by Jana DeLeon
Something was missing from both stories.
But for the life of me, I didn’t know what.
Chapter Twenty
As I pulled into the resort, I got a text from Ida Belle telling me they were in the bar having a drink. I wondered briefly if Gertie had gotten into trouble again and sent Ida Belle straight for the bottle, but at least there wasn’t an ambulance or police car in the parking lot. That was encouraging.
I headed for the bar and found them sitting at a table in the corner, sipping on piña coladas and picking at a bowl of snack mix. They waved as I walked in and Ida Belle motioned for the server, who happened to be the same guy who had served me the other night.
“Chance, right?” I asked as he hurried over.
He flashed me a big smile. “That’s right. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the same as them,” I said.
He nodded and hurried off.
“He wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic when he took our drink order,” Gertie said.
“That’s because we’re not nearly as young and good-looking as Fortune,” Ida Belle said.
“Or I gave him a really big tip the other night,” I said.
“That works too,” Ida Belle said. “But I don’t think your looks are hurting anything.”
Chance hurried back with my drink and a menu, “in case you wanted a snack.” I waited until he was out of earshot, then asked if they’d found out where Otis acquired The Last Supper.
“Oh, we’re on our third drink already,” Gertie said. “It didn’t take us long to get the information.”
“Your third drink? Really?” I asked. “That’s fast working. Did you hold someone at gunpoint?”
“Since I don’t have my weapons with me, no,” Gertie said. “We just had a bit of luck.”
Ida Belle nodded. “We walked into the restaurant as a server was storming out, yelling at the restaurant manager, who’d just fired him. I followed him into the lobby and offered him cash in exchange for information.”
Gertie laughed. “He told us the restaurant manager was cheating on his wife with one of the beach servers before Ida Belle even told him what kind of information we were looking for.”
“Maybe the manager should have thought about that before he fired him,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “He probably called the wife as soon as he got into his car.”
“So what was the verdict?” I asked.
“Otis ate dinner there the night before he died and had the étouffée,” Gertie said. “Unemployed guy was his server.”
“Was he dining with someone?” I asked, getting excited. “Did the server know who it was?”
“Yes to both,” Ida Belle said. “He was having early dinner with Betty before she went on shift.”
“Isn’t that great?” Gertie was practically bouncing in her seat.
“How early?” I asked.
“Around five,” Ida Belle said.
I frowned. “Which means that Cynthia could have easily seen them when she got off work.”
“Oh,” Gertie said, her excitement waning. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Were you able to speak to both of them?” Ida Belle asked.
I nodded and told them about my conversations with the two women. When I was done, they were both frowning.
“Crap,” Gertie said finally. “They’re both still equally possible.”
“Did you get a feel for one over the other?” Ida Belle asked. “Your intuition has always been spot-on.”
“I wouldn’t say always,” I said. “A few people in Sinful have managed to fool me.”
“Not for very long, though,” Gertie said.
“I wish I could tell you differently,” I said. “But my honest answer is no. Both of them have history that made them vulnerable. Both are angry and embarrassed about being taken—I just think Cynthia was better at hiding the anger part. I think either is capable. And given that they both live here and work at the resort, I’m sure they both know how dangerous puffer fish are.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Either could have stolen the card from Otis. And apparently both knew the security cameras were down.”
“Betty knew for certain,” I said. “And Cynthia didn’t so much as flinch when I mentioned it, so I’m sure she knew as well.”
“Maybe someone saw one of them on the tenth floor that day,” Gertie said. “Should we ask around?”
“If it was another guest, I don’t know that they would have paid enough attention,” Ida Belle said. “How hard do you look at strangers passing in the hallway?”
“What about other employees?” Gertie asked.
“I still don’t think we’d get anyone to bite,” Ida Belle said. “Cynthia could have been on the floor dealing with a housekeeping complaint and no one would have registered it, as it’s common. And I’m going to hazard a guess that if Betty put on some touristy-looking clothes, a big floppy hat, and sunglasses, an employee wouldn’t have looked twice.”
“Probably not,” I said. “Betty was a very average-looking person. No scars or limp or tattoos that I could see, so nothing about her would have stood out. And with her working the night shift, a lot of day employees probably don’t know her anyway.”
“So we’re right back to where we started,” Gertie said. “All we’ve really done is verify what we already suspected. This investigating thing is not nearly as exciting as I thought it would be.”
I stared. “You’ve been out on a date with a man who was murdered, assaulted by a plastic flamingo, and single-handedly taken ten years off the life of a douchebag deputy. How much more excitement do you require?”
“Fine,” Gertie said. “There’s been a little excitement. But you have to admit that the investigating part is somewhat tedious.”
“So what now?” Ida Belle asked.
“We head upstairs and do some research on Martin Hughes,” I said as I waved to Chance for the bill.
He hurried over to the table and I signed the bill, leaving him a healthy tip. He flashed the huge smile and made us promise to come back and see him again as we got up to leave.
“I know it might not have anything to do with the murder,” I said as we walked, “but I still think we ought to know more about the man who was pretending to be Otis Baker.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Who knows? We might turn up another suspect and make things even worse.”
“God forbid,” Gertie said. “I hope it’s not another crazy woman with an affinity for wielding table decor.”
“I would say the odds of that are slim,” I said. “But although I hate everything about the man, he definitely knew how to pick and work his victims.” I looked at Gertie. “What was it about him that made women want to buy his line of bull?”
Gertie shrugged. “He handed out compliments and empathy and only asked questions about me. Never talked about himself. I suppose if I had the emotional baggage that the other women had, I might have been swayed by it.”
“But you weren’t,” Ida Belle said.
“Of course not,” Gertie said. “I know a come-on when I see it, even if it’s been a while.”
I slowed as we walked into the lobby, zeroing in on two men in black suits who were talking to Fletcher. They were too young to be wearing suits on vacation, and the conversation looked serious. Ida Belle followed my gaze and frowned.
“Don’t look like your typical tourists,” she said.
“No,” I agreed. “Looks like Feds.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “Feds? What would feds be doing here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s never a good thing when they show up.”
“Do you think it’s about Martin?” Ida Belle asked. “I know the FBI has been cracking down on identity theft.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“We should find out,” Gertie said.
“What would you like to do?” Ida Belle asked. “Walk up and ask them?”
I scanned the room, checki
ng my options, then practically jogged away, sliding to a stop at a palm tree near the entry to the bar. Ida Belle and Gertie hurried up beside me, looking confused.
I pointed to my lips and they caught on. I’d moved where I could read their lips.
Unfortunately, the conversation was ending. A couple seconds later, the two men in suits walked toward the entrance. Fletcher watched them for a moment, looking slightly shell-shocked, then an employee called for him and he walked toward the front desk.
“Did you get anything?” Ida Belle asked as we headed for the elevators.
“Very little,” I said. “All I caught was ‘Barefoot Key’ and ‘speak to owner.’”
“Isn’t Barefoot Key where the real Otis died?” Gertie asked.
I nodded. “And where I think Martin picked up his identity.”
“So maybe it is an identity theft thing,” Ida Belle said.
“Maybe,” I said as we stepped into the elevator. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d missed something and that whatever we’d missed was about to blow everything wide open.
I just hoped we weren’t caught in the blast.
As soon as we got back to the condo, I grabbed my laptop and we headed for the kitchen counter. Gertie reached for the room service menu and looked over at us.
“Is it too early to think about dinner?” she asked. “Those bar snacks didn’t exactly do it for me and breakfast was a good while ago.”
“By the time they get the food here, I’ll probably be hungry,” I said.
Ida Belle nodded. “Might as well. We don’t have anything else to do tonight and I really don’t feel like going back out to eat. You never know when another angry woman brandishing a flamingo might show up.”
Gertie gave her the finger but didn’t look up from the menu. “I’m having fried shrimp and a bottle of wine.”
“Sounds good,” I said as I opened the internet browser. “Make it two.”
“Three,” Ida Belle said.
I typed in “Martin Hughes” and searched, then started opening each link and scanning the data for anything relevant.
“I’d like to order three shrimp dinners and three bottles of pinot grigio.”
Ida Belle sighed. “We didn’t mean three bottles of wine.”
Gertie hung up the phone. “Well, you’re welcome to split one between the two of you and save the other, but I’m not sharing. This is the most exhausting vacation I’ve ever been on, and unfortunately, not in a good way.”
“You find anything?” Ida Belle asked.
“A couple of new articles with local arrests,” I said. “But all the sort of thing Carter indicated. And three obituaries.”
Ida Belle shook her head, clearly disgusted. “All listing him as the grieving husband, I assume?”
“And all in different states, so hardly any chance of the families crossing paths,” I said.
I pulled up a news article on a charity event and scanned the text but didn’t see any mention of Martin. I scrolled back up, looking at the descriptions below the pictures, and found it. And there he was, standing with his arm around the fourth wife—Marsha Hughes—the one who got away. I turned the laptop toward Ida Belle and Gertie.
“Here’s the fourth wife,” I said. “Does she look familiar to you?”
They both studied the picture for several seconds, then finally shook their heads.
“Not really,” Ida Belle said. “I had a momentary twinge, but it’s probably because she reminds me of someone I’ve met at some point. The name is completely unfamiliar, so I’m certain I’ve never met her.”
“Me either,” Gertie said.
I turned the laptop back around and made the image larger. “I’m getting more than a twinge but I can’t figure out why.”
“Someone you ran across when you worked for the CIA maybe?” Gertie asked.
“I’ve never been to Georgia. And I didn’t exactly frequent tourist areas overseas or hobnob with the general public.”
I squinted, thinking a shift in focus might make it clearer, and that’s when it hit me.
“She looks like Penny.”
“The housekeeper who didn’t like us gossiping?” Gertie asked.
I nodded. “Take another look.”
Gertie leaned over and studied the picture again. “You’re right. Penny could be this woman’s daughter.”
“Maybe she is,” Ida Belle said.
“Great,” Gertie said. “Another suspect.”
I reached for the phone. “Let’s find out.”
I called the housekeeping department. “Hi, I’m hoping you can help me,” I said when a woman answered. “There was a young woman cleaning my room this morning and I need to speak to her about a personal matter. Her name is Penny. Is she still on shift?”
“She’s in laundry,” the woman said. “Would you like for me to transfer you over there?”
“Actually, I really don’t want to discuss it over the phone. If you could just send her up here…it won’t take long, I promise.”
“Was there a problem with your room?” the woman asked.
“No. The room is fine. Like I said, it’s a personal matter.”
“Okay. I’ll send her up.”
“Thank you,” I said and hung up.
“How are you going to play this?” Ida Belle asked.
“Simple,” I said. “I’m going to show her the picture and watch for a reaction. If she so much as flinches, then we’ll know she’s related. Then I fire with both barrels.”
“Thank God for the direct approach,” Gertie said. “I’m too tired to role-play. You think you can wrap this up before dinner gets here?”
Ida Belle stared. “She’ll try not to interfere with your busy eating schedule.”
“It was more the drinking part that I was thinking about,” Gertie said.
“I don’t think it will take long,” I said. “Penny didn’t strike me as particularly good at hiding her feelings.”
There was a knock at the door and I hurried to open it. Penny stepped in, looking uneasy.
“Was there a problem with the room?” she asked. “Or the closet?”
I waved my hand in dismissal. “I’m opting for the bathtub these days. Saves time in the morning when I’m ready to shower.”
Her mouth opened a bit and she shot a nervous glance at Gertie and Ida Belle.
“Anyway, that’s not why I called for you,” I said.
“Then how can I help you?” she asked.
I grabbed my laptop and showed her the picture. “Did you tell Marsha that Martin was here?”
She gasped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She took a step back as if the laptop were a venomous snake.
“It’s rather pointless to deny it,” I said. “You look just like her. And even if you didn’t, your reaction gave you away. How are you related?”
She shook her head. “I…I’m not…”
I pulled my CIA ID from my wallet and showed her. “Do you want to try again?”
The color rushed from her face and she started to sway. Ida Belle grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her into one of the living room chairs. I took a seat on the coffee table in front of her. She slumped forward, her face in her lap, taking in large drags of air. Finally, she inched up a bit and looked at me, clearly frightened.
“That badge is real?” she asked.
I nodded. Technically, it was expired, but it was definitely real.
“Marsha is my aunt,” Penny said. “But then you probably already knew that. The CIA knows everything, right?”
“That’s just a myth perpetuated by Hollywood,” I said. “Did you tell your aunt that Martin was staying at the resort?”
“No! I wouldn’t have…she’s been through enough. I was going to tell my mother, but I had to be sure.”
And then it dawned on me. The date on the picture was five years before. Martin had gained some weight and lost some hair since it was taken. Combine that with him using a fake name
and Penny being a teen when he pulled his disappearing act, and I realized Penny hadn’t been sure it was Martin Hughes.
Gertie sat on the arm of the chair and patted Penny’s arm. “We understand. You didn’t want to upset your aunt.”
Penny shook her head. “That awful man put her through hell. He poisoned her and when she didn’t die, he disappeared with all their money and the jewelry my grandmother had left her.”
“He poisoned her?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “My mom never liked him, and she couldn’t understand why my aunt was suddenly so sick when she’d never had anything beyond a cold. She finally got her to go to the doctor, but he never found anything definitive. The doctor said it was probably some horrible virus or reflux, but my mom never believed it.”
“So she suspected something?” I asked.
Penny nodded. “My aunt was out sick so much, she lost her job. Two days later, Martin disappeared. Then my aunt started to get better.”
“When she lost her job, she lost her life insurance as well, right?” Ida Belle asked.
“Yeah,” Penny said. “That’s what mom thinks the whole marriage was about. Sick, right?”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “Did your aunt have more tests run?”
“Yes,” Penny said. “They found small traces of something found in weed killer, but not enough to prove anything. My mom wanted Aunt Marsha to push the police harder, but she refused.”
“Why?” I asked.
Penny shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe because she already knew the truth and didn’t want to face it? She hasn’t been sick a single day since Martin has been gone. And if he wasn’t making her sick, why did he disappear with all their money and her jewelry?”
“Surely the police could issue a warrant for the theft of the money and jewelry,” Gertie said.
A flash of anger crossed Penny’s face. “They said the money was ‘marital property.’ And even though the jewelry wasn’t, it wasn’t worth enough money for them to do more than a cursory search for him. Of course, they came up with nothing and told her she was better off pursuing a civil suit as he probably wouldn’t get any time on criminal charges anyway. Can you believe that? Like you can sue the disappearing man?”