Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf)

by Drop-Dead Blonde (epub)

  I closed my eyes and was just drifting off to sleep when my intuition buzzed loudly in my head. Annoyed, I ignored it and squeezed my eyelids tightly closed. Buzzzzzzzz! it called again. Buzzzzz! Buzzzzzz! Buzzzz! my intuition demanded.

  What?! I shouted inside my head, thoroughly annoyed.

  Go find Millicent!

  You've got to be kidding me, I said in my head.

  Go Find Millicent! my intuition shouted.

  ``Crap,'' I said aloud, and rolled to a sitting position, the urgent feeling to run down to the lobby and find Millicent pushing my exhausted frame off the bed.

  In the dark I fumbled for my sandals, shoving them on, then stumbled toward the door, remembering to grab the BLIND SIGHTED 287 card key. Quietly I made my way out the door and down the corridor to the elevator.

  The hotel was oddly quite at this time of night, a stillness settling over the building that seemed strange given the level of activity that I'd observed over the course of the day. Groggy with exhaustion, I pushed the elevator's ``down'' button and waited with my head resting against the wall. I was going to give my guides what-for if this turned out to be a false alarm. When the doors finally opened and I got in, I felt the tug again to find Millicent quickly. The urge was filled with intense alarm, and it sent a small jolt of adrenaline through me, waking me like a double shot of espresso.

  By the time the elevator reached the lobby my foot was tapping anxiously on the floor, and even before the doors had opened wide enough I'd pushed my way out, glancing quickly around for any sign of Millicent. I rushed through the entrance hall looking this way and that, taking in that the room was empty and no clerk was sitting at the front desk. I darted around the side of the lobby, heading down the left corridor, in the direction of the beach.

  Just as I got to the French double doors leading to the beach I felt an intuitive tug to go to my right but ignored it, my anxiousness to find Millicent pushing me to move quickly. I shoved open the doors and found myself on a small patio that led to a set of stairs winding down to the beach. I paused on the patio, swiveling my head left and right, scanning the beach for any sign of Millicent. Luckily, a full moon hung brightly over the gulf, illuminating the sand in silvery shadow, but as I squinted into the distance, searching for Millicent's small, bent frame, I couldn't see anyone making their way along the water's edge.

  The longer I stood there the more anxious I became. What if I'd come too late? What if she had fallen into the water and the tide had taken her? Quickly I rushed down the stairs, but with each step I had the feeling I was going in the wrong direction. Again I paused at the bottom and searched the beach with my eyes, trying to see any move- ment in the darkness.

  Anxiously, I took two hurried steps forward, when all of the sudden a bloodcurdling scream pierced the darkness 288 Victoria Laurie like a knife. I jumped three feet at the sound and screamed a little myself, scared silly by the noise.

  The outburst had come from behind me, up the stairs and to the right of the way I'd come. Without pause, I scrambled back up the stairs and tore back through the double doors. Instinctively I knew who had screamed, and I was in a complete panic to rush to Millicent's aid.

  As I burst through the entrance, however, I nearly crashed headlong into her, and stopped just in time to catch her as she fell into my arms, white with fright and covered in blood. With shaking limbs I lowered her carefully down to the ground, searching for the wound that was bleeding so profusely.

  ``Millicent!'' I said to her huge eyes and pale face, ``tell me where you're hurt!''

  ``Oh, God!'' Millicent moaned, and crossed her arms over her chest protectively. She was visibly shaking, and this only intensified my fear.

  ``Millicent,'' I said again, trying to lower my voice into a tone of forced calm, as I began to feel along her arms and body, looking for the source of the blood. ``Look at me, honey! Tell me where you're hurt!'' I pleaded.

  Just then I was joined by a wild-eyed night clerk, who looked like he'd just been jolted awake trying to compre- hend that he wasn't still dreaming. As he reached us he quickly bent down and asked in a shaky voice, ``What happened?''

  ``I don't know yet, but we need to call for an ambu- lance--''

  ``She's . . . she's . . . she's . . .'' Millicent interrupted as she pointed behind her with one bony, shaking finger.

  ``What, honey?'' I asked, wanting to keep her talking and thinking it was a good sign that she was still conscious.

  `` . . . dead!'' she gasped, and the night clerk and I both stared first at her, then at each other, and finally in the direction Millicent was still pointing.

  ``What?'' I asked, a chill growing at the base of my neck and working its way down my spine. ``What did you say?''

  ``Out there,'' Millicent said, swallowing hard and trying desperately to collect herself. ``She's dead out there. . . .''

  I looked again in the direction Millicent was pointing and suddenly noticed the dark splotches of red on the tiled floor BLIND SIGHTED 289 leading from the pool and marking Millicent's footsteps to my arms.

  I turned to the night clerk and barked, ``Call nine-one- one!''

  The clerk--a kid really, probably not a day over nine- teen--didn't move, but stood stock-still as he stared trans- fixed by the red footsteps leading from the pool.

  ``Yo!'' I shouted into his ear, jolting him to look at me. ``Go call nine-one-one!''

  This time the command spurred him to action as he jumped up and ran back to the check-in counter.

  Gingerly I got Millicent to her feet, then carefully moved her over to the couch and sat her down. I swallowed hard as I looked at her pale face and blood-soaked clothes; then, carefully, I asked, ``Millicent, how did you get so covered in blood?''

  Millicent was looking toward the door she'd just come out of, her eyes out of focus as the memory of what had happened out by the pool played behind her eyes. Finally she swallowed hard, and in a voice clogged with emotion she said, ``After I left your room I figured it probably wasn't a good idea to wander out to the beach by myself, so I settled for a walk by the pool. You can see the beach from there, and I didn't think I could get into trouble if I went that way instead.''

  While she unfolded her story, I patted her on the back reassuringly, nodding my head and encouraging her to go on. She continued after a moment: ``So I was walking around the deck and looking out at the gulf when it happened. . . .''

  ``What?'' I asked, when her voice trailed off, my own voice low with anticipation.

  ``I tripped over her,'' Millicent said simply, still looking toward the pool.

  ``You tripped over who?'' I asked, following her gaze.

  ``Celeste Ballentine. She's been stabbed.''

  My jaw dropped, and I sucked in a breath of surprise. For some reason the message I'd given Celeste at the air- port about getting back on the plane she'd come in on came rushing back to my memory, and, following that, I remembered how I'd mentioned something about a be- trayal and that she would be stabbed in the back if she 290 Victoria Laurie wasn't careful. It occurred to me then that Celeste, though injured, might still be alive. Feeling stupid for sitting with Millicent when Celeste might need some form of CPR, I jumped up and moved quickly to the pool door.

  ``Abby? Where are you going?'' Millicent called urgently after me.

  ``If she's hurt then maybe there's something I can do for her,'' I said as I shoved the pool deck entrance open. As the door swung shut behind me I could hear a muffled call from Millicent that sounded like, ``No, it's too late!'' but I had to make sure for myself.

  On the other side of the entrance I paused for a moment as I slowly scanned the pool deck, following with my eyes the trail of bloody footprints made by Millicent's hasty, retreat when I finally spotted her. Even in the dark it was possible to tell Celeste Ballentine was already dead, and no amount of CPR was going to help her.

  Carefully I picked my way through the lounge chairs and over to within three feet of her, and as I squatted down my face scrunched u
p in distaste as a small amount of bile bubbled up to my throat in reaction to the horror of the scene.

  Celeste lay on her stomach in an enormous pool of blood that nearly encircled her. Her face was obscured by a tousle of platinum-blond hair that was half-caked with drying blood, and the knife used to kill her remained sickeningly lodged out of the middle of her back. I wanted to check for a pulse, but thought better of it because I couldn't bring myself to touch her. Judging by tremendous amount of blood, and the fact that some of it had already dried in the night air, she couldn't possibly still be alive. I settled in- stead for watching her bloody back to see if there was even the slightest rise and fall, but nothing moved, and that was somehow more disturbing than the scene itself.

  I wanted to leave but hesitated for a moment, leaning in just a little closer as morbid curiosity got the best of me. I saw that the back of Celeste's shirt was ripped in several places, and it appeared she had more than a dozen stab wounds peppering her upper back and lower neck.

  About then, it dawned on me that I could be contaminat- ing a crime scene, so quickly I retraced my steps, making my way back to the lobby, when the night clerk rounded BLIND SIGHTED 291 the corner and announced, ``Police and an ambulance are on the way.''

  I nodded to the clerk as I again took my seat beside Millicent, picking up her hand and squeezing it with a pained smile. ``Thank you, uh . . . Bradley,'' I said scanning his rumpled shirt for a name tag. ``Do you think you could possibly get us a towel and some water so that I can help Millicent, here, clean up a bit?''

  Millicent smiled gratefully at me, the color just beginning to return to her cheeks, as Bradley darted off to find the requested towel and water.

  ``Did you see her?'' Millicent asked.

  I nodded and squeezed her hand again. ``Yes. I didn't touch her, but you were right: There's nothing we can do for her now.''

  Millicent sighed heavily. ``Poor woman. She was a real bitch, of course, but no one should go like that. . . .''

  Millicent's direct observation made me smirk in spite of the dire situation, and I nudged her lightly with my shoul- der. ``You're a pretty cool cucumber, aren't you, Millicent?''

  Millicent smiled slyly and replied, ``Well, it's the truth.''

  I sighed myself and said, ``Yeah, I suppose you're right. . . .''

  A few moments later Bradley returned with a moist towel and a glass of water, and at the same time we heard the distant sound of sirens approaching. Quickly I used the wet towel on Millicent's hands and face, wiping off as much blood as I could while my stomach squirmed at the sight of so much red.

  ``Thank you, Abby,'' she said when I was finished.

  I didn't get a chance to say, ``You're welcome,'' because in the next moment the revolving door at the hotel's en- trance burst to life as several sheriff's deputies and two paramedics came rushing into the lobby. For some reason everyone approached me instead of the night clerk, who seemed only too happy to relinquish the details to me. A tall deputy in army-green sheriff's uniform stopped in front of us and bent down, eyeing Millicent but looking to me for answers. ``What seems to be going on here?'' he asked in a voice rubbed raw by cigarettes.

  ``This is Millicent Satchel,'' I began calmly, the idea that 292 Victoria Laurie I just needed to state the facts forcing me to keep my cool. ``She was having trouble sleeping tonight and decided to take a stroll around the pool. When she was at the far end she tripped in the dark over someone who has apparently been murdered--''

  ``What's that?'' the deputy asked sharply, already looking toward the door to the pool. ``You say someone's been murdered?''

  ``Yes. Celeste Ballentine has been stabbed to death out by the pool, and Millicent tripped over her body as she was taking her walk--''

  The deputy stood up abruptly, interrupting my statement as he moved quickly to the door of the pool. The other two deputies fell in behind, flanking him, and each took up a position on either side. Looking back at us, the first dep- uty asked Millicent, ``Ma'am, do you know if the assailant is still out there?''

  Millicent immediately tensed, her shoulders shaking slightly, and I knew what she was thinking even as the same thought sent similar shivers down my own spine. What if the killer was still out by the pool? Could both of us have passed right by him and never even known it?

  ``I . . . uh . . . I don't know, Deputy,'' Millicent said in a trembling stutter. ``I only saw Celeste, and everything else is just a blur.''

  The deputy looked to his two companions and motioned them silently to follow him in. The three of them drew their guns simultaneously and eased their way through the door, leaving us to wait anxiously for their return.

  Quicker than I would have expected they were back in the lobby, and the first deputy raised the walkie-talkie attached to his lapel and said, ``Dispatch, this is Unit 651. We're here at the Seacoast Inn, and we're going to need Detective Stokes and CSI out here ASAP. . . .''

  The next several hours were a complete blur of move- ment, questions, and activity. Detective Stokes was a woman, Wanda Stokes, who was short, with sandy-blond hair and a tough-as-nails attitude. She had a thick bor- oughish accent that made me guess she probably hailed from parts much farther northeast than Florida. She was BLIND SIGHTED 293 also quite good at getting information, which Millicent and I were only too happy to give.

  We told her about staying up late and talking until two A.M., then Millicent's desire to take a walk and my feeling uneasy about her safety pushing me to come down and find her. We told our story together, then separately, then together again, and Stokes finally seemed satisfied that we had nothing to do with the actual murder.

  In between sessions with Detective Stokes, the paramed- ics attended to Millicent, advising the elderly woman that, given her age and the extent of her shock, a trip to the hospital might be in order. Millicent staunchly refused, and eventually got snippy when they kept insisting she con- sider it.

  ``I'm perfectly fine, just a little shaken. In my seventy- three years I've seen car accidents just as terrible. I didn't need to go to the hospital then, and I'm not going now, so you two can just run along and go treat someone who's really in need of your services, thank you very much!''

  By this time other hotel guests, who had awoken to the noise of police and ambulance sirens were beginning to crowd into the lobby. One by one each guest was ques- tioned by the county sheriffs. While the procession of possi- ble suspects, witnesses, and bystanders crowded into the lobby, I sat with Millicent on the couch and watched the crime scene technicians file in and disappear behind the pool door. As we watched law enforcement work the scene, we were able to pick up little tidbits of information as snatches of conversations floated over to us.

  Things like, ``. . . vic suffered multiple stab wounds and has been dead at least four hours, putting approximate time of death between midnight and one-thirty A.M. . . .'' and ``. . . crime scene in line with someone who knew their killer, evidence of a struggle present . . .'' and finally, ``. . . several witnesses claim the vic had a real knock-down, drag-out fight with one of the other hotel guests, someone named Deirdre Pendleton, earlier in the evening . . .'' floated over to our hungry ears.

  Eventually, the bustle died down, and by seven A.M. the crime scene technicians were packing up and Celeste's body, cloaked underneath a maroon-colored blanket, was 294 Victoria Laurie wheeled out through the lobby and out a side handicap door.

  Millicent and I got up as the coroner's van wheeled out of the parking lot, and together we walked tiredly over to the elevators. I was so drained and exhausted I could have slept for a month, but as luck would have it, at that moment Cat walked out of the elevator and right into us, nixing my opportunity for a little R & R.

  ``Abby! I've been looking for you everywhere. Did you hear there was a murder here last night?''

  Twenty minutes later I was still no closer to going to bed, as Cat insisted we tell her everything, detail by detail . . . again. As Millicent was recounting the ordeal for the sixth time she
was suddenly struck dumb when the handcuffed figure of Deirdre Pendleton, escorted by two deputies, passed by us on the way to the revolving front door.

  Collectively we each uttered a gasp as Deirdre's bent frame shuffled past; her head bowed and her long wavy hair hiding her shamed face as she walked woodenly beside the officers escorting her to an awaiting police cruiser. As one we each turned and mouthed, Oh, my God!

  ``Deirdre murdered Celeste?'' Cat gasped.

  My left side instantly felt thick and heavy--my intuition wasn't buying it.

  ``I knew it!'' Millicent added, ``The way she attacked Ce- leste yesterday, of course she was mad enough to finish the job!''

  Again my left side felt thick and heavy. ``I don't know . . .'' I said thoughtfully as we all watched a deputy duck Deirdre's head into the waiting county car.

  ``Oh, come on, Abby!'' Cat insisted, ``Of course she did it. Celeste practically ruined her career last night. The woman will never get another book deal, and Celeste had threatened to go public about what a sham Deirdre was.''