Celeste wanted to run to the hotel but even on a well-lighted path, she feared she might stumble and fall. Instead, she walked at a brisk pace. I hope no one is seriously ill or injured. I'm glad that I pay the hotel's liability insurance a year in advance. She unlocked the kitchen door and took the hallway straight to the reception desk.
“What happened?” she asked Richard.
Like Maddie, the tall, slim man, was a college student. His shift would end in five minutes at midnight. At that time, an automated system would take over. While guests could use their room keys to gain entrance to the front door, non-guests utilized a video doorbell that rang to the security center in her cottage. It was another reason she’d considered moving into one of the suites. During the last winter storm, she’d had to trudge through the snow at one o’clock in the morning to check in a stranded motorist who needed lodging.
“The Carlyles came in fifteen minutes ago,” Richard said. “He wasn’t feeling well, and a few minutes later, Mrs. Carlyle called down to the desk and asked for an ambulance. She was crying, and I had trouble understanding her.”
Through the front windows, she could see the ambulance’s flashing lights turning into the driveway.
“We have four Carlyle couples. Which one is sick?”
“The call came from the honeymoon suite,” he said.
Her heart sank. The memory of Wes being diabetic popped into her head. I hope he’s okay. She propped both of the double doors open for the ambulance crew to bring in a stretcher.
“They’re on the fourth floor. I’ll take you up,” she told one of the EMTs.
The elevator was a tight squeeze for herself, two EMTs, and a stretcher. When it stopped and the doors slid apart, Celeste saw Roger and Jessica standing in the hall outside the suite. She pointed the EMTs in that direction, and she ambled over to where Roger was standing.
“How is your father?”
He loosened the dark green tie he was wearing with his white dress shirt. “I don’t know, yet,” he said. “In the car on the way back here, he said that he felt like his blood sugar was low.”
“Someone had better check his insulin to make sure no one tampered with it,” Jessica said under her breath.
Roger jerked around and waved his finger in her face. “Say that one more time, Jessica.”
Her eyes rolled to one side, and she stomped off to the elevator. Once Jessica had boarded the car and the doors closed, Roger turned to Celeste.
“Emma said that they had plenty of food in the suite and thinking that he’d be okay once he ate something, Jessica and I went to our room. Then, Emma called and said that he’d passed out, and she couldn’t bring him around.”
Celeste’s heartbeat sped up, and she laid a hand against her chest. “Try not to worry,” she said.
The elevator doors dinged and the other two couples appeared.
“We saw the ambulance downstairs and the desk clerk told us that the EMTs were here,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Roger said. “It’s dad.”
Tom’s lips parted to speak, but a woman’s scream stopped him. One of the two EMTs emerged from the suite.
“Are all of you family?” he asked.
Celeste’s throat tightened, remembering the last time she’d heard those words spoken. She took a step backward.
“You’d better come in,” the EMT continued.
While the family filed into the room, Celeste stayed out in the hall.
“You’re not going in?” the EMT asked.
“No, I’m not family,” she said. “I own this hotel.”
“Oh, well, you shouldn’t have any liability here,” he said.
As if that matters right now. Her only thought was one of sympathy for Emma and Wes’s sons.
“The family might want to have an autopsy performed,” he continued.
She clutched her sweater in her fist. “So, he’s dead?”
“Yes, ma’am. From his coloring and the symptoms the wife described before he became unconscious, it sounds like a stroke to me. We’ll take the body to the emergency room to be examined by a physician who will also sign the death certificate.”
She nodded along with the EMT as he was speaking. She extracted her phone from her pocket and keyed in the number for the front desk.
“Richard, you don’t need to wait around,” she said.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Go ahead and take off. I’ll take care of everything here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After a few minutes, the family appeared in the hallway again. The boys patted each other on the back and maintained their composure. She recalled her observation from the day she’d met them that they weren’t a family of huggers. Celeste caught a glimpse of Emma in her royal blue, cocktail dress. She sat on the coffee table next to the sofa holding on to Wesley’s hand and murmuring words of love to him. The lump in Celeste’s throat grew to the size of a golf ball and choked off her voice. She swallowed and stepped inside the room.
“Emma, I want you to bring your overnight bag and come stay with me in my cottage,” she said.
Emma’s gaze didn’t leave her husband’s face. “I appreciate that,” she said. “But I don’t want to impose on you. I can drive to Lenoir.”
“It’s not an imposition,” Celeste said. “And you don’t need to be on the road by yourself at this time of night.”
I wish her sister hadn't gone home. Beverly and Ryan Douglas had checked out earlier in the day and returned to Winston-Salem. Emma’s brother, Nathan had accompanied their parents to Lenoir after the wedding luncheon.
Emma moved away from the sofa to allow the EMTs to complete their job. Celeste placed an arm around her shoulders. At that moment, she was flooded with memories of Howard’s death and could hardly keep from crying. This isn’t about my grief. I have to be strong and in control.
“I’ll accompany dad’s body to the hospital,” Roger said. “And take care of calling the funeral home in Charlotte.”
“Thank you,” Emma whispered.
One of the emergency workers handed a clipboard to Emma. “As his next of kin, I need your signature on these forms.”
“Next of kin? We’ve only been married for twelve hours,” she said. Tears poured down her cheeks. “I can’t even see to write.”
Celeste grabbed some tissues from the coffee table. Emma wiped her eyes, and her hand shook as she scrawled a barely legible signature.
One by one, the three sons came over to Emma and offered their condolences. The EMTs wheeled the stretcher from the room, and Emma followed her late bridegroom’s body as far as the elevator. Roger squeezed Emma’s shoulder before he departed with them. Celeste realized that Kylie and Missy were no longer present. Have they already gone to their rooms?
Celeste accompanied Emma into the suite’s bedroom and waited while she packed a few necessities and a change of clothes into the smaller of two matching red suitcases that she removed from the closet. Near the bathroom door, a black suitcase sat upright on its wheels with the handle still extended. That one must belong to Wes. Immediately following the luncheon, he’d moved from his standard room on the third floor to join Emma in the honeymoon suite. Emma went to the bathroom to collect a few toiletries. She also picked up a prescription bottle on the edge of the vanity.
She showed it to Celeste before dropping it into her bag. “I take a prescription drug for rapid heartbeat,” she said. “It began after Dave died, and I think it was just all the stress I was under, but the doctor wanted me to take this.”
“Where is Wes’s medicine?”
“Oh, I gave it to one of the paramedics. I guess he took it with him.”
Emma whisked a book off of the bedside table into her bag. Celeste caught sight of some folded papers protruding from it. On the way out of the bedroom, Emma grabbed her purse and a lace shawl from the arm of the sofa. She draped the shawl around her bare shoulders and scanned the room from one side to the other as if memorizing every detail.
“I’m ready to go,” she whispered.
Emma cried all the way to the cottage, and Celeste didn’t attempt to stop her.
“Please tell me that this is a nightmare, and I’m going to wake up any minute,” Emma said.
Celeste gripped her hand. “I wish I could, Emma.”
“I can’t believe that I’ve lost two husbands. At least, Dave and I had twenty years together. I never imagined that I would lose Wes on our wedding night.”
Emma’s posture collapsed like an accordion, and Celeste grabbed her around the waist to hold her upright.
“We’re almost to the front door. Just a few more steps. Put one foot in front of the other.”
Celeste was thankful for the LED lights that Howard had installed along the path. She removed her key from the pocket of the big sweater she’d pulled on over her pajama top before she’d dashed over to the hotel.
“When we get inside, I’ll make hot buttered rum for us. It will calm your nerves and help you go to sleep.”
“Neither one of us drank at the restaurant,” she said. “We both had diet colas. He was diabetic, but he ate a good meal, and I saw him take his medicine before we left the hotel. Thank God, we were riding with Roger and Jessica because Wes started to feel weak as we were leaving the restaurant. If he’d had that stroke while he was driving…” Her voice trailed off.
Celeste unlocked her front door and ushered Emma inside. Canned laughter from an old sitcom greeted them. In her haste to leave, she hadn’t turned off the television. She pressed the off button on the remote.
“Have a seat,” Celeste said. “And I’ll make that drink.”
Celeste checked her spice rack. She didn’t have nutmeg. I’ll just have to make it without that ingredient. She put two cups of water onto boil while she took the butter and honey from the refrigerator.
“I need to call Beverly, but I’ll wait until I have my thoughts together,” Emma said. “She and Ryan couldn’t stay for dinner. One of the girls had a dance recital this evening.” Her voice choked, and she used the tissue to wipe her eyes. “She’s not going to believe this.”
“Were your bridesmaids Beverly’s daughters?” Celeste asked.
“Two were Beverly’s and two were Nathan’s. His daughters go to school here. They had dinner with us tonight, but they returned to the apartment they share in Boone before the rest of us left the restaurant. Oh, God…They need to be told, too.”
Her forehead dropped against her fisted hands as if she might be praying. Celeste opened the cabinet under the kitchen island and grabbed an almost full bottle of rum. Howard liked a taste of rum every now and then, but she wasn’t a drinker. She mainly used it for cooking her son’s favorite cake at Christmas. Tonight, she needed a mug for herself as well as Emma.
She used a cinnamon stick to stir the warm ingredients and poured two large, ceramic mugs full of the concoction. She handed one of the mugs to Emma and sat in the recliner next to the sofa—a spot she didn’t occupy often because that was Howard’s chair. He used to sit in that chair and binge-watch his favorite shows on The History Channel. That was on the rare days he took off from working around the hotel.
“Thank you,” Emma said. She drank a sip and gave Celeste a thumbs-up gesture. “This is good.”
“It was my husband’s favorite drink,” she said.
Emma slipped off her shoes and stretched out on the sofa. “We have something in common, don’t we?”
Celeste nodded. “But I’ve only lost one husband, and I can’t even imagine how you feel right now.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m numb. I’m not sure how or what to feel. It’s still as if I’m slogging through a bad dream.”
“Well, I can relate to that feeling. You’re in shock. Would you like for me to call your sister and your parents and tell them what’s happened?”
“That’s so nice of you. We’ve only recently met each other, and yet, you’re treating me better than…” She paused and shook her head. “I shouldn’t say what I was thinking.”
It didn’t take much deductive reasoning to guess that she’d been referring to Wes’s sons and daughters-in-law. I still can’t get over how the three women deserted their husbands at their father’s deathbed.
“After this drink calms my nerves, I’ll call Beverly in a few minutes, and she’ll inform the others for me,” Emma said. She downed another sip of it. “With Dave, I went into shock when the doctor told me that they’d done everything they could for him, and he wasn’t going to make it. I was so dazed that I can’t remember anything that happened for the next few hours. He lived for two days and by then, I was in a better place to be able to handle it.” She moved the cinnamon stick around the mug in a circular motion. “I’ve never stopped blaming myself for his accident. He wouldn’t have been on that street at that time if I hadn’t been working late on a project and asked him to run an errand for me.” She held the cup against her cheek as if she found its warmth soothing. “How did your husband die, Mrs. Adams?”
Celeste pressed her tired muscles into the recliner and was tempted to flip on the massager that Howard used for his occasional bout of sciatica. She was afraid that combining a massage with the rum might send her off to sleepy land and then she’d be no help to Emma.
“Howard took a group of hotel guests on a hike. We’d had a lot of rain in the preceding days, but Howard thought that the trail would be dry enough for the trek. Unfortunately, he stepped too close to the edge of a steep embankment, and the small boulder he was standing on came loose from the ground and plunged down the hillside taking him with it. His neck was broken. He died on the way to the hospital.”
“So you didn’t even have an opportunity to say goodbye?”
Celeste managed to swallow a gulp of the drink before her throat tightened and closed up. She fought to keep from crying. I need to change the subject.
“Did you and Dave have any children?”
Emma shook her head. “No, it wasn’t for lack of trying, and several years into our marriage, we went to a fertility doctor. They found that one of my ovaries was deformed. It never developed to a normal stage. They said that I could conceive, but it would be hit or miss. We just never had a hit. It was something I deeply regretted after…well…they say things happen for a reason.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I wish someone could give me a reason for what has happened tonight.”
A phone rang startling both of them.
“That sounds like mine,” Emma said. She fished it out of her purse and stared at the screen. “It’s Roger. He must need me for something.”
Sensing that Emma might want privacy, Celeste picked up the overnight bag and took it into the guest room. She folded down the comforter on the bed. Her son had come for a visit less than a month earlier so she knew the sheets were fresh and clean. This young woman has had more than her share of heartache. I hope she can sleep tonight. As soon as the last thought crossed her mind, she heard Emma cry out. Celeste ran into the living room. Emma stood in front of the sofa grasping her phone with both hands. Tremors rocked her body.
“Emma, what’s wrong?”
Her mouth dropped open, but it took a few seconds for the words to come out.
“They took a blood sample and ran a toxicology report. The doctor found something in his bloodstream that shouldn’t have been there. It most likely caused his stroke.”
“What was it?”
“Roger wouldn’t tell me. I asked him, and he said he didn’t have time to talk now.” She threw herself against the sofa and wailed. “Roger believes I killed his father. He thinks I poisoned him.”
“Now, Emma, did he actually say that to you?”
“He didn’t have to,” she said. “I could tell by the tone of his voice. The rest of them will feel the same way.”
“Maybe you misread him.”
Three bells sounded from the security system mounted on the kitchen wall. Celeste tapped the icon to show the monitor screen. Oh, God, no.
“The police are here,” she said. Her heartbeat increased. This is a nightmare. She keyed in the code to release the door lock and touched the mic icon. “May I help you, officers?”
“We need to secure and search one of your rooms,” one of the uniformed officers answered.
“This is Celeste Adams. I own the hotel, and I’m on the premises. The door is unlocked now. Please wait in the lobby, and I’ll be right over.”
Emma started to rise from the sofa, and Celeste laid a hand on her shoulder. “You should stay here, Emma. This might be a good time to call your sister in case you need her help.”
As dangerous as it might have been to quicken her pace in the dark, Celeste did break into a run along the path. The sooner the police could get in and out of the hotel, the less chance there would be of creating alarm among the several other guests who’d checked in that afternoon. She slowed down when she heard a woman’s voice in the vicinity of the pool. She looked in that direction. The pool closed at eleven p.m., but Missy stood next to the diving board talking on the phone. She’d changed into a pair of loose-fitting pink pajamas and she appeared to be barefoot. She shouldn’t be there at this hour.
“I don’t know how it happened,” Missy said into the phone. “But I had to come outside in the fresh air before I lost my mind…If they were married less than twenty-four hours, is it even legal? Can she still inherit everything? …Maybe we don’t have anything to worry about.”
Oh, good, Lord. Celeste hurried to unlock the kitchen door and scampered through the darkened room to the hallway. As she entered the lobby, one officer stepped forward while the other stayed off to the side. He pointed to his badge and nametag.
“I’m Sergeant Nichols,” he said. “I'm here to investigate the death that occurred earlier this evening.”
Celeste pretended that she wasn’t privy to what Roger told Emma.
“Is that normal procedure?” she asked. “The lead paramedic gave me the impression that he suspected Mr. Carlyle had a stroke.”
“There’s been more information, ma’am,” Sergeant Nichols said.
“Of course, well, it’s the honeymoon suite on the fourth floor,” she said. “I’ll take you up and let you into the room.”
She went behind the check-in counter and retrieved one of the master keys from under the cash drawer. As the officers followed her into the elevator, she spied Missy entering the lobby from the pool door. Before, in the dark, she hadn’t been able to see the dark circles under the woman’s eyes. Something is wrong with her. The elevator doors closed before Missy reached them, and Celeste breathed a sigh of relief.
On the fourth floor, she entered the honeymoon suite and touched the light switch inside the door. She gasped at the sight illuminated by the table lamps.
“What the heck,” she said.
Wes’s black suitcase lay unzipped on the sofa with all of its contents scattered on the floor. Looking through to the bedroom, she could see Emma’s red suitcase on the bed in the same condition. The dresser drawers and the bedside table drawer were ajar. The phone book and visitor information guide had been tossed onto the floor.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?” Sgt. Nichols asked.
She moved forward into the room, and Sergeant Nichols followed on her heels.
“What a mess,” he said.
What a mess, indeed. What in the devil is happening in my hotel?
“Sergeant, someone has been in this suite since the last time I saw it,” she said. “I escorted Mrs. Carlyle from here personally, and I can assure you, we didn’t leave it this way.”
“Did anyone else have a keycard for this room?” he asked.
“Wes and Emma Carlyle should’ve had the only cards.”
Sergeant Nichols appeared to be the one in charge because he gave the other officer orders. “Go ahead and put the tape across the door, and let’s start our search in here.”
If he were poisoned, wouldn’t it have happened at the restaurant? “I’m not sure what kind of evidence you hope to find here, but from the looks of this suite, it may have already been removed,” she said.
He shot a perturbed look at her. “When investigating a possible homicide, we take nothing for granted.”
“Okay, I’ll get out of your way and let you do your job. If you need me for anything, I’ll be downstairs at the reception desk checking on the keycard situation.”
“Where can we find Emma Carlyle? We’d like to question her.”
Perhaps, she’d already injected herself too far into the situation, but for now, her concern was for Emma’s state of mind.
“Can’t that wait? It’s almost one a.m., and she’s had a terrible shock. I hope she’s asleep right now.”
The officer’s pensive expression softened somewhat. “We’ll talk to her in the morning but tell her not to leave the premises.”
“Does that go for the rest of the family, as well?” she asked. “His sons and their wives are staying on the third floor.”
“We spoke with the oldest son, Roger, at the hospital. He said that he would inform the others to stay put until we’ve had a chance to interview each of them.”
To exit the suite, she had to duck under the yellow tape that stretched across the door. Who could have gained access to this room and searched those suitcases? Her attention went to the sound of the elevator doors closing. She raised her line of sight to the lighted panel above the doors. The car came to a stop on the third floor. I wonder who was being nosy. She pushed the button to bring the car up to the fourth floor. While riding down, she took deep, calming breaths.
When the elevator reached the lobby, Roger was waiting. They traded places in the car, but she held the door long enough to speak her mind.
“Roger, I’m sorry about your father,” she said. “But I wish you wouldn’t be so quick to blame Emma for whatever it was that killed him.”
She’d seen contempt before, and she could see it now in the pulsating muscle just below his ear.
“Thank you for your sympathy but this is none of your business, Mrs. Adams.”
“Well, I think it is my business since your father died in my hotel.”
His chest heaved with a deep breath. “Don’t worry. No one is going to sue you for Dad’s death.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind right now. I’m concerned for a grieving, frightened widow.”
“I would suggest that you get to know Emma a little better before jumping to her defense,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, please release the door.”
Celeste stood her ground.
“Let me say one more thing,” she said. “I let the police into the honeymoon suite and found that between the time Emma and I left and the police arrived, someone gained access to the suite. Your father’s and Emma’s suitcases had been rifled and the drawers ransacked. Emma didn’t do it because she hasn’t been out of my sight since your father’s body was taken away.”
His brow furrowed. “Why would anyone do that?” He whispered the question as if asking it more to himself than to her.
“My thoughts exactly,” she said. “If your father was murdered, I don’t believe Emma is the logical suspect. There’s been an awful lot of sneaking around in this hotel tonight that could point fingers in many directions.”
With that, she released the door and let Roger go on his way. Celeste went behind the counter and wiggled the mouse to wake the computer. Now, let’s see how many keycards have been issued for that suite. As she suspected, Emma received one keycard at check-in, and Maddie issued another to Wesley when he moved to the honeymoon suite following the wedding reception. She rang the suite, and Sergeant Nichols answered the phone.
“Sergeant, this is Mrs. Adams downstairs. I just checked the computer and there were no other keycards issued other than the two to Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle.”
“Thank you for checking,” he said. “We haven’t found a keycard in the room.”
“I wonder if someone took it from the room during the commotion of Wes Carlyle’s death.”
Sergeant Nichols didn’t answer her query. In the background, she could hear the other officer speaking with someone else. Roger, more than likely.
“Yes, as I said, thank you for checking.” Sergeant Nichols said and hung up the phone without another word.
Celeste stared at the receiver. “Well, you’re welcome.”
I suppose he doesn’t want me getting involved. I’ve seen policemen treat Mrs. Fletcher that way on Murder, She Wrote. There’s one more thing I should check. She opened the cash drawer. Along with the master keycard she had in her pocket, there were three in the envelope—the correct number. That eases my mind. At least, no one has stolen one of our masters.
When she returned to the cottage, Emma had retired to the guest room. Her door was ajar and light from the bedside lamp streamed out. Celeste peeked inside. Emma was under the covers and appeared to be sleeping. I hope she can get some rest. Celeste eased the door shut and went to the living room. She glanced at Emma’s empty mug of hot buttered rum sitting on a coaster on the coffee table. I might need another one of those before I can sleep tonight.