Mary Ellen Hughes - Maggie Olenski 01 - Resort to Murder

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Dyna! Where were you?”

  “I got locked in!”

  “Locked in where?”

  “The rest room.” Dyna put her hands on her knees and took several deep breaths. Then she flipped her hair out of her face and continued. “I saw those kids going with their mother for a lesson with Rob, so I knew you’d be okay for a while. I really had to go - all that water I drank ‘cause it was so hot - so I ran over to the sports center and figured I’d be back before you were ready to leave.”

  “Well you weren’t. I thought you’d left without me.”

  “Maggie, I wouldn’t do that!” Dyna looked so hurt that Maggie immediately regretted her angry tone.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just jittery because of that creep.” Maggie looked in the direction Eric had gone, but there was no sign of him.

  “What creep? Who was here? Were you in trouble?”

  Maggie told her about Eric, downplaying the fear she had felt at first and relating what he had told her about Rob.

  “Oh my gosh. That sounds pretty bad. Is it true?”

  “I don’t know yet. Rob was evasive when I asked him about Wimbledon. But this Eric doesn’t strike me as a sterling source of information. Maybe I can check it out.” Maggie looked over at her friend. “But what about you? What did you mean about being locked in the rest room?”

  “Maggie, it was weird.” Dyna ran her fingers through her already wild hair. “I went into the sports shop to use the ladies’ room, like I said. The door was kinda hard to pull open, like it was warped or something, you know? Anyway, I know I didn’t pull it closed real tight, ‘cause it wasn’t a one-person rest room, but had stalls, so I didn’t have to lock it or anything. So I’m sure I just pulled it closed enough to stay shut.

  “Well, when I was drying my hands with one of those air driers, I thought I heard a something, but I wasn’t sure ‘cause those things make such a noise right in your face, you know, blowing all that air. And when I tried to leave, I couldn’t open the door! It was jammed shut, and I couldn’t push it open!”

  Maggie wasn’t sure if she wanted to gasp or laugh from the picture Dyna was drawing her, but she asked, “How did you finally get out?”

  “Well, after pushing and kicking at it and getting nowhere, I started hollering. Finally, these two guys walked into the shop to get a court, I guess, and heard me. They managed to pull the door open. Talk about embarrassing!”

  “So it wasn’t actually locked, then?”

  “No, but just as good as.”

  “And you’re sure you didn’t pull it tight yourself?”

  “Maggie, there was no way I could have done that. Honest. Besides, I was in a hurry, remember?”

  Maggie smiled. “I know. I’m just trying to eliminate all other possibilities.”

  “All other possibilities except what?”

  “That our friend Eric made sure you were, as he said, `held up’.”

  “But why? Why would he do such a thing? It seems such an adolescent kind of thing to do.”

  “Well, he didn’t strike me as a model of maturity, but he might have wanted to make sure I was alone.”

  “Maggie!” Dyna looked at her, her eyes wide.

  “To find me alone to talk to me, since that’s what he did. But then, maybe he didn’t think you’d be along so quickly. Maybe,” Maggie looked in the direction Eric had disappeared in the woods and rubbed at the goose bumps that had formed on her arm, “just maybe he had other plans too.”

  Maggie and Dyna walked out of the woods, Dyna keeping up a steady stream of questions that Maggie couldn’t answer but which she knew must be coming from Dyna’s store of nervous energy. Maggie still felt on edge herself.

  As they walked across the expanse of lawn and came closer to the hotel, Maggie caught sight of a man dressed in the same kind of work uniform Eric had been. He was pruning a row of hedges. Maggie veered towards him and shushed Dyna’s chatter with a raised hand.

  “Just a sec’. I want to ask this man something.”

  The workman looked over at their approach and nodded, but continued pruning.

  “Excuse me,” Maggie said as she came closer.

  He lowered his shears and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He was tall and sinewy, probably in his forties, and he smiled a patient, polite smile.

  “Yes, ma’m?”

  “I just ran into a man near the tennis courts, about my age, dressed in a Highview uniform like yours with the name `Eric’ stitched on the pocket. Do you happen to know him?”

  “Was he chewin’ on a toothpick?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then it’s Eric Semple. He was s’posed to be doing the job I’m doing right now. So that’s where he was.”

  The thick eyebrows on the man bunched together in an angry scowl. Maggie saw the name on his pocket was `Jack’.

  “Was there any problem?” he asked.

  “No, not really. It’s just that running into anyone in those woods now can be unnerving. I wanted to make sure he really worked here.”

  “Well, he’s been hired. Whether he actually works is something else. If management would let me hire my own workers I could get a damn sight more done around here. Well, anyway, yes Eric is employed here, but Miss, I’d keep my distance from him if I were you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Just keep your distance, that’s all. Now, excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” Jack picked up his pruning shears and walked away from Maggie and Dyna. He called out orders to another worker who was spreading mulch around newly planted shrubs. “Put it on a couple inches thicker, Cal.” Then he turned behind a clump of tall Rhododendrons and disappeared.

  Maggie and Dyna looked at each other.

  “Well there go my plans for dinner and dancing tonight,” Maggie deadpanned.

  Dyna’s jaw started to drop but then she grinned. “Jack sure has a low opinion of Eric, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, which confirms my own impression. Let’s get back to our rooms. Creep though he may be, we still don’t know if Eric made up that whole story about Rob. If I can reach a certain person on the phone, I might be able to find out.”

  Back in her room Maggie took a quick shower, then placed a call to her friend Elizabeth Drury. Liz ran the school library at McHenry, and Maggie hoped she wouldn’t mind doing a little research for her.

  “Love to, Maggie,” Liz sang out in her loud, non-librarian voice. “Here I thought all I’d be doing all summer is sending out overdue notices to the book thieves of McHenry High. You’ve made my day. Want to tell me what it’s all about?”

  “Can you wait on that, Liz? It might be important, or I might just be poking into someone’s private business. I don’t know, yet.”

  “Oooh, how mysterious. Maggie Olenski, private eye. Well, give me those names and dates and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “Thanks a million, Liz. Next time you need figures checked for your budget report, I’m your woman.” She gave Liz the pertinent information, and hung up, crossing her fingers that the librarian would have good luck.

  She was still looking at the phone thoughtfully when she heard a soft knock on her door. Maggie walked over, but instead of immediately opening the door as she normally would have, she peeked cautiously through the peep hole. It was Holly, the waitress she had talked with at the bar. Maggie lifted the chain and let her in.

  “Hi. I saw you come back. I’ve been waiting to give you something.” Holly held out a slim, black, hard covered book, about six by ten inches. She seemed uneasy.

  “What is it?” Maggie asked, taking it from her.

  “It’s Lori’s. She used to write in it once in a while, when things were slow. I found it in the kitchen, mixed in with some trays. She must have put it there in a hurry one time, and it got shoved back.” Holly put a fingernail to her teeth and began to nibble.

  “Holly, you should give this to the sheriff. This could be very important.”

  “I know. But, I thought maybe
you could give it to him? You seem kinda involved in this, what with knowing Lori and finding her body and all. I mean, you care about her, so you’ll see something is done about this. That’s why I’m not just passing it on to someone here. And I could give to the sheriff, but…” Holly looked at her with a crooked smile, “well, I’d just as soon keep my distance, if you know what I mean. There was something, well, it was years ago and it was just stupid trouble kids get into, you know, but still….”

  “Well, sure, then. I’ll take it to him.”

  “Thanks.” Holly looked relieved and turned to leave.

  “Can you stay a minute? There’s a couple things I’d like to ask you.”

  Holly looked at her watch and shrugged. I’ve got some time I guess before old Crawford sends someone looking for me.”

  “Good. I was wondering how long Rob has been here at the hotel. Do you know?”

  “Working here? Jeez, let me see. I’ve been here two years. He was here when I came, and I think he had started about three months before that. Yeah, I remember someone telling me he came in March for the spring season.”

  “And that girl you told me about? She died when?”

  “September, that year.”

  “So Rob would have known her?”

  “Yeah.” Holly looked at her curiously. “Why?”

  “Do you think he knew her well? I’m wondering if there could have been any connection between Rob and this girl’s death.”

  “Ohmigosh! Rob? No, there couldn’t have been any connection. She was going with some other guy. Remember, I said she was going to get married?” Holly frowned. “But now that I think of it….”

  “Yes? What?”

  “Well, it’s not that much of a connection, but she did play tennis once in a while. She might have taken lessons – I don’t know for sure. But they said she died from an overdose of pills. She wouldn’t have done that over a bad serve!”

  “Of course not. But you said you didn’t believe she killed herself, didn’t you? If not, someone else did.”

  “You think Rob did?”

  “I don’t think anything yet. I’m just asking questions. And please don’t mention this to anyone, okay? I don’t want to start rumors.”

  “Yeah, sure. But how about I ask around a little, see if anyone else knows if Rob had much to do with her?”

  “That’d be great, but do it as quietly as you can. Oh, one other thing,” Maggie put her hand on the younger woman’s arm as she turned towards the door. “I met someone on the grounds today who works here. His name is Eric. Do you know him?”

  “Eric Semple? Dark hair, not bad looking, about this tall?” Holly held her hand several inches above her head.

  Maggie nodded.

  “Sure, I know him. Works in maintenance.” Holly glanced at her watch and opened Maggie’s door, looking out carefully in both directions. “He’s okay.” She stepped out, then grinned. “Kind of a goof-off. He got his job here, of course, because he’s her son.”

  “Her? Who do you mean?”

  “Burnelle. You know. I saw her come up here. The housekeeping supervisor who brought your dinner that first night.” Holly lifted her hand in farewell, grinned, and scurried down the hall.

  ***

  CHAPTER 12

  Maggie stood and stared down the hallway after Holly, then closed the door. Eric Semple, that smirky, toothpick-chewer who trapped women in rest rooms, was related to Burnelle, the friendly, conscientious housekeeper who disapproved of young ladies touching alcohol? And not just related, but her son? Maggie’s mind grappled with the concept.

  Her immediate reaction was a feeling of sympathy for the woman. She was obviously hard-working and self-disciplined. Apparently Burnelle had been instrumental in getting Eric his job here. That might be what the gardener, Jack, referred to when he complained about his lack of control in hiring helpers.

  Maggie wondered how many other jobs Eric might have gone through before coming to work at the same place as his mother. The two just didn’t fit together. It was like trying to imagine Clara Barton as having raised Billy the Kid.

  Maggie’s thoughts turned to her own mother, of their own relationship. Who would someone compare them to? They were certainly two very different people, from different worlds, who sometimes spoke the same words that often came out with opposite meanings. Human offspring obviously were not clones of their parents. At least, not yet.

  Maggie shook her head, then remembered the book Holly had brought, and which she still held in her hands. She knew that legally she should immediately turn it over to the authorities. But there might be much she could learn from it. Surely it wouldn’t matter waiting a few hours? Having rationalized the situation to her satisfaction, Maggie opened the book up and started to read, walking over and sinking slowly into the soft chair near the window of her room.

  It was a lined and columned, accounting-type book Lori had apparently decided to use as her personal journal. The first few pages were filled with poems copied in longhand. Maggie recognized one or two from the high school English curriculum. Mac, her office partner, had quoted them often enough for them to stick in her memory.

  These were followed by what seemed to be Lori’s attempt at writing poetry. Many words and whole lines had been crossed out, but Maggie could piece them together well enough. They were the usual, romantic, idealistic thoughts of a young college girl, but one or two lines touched Maggie. She could see how Lori had matured from the fifteen year-old she had once tutored.

  The poetry changed to prose. Lori began putting down her thoughts, apparently near the end of her last semester in college. Random and unconnected, they appeared to have been written quickly.

  “Wish I had spent more time on philosophy - it’s just starting to click and I really like it now. Is it too late?”

  “Steph wants to fix me up with her boyfriend’s brother for Saturday night. I told her no and I’m afraid she’s a little mad. I wish people would stop trying to fix me up. I just can’t seem to get interested in any of the guys I’ve met so far. I don’t know why, exactly. They just seem so young.”

  Soon came comments on starting work at the Highview. Maggie read about Lori’s excitement at getting the job, then her anxiety just before starting. Lori mentioned a few names of other waitresses - including Holly’s - and wrote about the brief training period. Maggie flipped pages until she came to the last entry. There was no date, and no indication - to Maggie’s disappointment - that Lori planned to meet someone. It could have been written on her last day of life or weeks earlier.

  “We talked again today. He seemed pretty down, and I couldn’t shake him out of it. I really wish I could help, but I’m racking my brains and can’t figure out how yet. Maybe just moral support. He needs to make the change.”

  Maggie’s breath quickened, and she searched several preceding pages for a name to connect with “him”. She found none. Suddenly the phone rang, and Maggie jumped, then grabbed at it.

  “Maggie?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s me, Dyna. Are you OK? You sound funny.”

  “I’m all right, Dyna. I was just reading something. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to tell you to go on to dinner without me. I’ve got a rotten headache, so I’m going to hang around here the rest of the night.”

  “That’s too bad. Can I get you something for it?”

  “No, I avoid medications whenever possible. I’m just going to do some deep breathing exercises, some chanting, and try to meditate.”

  Maggie smiled, thinking that popping a simple aspirin might save a whole lot of time and effort, then shrugged. Whatever works.

  “I hope you feel better, Dyna. Maybe being out in that hot sun today brought it on.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I think letting myself get so shook up in the ladies’ room kinda upset my karma, too. That’s why I need to calm down.”

  Time to hang up. “Well, good luck. I’ll see you in the morning.” Maggie put down the
phone and looked out the window. Dyna’s mention of dinner had surprised her. She hadn’t realized it was getting that late. But the long shadows outside, as well as the empty feeling in her stomach convinced her.

  She opened her suitcase and slipped in the black book, then locked it. She glanced in the mirror and decided the walking shorts and blouse she had on would do. The Highview was not a dress-for-dinner kind of place. A touch of lipstick and a quick fluff of her hair with the brush, and she was soon out her door, locking it behind her.

  Maggie looked around the dining room, which was pleasantly decorated in shades of tan and amber, framed watercolors and soft lighting, and chose a small table next to the window. Only a few scattered tables still had diners. She was studying the menu when a voice interrupted her. A thin, middle-aged woman had stopped beside her.

  “Hello, dear. How are you?” The question was clearly more than just a polite greeting, and Maggie recognized the woman who had been practicing on the next court when they found Lori. She had a look of motherly concern on her face. Maggie smiled.

  “I’m fine. It’s nice of you to ask.”

  The woman introduced herself and the man who now stood beside her as Charlotte and Don McManus.

  “I wish I had known you were going to dine here tonight. We would have been so glad for you to join us,” she said.

  “That would have been great, but I’m okay, really,” Maggie said. But after they left, she was more conscious of her alone-ness. She ordered dinner, then, needing to do something other than gaze at the walls or the other diners, pulled out a paper and pencil and started doodling. She soon found herself sketching a small square, dividing it into nine parts, and filling it slowly with numbers. She was making a “magic” square, a square with differing numbers whose total in any direction - as well as diagonal if you were good - was always the same.

  As she worked, her mother’s voice crept into her head, exclaiming, as she often did, over Maggie’s curious pastimes. “Where you got your head for numbers, I don’t know. Your father and I need the calculator for anything at the bakery, and we still sometimes mess up.” Then a warning followed, one that Maggie heard many times and which still irritated her. “Don’t let your boyfriends see you doing that. You’ll scare them away.” Maggie knew her mother only echoed attitudes that had been drummed into her as a girl. ‘Don’t seem too smart. Let the man do all the talking. Hang on his every word.’ Maggie felt she was enough of a woman of her own generation to let most of that just roll off of her. But it still grated on her. She wished her mother could just be proud of her daughter’s brightness instead of worrying that it made her somehow unapproachable.