aside from the woman sitting opposite me, that is.”

  Alarm bells immediately began clanging in Mallory’s head. He’s flirting! she thought, the feeling of serenity she’d experienced only moments before slipping away. And now I’m supposed to come back with some equally flirtatious reply….

  “The signature drink sounds good,” she mumbled, burying her face in the menu. “The Bahamarita.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wade’s expression change. Whether it became one of disappointment or amusement, she couldn’t say.

  “Kiwi, mango, strawberry…seems a little sweet for my tastes,” he replied, letting her off the hook. “I think I’ll try the Mojito Cubano. Rum with spearmint and lime sounds more to my liking.”

  After they’d ordered their drinks, he asked, “So how’s your research going?”

  “Surprisingly well,” Mallory replied. “I must admit, I’m really getting a kick out of all the ‘old Florida’ attractions I’ve been visiting. I expected them to be cheesy, but they’re turning out to be much more polished than I expected. And at least as much fun as the theme parks.”

  “Don’t tell me. You actually enjoyed yesterday’s trip to the alligator farm?”

  She laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I was really impressed by Gatorland. It’s more a preserve than one of those tacky old tourist traps from the old days. They seem to take really good care of the animals. The Titanic exhibit was also a lot more tasteful than I expected—at least, aside from the giant iceberg that’s on display.”

  “Talk about weapons of mass destruction,” Wade commented.

  “Exactly. I also visited the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Orlando Odditorium. That was fun, once you got past the creepy stuff, although much of it reminded me of a carnival. Funny mirrors, optical illusions, that kind of thing. Still, by the time I reached the end, I felt I’d gotten my money’s worth.”

  “And don’t forget the pirates,” Wade teased. “No vacation is complete without a few pirates.”

  “That’s what they say. And you’re right: I enjoyed that, too.”

  “I’d like to think I had at least a little to do with it.”

  There he was, flirting again.

  “What do you have on the schedule for tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Would you believe a place called Dinosaur World? My plan is to go there late in the morning, since I have an errand to run first.”

  “Dinosaurs, huh? Sounds like you might need some protection. Would it be okay if I invited myself along?”

  Mallory blinked. Dinner, even tw
o nights in a row, was one thing. After all, she and Wade were both spending a few days in a place where they didn’t know anyone besides the other writers on the trip. Everyone got hungry, and most people preferred to have someone to talk to in a restaurant. But offering to come along on a sightseeing expedition that was likely to consist of nothing more interesting than wandering around a park, looking at a bunch of fake dinosaurs…that was something else entirely.

  In fact, it could only mean one thing: that this man was pursuing her. She didn’t know whether to feel pleased or terrified.

  “Sure, why not?” Mallory replied, trying to sound blasé. “I’d enjoy the company.”

  She was glad their waiter appeared just then, depositing tall frosty drinks in front of them. She took a sip, hoping hers was heavier on the mango and kiwi than it was on the alcohol.

  “What about your research?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m having a better time than I thought I would,” Wade said. “I mainly came down here because I wanted to get away for a few days. I didn’t really think about where I was going—just where I wasn’t going to be, which was Toronto in January. But I’ve come to realize that travel writers have a really good thing going. Spa treatments, fabulous meals, luxury hotels—and it’s all comped. Not a bad way to make a living.”

  “This trip has been an eye-opening experience for me, too,” Mallory agreed. “And most of it’s been great—aside from Phil’s murder, that is.”

  She decided not to admit that while finding Phil’s dead body floating in a pool of water had been traumatic, it paled beside being considered a murder suspect by the homicide detective investigating the case. As far as she knew, Wade had no inkling of that.

  In fact, she didn’t think any of the other writers on the trip had any idea of what had gone on in her second interview with Detective Martinez the night of Phil’s murder. Similarly, they knew nothing about the clippings about her and her husband that had turned up in his hotel room. The last thing she wanted was for that knowledge to spread—especially since she was trying to get whatever information she could out of them.

  “Have you heard any more about the murder?” Wade asked, supporting her belief that he was still in the dark about her role in all this. “Since Sunday night, I mean?”

  “No,” Mallory lied. “But of course everyone’s been talking about it. It turns out that both Annabelle and Frieda knew him fairly well. From going on other travel junkets with him, I mean.”

  “Do they have any theories about who might have killed him?”

  Mallory hesitated, wondering if she should confide in him, after all. But she quickly decided she had nothing to gain.

  “The one thing everyone seems to agree on is that Phil wasn’t exactly a popular guy,” she finally said.

  Wade nodded. “His work ethic certainly didn’t make him popular with me.”

  Mallory’s ears immediately pricked up. “What do you mean? You make it sound as if you worked with him.”

  “Actually, he worked for me.”

  She just stared. This was the first she’d heard about Wade having any sort of past relationship with the murder victim.

  “When was that?” she asked casually.

  “A few years ago. Four, maybe five. I was managing editor at a magazine called On the Road. And I got royally screwed by Phil, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

  “What happened?”

  “I hired him to do a freelance assignment. It was a long one, a comprehensive piece on Route 66. You know, the highway that runs from Chicago to L.A. It’s not marked on maps anymore, yet it still has a mystique about it. That’s probably due at least in part to the old television show from the 1960s.

  “Anyway, I gave Phil a long lead time. I seem to recall it was something like three months. Once the deadline started getting close, I tried to get in touch with him to make sure he was going to get it in on time. For weeks he didn’t return my phone calls or respond to my e-mails. Then, once I finally did manage to get him on the phone, he swore up and down that he’d make his deadline.” He shrugged. “At that point, I had no reason to doubt that he’d follow through.”

  “I take it that didn’t happen?”

  “Nope. The deadline rolled around and I still hadn’t received a single word from him. I tried calling him, I tried e-mailing him, but he seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I stayed up all night, throwing together some piece of garbage that would fill the magazine’s empty pages.” Smiling coldly, he added, “Needless to say, after that, Phil Diamond never got another assignment from me.”

  “Who could blame you?” Mallory said.

  But she was thinking something else entirely.

  For the first time since Sunday night, Mallory found herself considering the appalling possibility that Wade had murdered Phil. Could past interactions between the two men have been Wade’s motivation? It certainly seemed unlikely. Still, she wasn’t prepared to rule out any possibility. Not when the list of suspects was so limited.

  Aside from her shock over learning that Wade was one more person who had had a bad experience with Phil, her head was spinning for an entirely different reason. Here she’d let down her guard with Wade and had really started to like him. To trust him, too. Yet she suddenly realized she didn’t know him at all—and that she couldn’t rule out the possibility that there was a lot more to his past with Phil Diamond than he’d admitted to.

  She was actually relieved when her cell phone began to trill.

  “It’s one of my kids,” she said, glancing at the screen. “I’d better get this.”

  “Of course. Do you want privacy?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t be long.”

  “Hi, sweetie,” she answered, using a name either one of her children would answer to.

  “Hey, Mom. How’s it going down in Florida?”

  Jordan. She was surprised by how pleased she was to hear her son’s voice. “It’s going just fine,” she replied. “How are things with you? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just…I’ve been thinking. Having Amanda in my face for the past few days has got me doing a little soul searching of my own.” Jokingly he added, “It’s hard not to when you suddenly find yourself living with Dr. Phil.”

  Not another identity crisis, she thought with dismay.

  “Mom, I’ve decided to go back to Colgate.”

  Mallory gasped. “That’s great, Jordan! I’m so pleased. I really think returning to school in the fall is exactly what you should do.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of going back second semester,” he said. “I called the admissions department to see what it would take to get reinstated. Classes start the week after next. I’m waiting to hear back.”

  “Honey, I couldn’t be happier.”

  “Sounds like good news,” Wade observed after she’d hung up.

  “The best.” She let out a loud sigh of relief. “I guess my son finally got tired of hanging around the house, doing nothing. Or maybe with his sister, Amanda, there, his days of leisure finally came to an end. I can imagine her writing up a list of rules and regulations and posting it on the refrigerator.

  “Whatever’s responsible for his change of heart, I couldn’t be more pleased. I know he’s been having a rough time since his father died, but dropping out of school—dropping out of society—certainly isn’t the answer. I’m glad he’s finally got his sense of direction back.”

  Her cell phone trilled again. Mallory assumed Jordan was calling back to add a postscript to his announcement. She glanced at Wade apologetically, but he just shrugged.

  “Yes, Jordan?” she answered her phone.

  “Mallory? Trevor Pierce.”

  Busted, she thought, panicking. Now, this is a call I’d have preferred to take in private.

  Actually, she would have preferred not to take it at all. But she’d been caught.

  “Trevor! What a
nice surprise.” Catching Wade’s eye, she mouthed the words It’s my editor.

  “Mallory, I expect my writers to act like professionals!” Trevor thundered. “When I call someone who’s on assignment, I need to hear back as soon as possible. I’ve been leaving messages on your cell phone for two days. Don’t you ever check them? Do you have any idea how irresponsible it is to disappear like that—especially given what I’ve been hearing in the news?”

  She was about to apologize when he added, “Hell, Mallory, I’ve been worried sick about you!”

  His earnestness caught her completely off guard. She wasn’t surprised he was reading her the riot act. But sounding as if he was truly concerned about her well-being was something else entirely.

  “I’m sorry, Trevor,” she said sincerely. “I was trying not to worry you, but apparently I ended up doing the opposite.”

  “Just tell me that you’re all right,” he demanded.

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you want to change your ticket and fly back up here—”

  “No,” she assured him. “I’m fine, Trevor. Really.”

  That, plus I’ve been warned not to leave the state, she thought ruefully.

  “Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do to help,” Trevor persisted. “No magazine article is that important. For God’s sake, Mallory, we’re talking about a murder!”

  “Honestly, Trevor,” she insisted, “I can take care of myself.”

  While she wished she believed that claim herself, at the moment it was much more important to her that he believe it.

  “I know you can,” he said, all the fire suddenly gone from his voice. “It’s just that it’s hard for me to get past the fact I sent you down to a place where there’s a killer on the loose.”

  And the police think it might even be me.

  “Besides, you’re all alone down there,” Trevor added.

  “Not exactly,” she said, eyeing Wade. “There are other writers on the trip, after all.”

  “I know, but they’re strangers.”