After leaving the police station, I was pumped and pissed. I didn't bother with a cab but walked, practically stomped, to The Frond. Someone had killed Barclay. I assumed it was someone he knew, someone he came here with, and there was no way I was getting blamed for it. Sure, now I was fine, but as soon as the fingerprints results came back, I'd likely be suspect numero uno, and that wasn't going to cut it.
I'd painstakingly run from my family, hid my past, and made the best of my situation, despite numbingly missing my mother and even my doofus brother. I was helping Cady, who was helping Aiden. The thought of either of us being blamed for something that one of the friends had done was inexcusable to me. So my only choice was to have a heart-to-heart with Barclay's so-called friends.
Having the killer confess was a long shot. I knew this, but I had to try.
By time I reached The Frond, I needed a shower. I crossed the corridor with purpose, unlike the first time I was here, and went straight to the elevators. The ride to the fifth floor was fast. But not fast enough, seeing how when the doors opened again, some of my determination had seeped from me and I was starting to doubt if this was the right plan.
I stepped onto the floor and heard voices. The door to room 500 was wide open, and it sounded as if the four remaining friends were inside talking. No, arguing.
"I had no reason to kill Barclay. He was my best friend," Finley shouted.
I gingerly walked across the hall to their doorway. From my vantage point, I could see Greer's black gloved hand. He was standing in front of the couch.
"Well, someone did," he yelled.
My stomach jumped, and I felt nervous and a little nauseous. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I quickly stepped back, out of sight, to contemplate what to do. It didn't seem right to interrupt them. I didn't need their hostility with each other to rain on me. I could return later. From what I'd overheard at the station, they weren't leaving the island tonight.
I started to turn toward the elevator and saw the door to room 501 wide open as well. Greer and Mimi's room. Was she in there or with the others?
They weren't leaving tonight or likely tomorrow, but my ship would be, and if the Barbados police kept me here due to snooping through Barclay's room, I'd be devastated. It may have been wrong to go in there and through his stuff, but I didn't kill him. I wasn't losing this job for trying to help Cady's relationship.
I inched forward. My pulse soared. I held my breath and peeked inside. The main room was empty. The sound of water turned on, and the bathroom door was halfway shut. That must've been Mimi. I prayed their room was set up like the other two and ran inside.
My spur-of-the-moment intention was to hide in their closet, but one of the double doors was open, and it was likely she'd look inside when she was done bathing.
I went from wanting to talk to Barclay's friends, to demand one of them spill as the murderer, to this? What did I expect to find? A letter of admission? But knowing that finding the vial of poison that killed Barclay lying on a bedside table was unlikely didn't stop me. I had to at least look around and see if I could find anything incriminating.
So for the second time today, I dove for the carpeted floor and shimmied under a bed. I was getting good at this.
As soon as I was beneath it, I knew this was a bad idea. Snooping was wrong. Neither of those thoughts made me crawl out though. My brain was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
The water turned off, and I watched Mimi's flip-flop covered feet go from the bathroom to the closet. Thankfully I'd listened to my intuition. She shut the closet door and walked into the living area, out of sight. A second later, I heard the hotel door shut and all muffled arguing was further muffled. Greer must've gone across the hall to Finley and Whitney and left his room door open.
I wasted no time and dragged myself out of hiding. I didn't know if the four of them were going somewhere and I'd have time to snoop or if they were just going to argue some more and return. I needed to act fast.
I turned to the room and took a deep breath. Old Spice deodorant, a green plastic comb, and a jar of moisturizer were arranged on the top of one side of the dresser with pristine care. They were in neat marching order. But on the other side, there was an eye shadow palette that was open and cracked shadow dust had fallen out onto the furniture. A tube of Secret Sweet Pea scented deodorant lay beside it. The lid was off and turned over. This disarray wasn't just on the dresser either.
One nightstand was cleared of any items, and the other held used tissues, a glass half filled with clear liquid, and a room service menu. Greer's black slippers were lined up like soldiers on the left side of the bed, and Mimi's light blue ones were upturned, as if they'd been kicked off, and several pairs of stockings lay on the floor beside them. Clearly these two people were named Felix and Oscar.
I opened the dresser and nightstand drawers, but there was nothing unusual. More clothes and toiletries. Greer's nightstand was empty. It made me wonder if he was simply neat and orderly or if he didn't want to leave anything incriminating behind.
I opened the closet door, but the only items in there were Greer's neat array of shorts and shirts—no suits for him—and Mimi's colorful skirts, tops, and dresses. There was so much fringe.
I ran into the bathroom. It was in the same haphazard mess as Mimi's side of the dresser. Oh, Greer must've loved washing up around hair products and makeup-tipped Q-Tips. He hadn't invited her himself, yet every time I'd seen them together, he was always kind and gentle with her. He definitely cared. And he'd have to in order to put up with her mess. That was sweet and made me smile. Maybe he wasn't a grump deep down after all.
I stepped back into the main room and walked around the fireplace. There was a beige shawl draped over the far arm of the sofa, another glass on the side table. This one empty.
I peered into the trash and saw used tissues, and there was something peeking out from beneath them. Vowing to invest in disposable gloves, I reached in and pulled it up.
It was a folded and somewhat scrunched bank statement. Bank of Illinois. Account Holder was listed as Greer Rawlings. It was dated last month, and there was an eight-thousand-dollar cash deposit made on the fourteenth. That may not have been a lot of money to a financial analyst, but it seemed hefty considering it had been cash. And why was this statement here in the trash? It seemed odd to toss it out in a hotel. Why not keep it on him until he could have it shredded?
Voices sounded near the shut door, and I froze. They were returning.
I dropped the statement back into the trash and ran past the sofa. Bed. Closet. Balcony. Where was I supposed to hide now? The closet was nearest to me. I ran inside, nearly twisting my ankle on several pairs of heels, and shut myself in as the main door opened.
There were wooden slats in the top half of the closet door, so I was able to make out shadows and could see whoever entered if they stood in front of it. Not that I wanted them that close to me.
"I can't believe them," Greer said with enough venom in his tone to make me wish I'd taken my nosy butt downstairs instead of playing Miss Marple.
What was I saying? That older woman wouldn't have been caught dead snooping through someone's belongings like this. Oooh, bad choice of words.
"Calm down," Mimi said in a soothing voice.
He groaned and walked to the front of the closet.
I held my breath. Please don't need anything in here.
"I'm going to go ahead and meet the others downstairs. You sure you still want to get dinner with them after that argument?" Mimi asked.
She was leaving. Yes!
Greer heavily sighed. "It'll be fine. Eventually."
"You won't be long?" Mimi asked.
"No," he said, still in front of me. A mere two inches of wood separating us. "I need to change quick, and I'll be right there. Order me a Scotch."
Change? Crap. What was the likelihood that the clothes he wanted were in the dresser?
"Do you think it's a good idea to start the night like that? Maybe a beer or—" Mimi's voice was soft, as if she was hesitant to suggest it.
"Do I look like I need mothering?" he yelled so loud I flinched.
My shoulder hit a hanger, gently scraping the metal hook on the metal rod. Shoot!
Luckily they didn't seem to hear me, because neither opened the closet door.
Mimi said, "I'll see you downstairs," in a stronger tone than before.
I heard soft footsteps and the slam of the door.
Greer sighed and continued to stand there.
Seconds, which felt like years, ticked by. I wanted to come up with an excuse in case he found me, but come on. What could I possibly say? Wanted to check out the shirt you wore yesterday?
Then he moved, and I heard the click of the bathroom door.
Oh my goodness. I knew I didn't have time to wait. He would be looking for his clothes in seconds.
I opened the closet door as gently as possible and slipped out. Well, most of me did, but something tugged at my hair. A few curls had twisted around a hanger. Somehow they were so tightly wrapped, I couldn't easily untangle it. I yanked a little and then a lot, clenching my teeth to keep from yelping. As long as neither of them noticed the DNA I'd left behind, all would be well. I hoped.
I gripped the main door handle, pushed down, and flung it open. The hall was empty. I took that as a good sign. I didn't want to push it, so there was no way I was waiting for the elevator. I didn't bother to fully shut Greer's door and darted to my left. I pushed open the heavy metal door to the stairwell as I heard a sound behind me.
I didn't bother to turn and investigate. I took off.
When I reached the first landing and turned to run down the second set of steps to the fourth floor, I heard the door above me open and close. Crap. Greer was on the stairs now too. He must have seen me, or he would have taken the elevator to meet the others. Did he plan to reach me, grab me, and demand to know why I was in his room? He wasn't in a good mood, nor was he a fan of mine, so if he caught up, I'd likely be confronted by a very angry man. I didn't want to deal with that, so I pushed on and ran faster.
My vision tunneled, and the only thing I saw in front of me was the door to the fourth floor. My heel missed the last step, and I nearly went down, but my sheer determination, adrenaline, and fear kept me upright. I lunged at the door, threw it open, and stumbled out onto the corridor.
It was empty and longer than the fifth floor. I passed four rooms before reaching the elevators, and there were at least four more on the other end of the floor. I saw an exit sign farther down. A second staircase. Greer wouldn't be there. I ran toward it, passing the elevator and hearing it ding. I turned to see the doors open. No one walked off. I was about to shout for someone to hold it, when I took a step back and saw Whitney's face.
I stopped short.
She was looking down at her phone and didn't see me. Thank goodness. I didn't want to have to come up with a lie as to why I was in the hotel and on the fourth floor, especially with Greer at my heels.
I took a step forward out of view in case she looked up, pressed myself against the wall for a heartbeat, and then ran to the second stairwell.
I wasn't going to chance it. I ran down all four flights until I reached the lobby. Pulse racing, gasping for air, and sweat dripping into my brow, I was relieved when I saw the gray tiles and tried to compose myself. I was mostly hidden from the lobby and the front desk. If the elevators opened, I would be seen, but I couldn't think about that at this moment. I took several deep breaths, calmed my pulse, and stepped out of the elevator bay.
And smack into Sergeant Clarke.
No, no, no, he was going to arrest me.
"Miss Foster, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Um, visiting a-a friend." My voice was shrill and sounded way too loud.
He nodded and sized me up. "Have a good day."
That was it? I wanted to collapse from relief, but my feet started moving again, and when I hit outside, I ran.
* * *
After getting my second—no, third—workout for the day, I expected to find Cady draped over Aiden at his bar. There were a couple of drunk locals at a table shouting about soccer and no one else. Maybe she was in the bathroom. I headed that way when Aiden stepped through the door behind the bar that led to the kitchen.
He nodded when he saw me. "Hello."
"Hey, is Cady still here?"
He shook his head and grabbed a rag to wipe down the clean, shiny bar. "No, she left thirty minutes ago. I don't think I was good company."
I walked over to him and sat on a stool. I needed to talk to her.
"Well, now that you know it was poison, that has to help, right? It wasn't the food or drink," I said.
He jutted his chin toward the table of shouters. "This is the biggest crowd I've had all day. I had to tell my cook to not bother to come in. He usually works part-time nights when it's crowded. Not tonight. I knew that man's death was going to cost me my business."
Way to empathize, Aiden.
"Well, why don't you put up flyers too? Say something like Poor man was murdered by one of his friends. First drink free tonight only."
His eyes widened, and he grinned. "You're right. Maybe I can salvage this."
I hoped he didn't plan on using my words exactly. They needed some finesse.
He stepped to the side and picked up his phone. He glanced to me. "Do you want something?"
I really wanted a long shower, but until then… "Sure. You choose. Something fruity, please."
His smile was big and breezy. "Coming up."
He poured two different rums, one darker than the other, orange juice, a pink juice, and some grenadine into a short, rounded glass while talking into the phone about how Barclay really died. He popped an orange slice onto the side and a maraschino cherry inside and set it before me while saying into the phone, "Spread the news. It had nothing to do with Ocean Grille."
He hung up and said, "Thank you, Zibby. I don't know why I didn't think of this myself. I guess I've just been so worried. You're a lifesaver."
I sipped my drink and inwardly smiled at the chilled fruitiness as it went down. "It's understandable to not think clearly when your livelihood is being threatened. No need for thanks though. I didn't do anything but try to help you spin it." Plus commit breaking and entering, but I was sure he didn't know about that.
"Maybe so, but this makes me feel better. I owe you."
A crash sounded behind me. I flinched and turned. One of the locals had fallen backwards in his chair, onto the floor. Both men were stunned quiet for a moment, but when the fallen one started to laugh, the other joined in and their thunderous roar filled the space.
Aiden came out from behind the bar. "Okay, it may be time for you two to call it a night."
The man stood up and lifted his chair. "But it's early."
"Maybe by the clock, but you clearly have had enough to drink. I don't need your wives calling and cursing at me because I allowed you both to get willy-nilly hammered."
That was an expression I'd never heard before.
"Fine," said the man who hadn't fallen. "Let us finish this round first."
"Yeah, we paid for them."
Aiden lifted the empty glasses from the table. "No problem."
I sipped my drink, and three more people entered the bar. Wow, his friend's word traveled fast.
Aiden greeted them with a full smile and winked at me. "You should call Cady and have her come back."
That sounded like a great idea.
I unzipped my purse and reached for my phone. The FBI agent's business card half sticking out of its case caught my eye. Barclay's room. Had that only been this morning? It felt like a week ago. It looked more bent than before. I pulled it out, straightened it against the edge of the bar top, and tried to slide it back it, but it wouldn't go all the way. Again. What was the problem?
I grabbed the case near the bottom edge, tried it again, and realized something else was in there. I turned the case over and let an object fall onto my palm.
It was an SD card.