“Rita?” Fire burned in her lungs. “I was thinking the same thing, too.”
But her father made a face. “What? No. Not Rita. Rita was a good kid. We used to talk for hours.”
“You did?” It was news to Maggie.
“Sure. She possessed a healthy appetite for learning.”
“And where was I when you were having these chats?”
“I don’t know, Magpie. Probably in the shower, or running errands for your mother. There was no harm in Rita. God bless her. I mean the other one. I don’t recall her name. She was tall, blonde, and flirtatious.”
“Kristen?” The fire in Maggie’s lungs spread outward, searing her bruised ribs.
“That’s her. Real piece of work, that one.” He flicked the other half of the cigarette out into the lake, and settled back in his chair.
Maggie was stunned.
There had been a time when they came as a package: Maggie, Rita, and Kristen. A trio of best friends, going everywhere together. As inseparable as triplets. Loud, brash, and daring. They spoke the same language, and they gate-crashed the same parties. Together in class and after school, hanging out at Devil’s Landing and drinking beer with the boys. An invitation to one acting as an invite for all three.
The union had lasted most of one semester.
But then everything had changed, suddenly, and Maggie’s world had never been the same after.
Kristen Falchuck.
“As trustworthy as a fox in a henhouse,” he added.
Maggie was shocked, not least because Kristen had never seemed the type to steal anything. In fact, as far as Maggie remembered, Kristen had never wanted for anything. She was an only child, with a deceased mother and a doting daddy. She needed only to snap her fingers, and it was hers.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“Ninety-seven percent, give or take.”
“But there must have been a dozen or more parents coming and going that day. What convinced you it was Kristen?”
“Because I bumped into her in the house while everybody else was outside in the yard. She said she was looking for the bathroom, but she was headed out of the master bedroom, all red-faced and jittery.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“I gave them the names of every soul at that party. Never heard a thing. It was only when the topic came up again months later that I remembered bumping into her that day.”
“I’m not sure she even knew you had a gun, never mind where you kept it, or where the key was.”
She saw the corners of his mouth lift up. “The lock was for aesthetic purposes only. You could pick it with a spoon handle. Mark my words, Magpie. She’s the one that stole the gun. Any idea what became of her?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
EMPLOYEE OF THE YEAR
Thirty minutes later, Maggie was standing in the polished marble lobby of a hotel at Grande Lakes, waiting to speak with Kristen Falchuck. She’d left the dog with her father, both of them lazing on the dock.
In the short space of time that she had been here people watching, she’d clocked the clientele as made up mostly of moneyed folk. Coiffed vacationers in designer golfing gear, plucked straight from the pages of this month’s Vogue. She was in no doubt that one night’s stay probably cost more than she made in a week.
She told herself it was never going to happen.
She helped herself to a complimentary water, thankful for the breeze blowing in from the entranceway.
After navigating congested city traffic, Maggie had arrived at the classy resort on John Young Parkway feeling hot and bothered. Unless she had no other choice, she tried to avoid the well-trodden tourist tracks that crisscrossed the city. A staggering seventy million people visited the area each year, drawn to the world-famous theme parks and the state’s favorable climate. But tourism was a double-edged sword. On one hand it brought jobs, wealth, and commerce, but on the other, it affected transportation and the quality of life of every resident in the region.
A woman in a trim blue pantsuit approached across the plush carpeting. Maggie bounced to her feet. The woman looked around Maggie’s age, her chestnut hair swept up in a neat bun, and her lipstick, Maggie thought, slightly too orange in hue for the olive tone of her skin.
“Marlene Gonzalez,” she said, stretching out a skinny hand.
Maggie shook it. “Detective Novak, Sheriff’s Office. I spoke with one of the receptionists. I’m waiting to speak with the general manager.”
The woman smiled. “That’s me. How can I help you, Detective?”
Maggie drew back a little. “You’re the general manager? There must be some kind of mix-up. Is there more than one?”
“I wish. I could certainly benefit from cloning.”
“This is the Marriott, right?”
She pointed with the flat of her hand. “If you need the Ritz-Carlton, it’s next door.”
“No. The woman I’m looking for said she was the GM here at the Marriott.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of years ago.”
“Well, I’ve been here five years myself now. And before me, Jerry Shears was the GM. Do you have a name?”
“Kristen Falchuck. But her last name could be different. She’s about six foot. Short blonde hair.”
“Yes. Kristen. I know her. She served in one of our restaurants.”
“She’s a waitress here?”
“Up until this weekend. Kristen quit Saturday. We’re sad to lose her. She was a hardworking member of our team.”
“Did she give a reason why she quit?”
“Actually, she didn’t. At least, not to my knowledge. She left a text message saying she wouldn’t be returning to work this week, and that was it. I tried calling her several times, but she didn’t pick up. Is she in trouble, Detective?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say. How long was Kristen employed here?”
“If I were to hazard a rough guess, I’d say eight, maybe nine years. I’d have to check our records for an exact start date.”
“As a server?”
“Yes.” She smiled at a family as they passed by. “Walk with me back to my office, Detective? We’re a little exposed here.”
Maggie nodded, knowing that a police officer asking a bunch of questions in the lobby wasn’t exactly in keeping with the hotel’s pristine image. They crossed the spacious foyer, passing a bar area. Through tall windows, Maggie could see palms swaying in the breeze.
They arrived at a door marked GENERAL MANAGER, and Gonzalez ushered her inside. The office had everything an office needed, yet was sorely lacking in character. No photos of Gonzalez with celebrity guests, and no personal touches to make it feel inviting.
“Any causes for concern in the time she was here?” Maggie asked.
Gonzalez closed the door. “If you mean was there any time Kristen failed us in her duties, then the answer is an emphatic no. Kristen was always willing to go the extra mile to make our clients feel special.”
“No prior mention of her being unhappy in her work and that she was considering quitting?”
“Not that I’m aware.” She sat down behind her desk, accessing a computer terminal.
“Don’t you find it odd,” Maggie said, preferring to stand, “that she didn’t give a reason?”
“We don’t require one. The hospitality industry has a high personnel turnover. Seasonal workers. College students. Temporary employment, especially in server roles. People use it as a stepping-stone. Only a hard-core few like Kristen stay in one place as long as she did.”
“Why is that?”
“Sometimes, it’s lack of qualifications or confidence. Better the devil they know. What I find odd is that Kristen quit, period.”
“How so?”
“Because she topped our customer review charts. She was in line for a substantial bonus. And I know money was tight for her. So, yes, I’m surprised she quit so suddenly, especially knowing that if she’d stayed with us another month or two,
a thousand-dollar windfall would’ve been hers.”
“And she definitely knew it was in the pipeline?”
“We make a big deal out of customer satisfaction surveys. Kristen was our shining star. Had she stayed, this would’ve been the fifth time she’d won the bonus.”
“She’s good at her job.”
“Better than good. She excels. Kristen has a way with people. She’s perfected the meet and greet. It’s hard not to fall in love with her, figuratively speaking.” She glanced at the computer screen. “Here we go. Kristen was with us almost ten years. No sick time and an impeccable punctuality record. She really is something to behold. I only wish every one of our employees was a Kristen Falchuck.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
SOUVENIR
The mobile home on Sunset Drive in Kissimmee was an oblong wooden box about the size of two shipping containers welded together. Painted olive green, with decking on one side and a brown picket fence separating it from the neighboring homes.
Maggie got out of the Tahoe, lingering on the roadside while she assessed the scene.
The mobile home park reminded her of a cemetery that had all its coffins above ground.
At first, Gonzalez had hesitated at the thought of giving up Kristen’s home address. Then Maggie had let it be known that she was investigating a homicide, and that the Sheriff’s Office appreciated the hotel’s expeditious assistance in the matter, and any communication with the Marriott HQ would only speak positively of Gonzalez.
Ten minutes later, here she was: Sun Friendly Community Village—a designated area west of Main Street in Kissimmee that consisted of several parallel rows of mobile homes, some as good as derelict, some with little gardens, and some rentals awaiting occupancy. All shades of color, shapes, and sizes.
In her youth, Kristen had had big aspirations to make it as an artist. Kristen was into sculpture in a big way, crafting abstract creations out of inorganic trash. Kristen had dreamed of owning her own art gallery on the West Coast, of hosting cocktail parties for the rich and the influential, of mixing with the jet set, her sculptures taking pride and place in municipal buildings across the nation.
But Kristen had never realized her dream.
Maggie didn’t know Kristen’s true story, only that she had ended up here in this little wooden house with its assortment of wind chimes dangling from the eaves. And the sight of it made Maggie feel sad for her.
Did she play a part in Kristen’s failure?
Within days of the house fire on Oak Street, Maggie had called an immediate end to their friendship, never wanting to see Kristen again, or have anything to do with her. In Maggie’s eyes, Kristen had been equally to blame for Rita’s death. And Maggie couldn’t bear being in her company anymore. Not after what they’d done. On every level, their actions were unforgivable, and Maggie couldn’t cope with Kristen’s black-and-white “She deserved it” attitude on top of her own cowardice.
Something had to give, and that something had been their friendship.
For more than fifteen years they went their separate ways—Maggie opting for law enforcement while Kristen sold her handmade wares at local flea markets—only chancing on each other again in a fitting room at the Florida Mall a couple of years ago. Catching up over coffee. Kristen telling Maggie that although she still created artwork, albeit on a small scale, she now worked in the hospitality industry. Kristen had always had a persuasiveness about her. One of those people who could convince others that her way was the best way. Seated in the food court at the mall, Kristen had introduced herself to Maggie as the general manager of the Marriott at Grande Lakes. Declaring that life was better than ever, and that she couldn’t hope to be happier.
Kristen had lied.
Probably, due to embarrassment, or awkwardness with the truth, or just because it made her sound more important than she felt.
She’d pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
Maggie had given Kristen her card, encouraging her to keep in touch, but she’d never heard from her again. That said, Maggie had never tried contacting Kristen either.
Locking the Tahoe behind her, Maggie stepped up onto the decking. She banged a fist against the frame of the screen door. All around her, wind chimes jingled in the breeze. She knocked again, this time harder, longer.
“She ain’t home,” a man’s voice called from behind her.
Maggie turned on her heel.
An old-timer was leaning out of the window of the neighboring residence, watering succulents in a window box. He looked to be in his eighties, withered, a tight mat of gray hair clinging to the dark skin of his head.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said. “She’s gone.”
“Do you know where?”
“Why you interested, lady?”
Maggie held up her badge. “I’m with the Sheriff’s Office, sir.”
He glanced at her star, then continued to water his flowers. “Gone, as in cleared out and ain’t never coming back.”
“What makes you say that?”
“’Cause I’m her landlord and I say so. Girl was four months past due on her rent. We had words. I told her she was forcing me to take legal action. She wasn’t happy. Saturday afternoon was the last I saw of her. Ain’t been back since.”
“And she was your tenant for how long?”
“Long enough.” He began to draw himself back inside the house.
“Wait,” Maggie said. “Please, sir. One last thing.”
He hesitated with his head half-in, half-out.
“What kind of car does she drive?”
“A black one.”
“Do you know the make?”
“I don’t. Have a good day,” he said and disappeared behind the window.
Maggie turned back to the door, tempted, for a moment, to try the handle.
Kristen had quit her job suddenly during the weekend. Plus, she’d not been back home since before the murder. If Maggie’s father was right about Kristen being the one who had stolen the revolver . . .
A sudden gust of wind jangled the wind chimes. A melodic jumble of notes coming from all but the one hanging closest to the door. Curious, Maggie looked closer. The wind chime was composed of a metal loop with wooden tubes suspended on nylon threads. Rudimentary animal glyphs engraved in the wood.
It didn’t jangle with the rest of them because its sail was missing—that curvy slice of wood or metal designed to catch the breeze—with just a snapped thread hanging forlornly in its place.
A familiar coolness bloomed in Maggie’s belly.
Stepping into the shade, she signed into Major Case’s cloud storage on her phone and flicked through the photos in the Halloween Homicide folder until she came to the image of the artifact she’d found in Dana’s purse on Saturday night.
Sure enough, when she held the image up to the wind chime beside the door, it was a perfect match.
The coolness in her belly sent a chill creeping up her spine.
Immediately, two possibilities sprang to mind: either Dana had stood right here and for some reason taken the sail, or Kristen had met up with Dana elsewhere and given it to her.
Regardless of the correct answer, the fact that Maggie had found the sail in Dana’s purse proved one thing.
Both Dana’s and Kristen’s lives had somehow come back together. And Maggie had been oblivious.
To Maggie’s surprise, her first reaction was rooted in jealousy. A deep, inexplicable rush of envy that struck her like a fist in the throat. It came as a shock, knocking her off-balance, primarily because it was the last emotion she’d ever expect to feel when it came to Dana or Kristen. Even when the three of them had hung out together—and three was generally considered a crowd—there had been no cause for any jealousy between them, even when they’d voiced differences in opinion. But here it was. Hot and fierce. Burning a hole in her papery heart and setting her thoughts on fire.
What had she stumbled on here?
Kristen missing and Da
na dead.
It didn’t take a leap of imagination to picture their inflammatory meeting and what happened next.
Maggie’s second reaction was incendiary. Her knees buckled, and she had to put a hand against the doorframe to steady herself.
Dana and Kristen had met, and probably recently.
Why else was the sail in Dana’s purse?
A chance encounter. Some random fluke that brought their paths together again, briefly crossing them. Kristen inviting Dana back here, and perhaps giving Dana the sail as a mark of their newfound friendship. Or Dana vocalizing her pain to Kristen, this time as an adult, with all the prowess and power gained from her guidance counselor training. Stealing the sail as a memento of her victory over Kristen.
It sounded feasible, except . . .
Maggie couldn’t imagine Dana even speaking with Kristen again, let alone accompanying her back here to this one-bedroom box in Kissimmee. Not after what they’d done to her all those years ago, shattering their friendship. Even twenty passing years was not sufficient time to glue all those broken pieces back together again, hoping that things would stay intact under pressure.
All of a sudden, Maggie felt microscopic, as though the universe had noticed her for the first time and was taking an interest. Billions of eyes seeing right through her adult skin to the child inside.
Confess, it demanded.
Maggie brought up her contacts list. She needed to speak with someone who would understand what she’d done and not hold it against her. Someone who would listen to what she had to say without standing in judgment.
She called Loomis.
“Hey,” he said from the screen. “I was about to call you.”
“I think I know who killed Dana and why,” she said before he could expand on his comment.
“For real? Um, okay. I’m listening.”
“Not over the phone,” she said. “It’s complicated. I need to tell you in person. Where are you at?”
“Walmart on Turkey Lake. Is everything all right, Novak?”
“No. Anything but. I need a stiff drink.” She stepped down off the decking. “Meet me at the Whiskey. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
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