I went to reception to check on the status of the internet. Leticia, the lodge’s manager, was at the front desk.
“Ms. Naomi. Did you enjoy the treehouse?” she asked.
Enjoy was probably not the right word, except for the last hour. I didn’t want to admit my fear for the first hours there and simply answered, “Yes.”
“We can’t believe you stayed out there by yourself. We can’t think of anyone else ever doing that before.”
Had the staff been talking about me? I wondered.
“How can I help you, Ms. Naomi?” she asked.
“I was wondering why the internet isn’t working.”
“It’s temporary. We’re working on it. It’ll be fixed shortly.”
“Do you have internet?” I pointed to the desktop in her office.
“No, the whole lodge is out.”
“How about other lodges?”
“What?”
“Other lodges in the area, do they have internet?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You haven’t called anyone?” The first thing I did when my power went out was check if anyone else in the building or on my street had lost power.
“I’ve called our provider. It’s temporary. We’re working on it. It’ll be fixed shortly.” She returned her attention to the paperwork in front of her.
Without internet, I couldn’t learn more about Dr. Higgins. And when I say more, I mean learn anything about him.
Without internet, I wouldn’t solve his murder. Again, I wondered if the loss of internet was connected to his death. Was it a ploy to keep us isolated?
Without internet, I was going to have to do this old school. Feet to the pavement, I remembered a TV detective once saying.
I needed Leticia away from the front desk to learn more about my fellow travelers, and maybe the staff. Whatever I could find. I needed a distraction.
On check-in, we had all signed in. We’d also given reception a credit card, for incidentals, like the spa. They’d also requested our passports. Colin had balked at this but he calmed once they said it was just for a few minutes so they could take a photocopy of it. We’d have it back in our hands before we went to our rooms. Geri assured him it was common practice, and sometimes the law, for hotels outside of the United States to take copies of your passport.
It was a slow time at the lodge and I didn’t see anyone else working with Leticia at the front desk. I headed back to the room to arrange a distraction.
“You want me to do what?” Charlotte asked.
“I just need the manager away from the front desk for a few minutes to find out his full name.”
She rolled her eyes. “And then what?”
“And…I don’t know. But it’ll be a start.”
I sat in the area off reception and waited. After five minutes, I worried if Charlotte had changed her mind. I could picture her pacing the length of the long room, cursing my name.
This wasn’t a typical hotel. They didn’t have to have someone at the front desk all the time. There was never going to be a walk-in guest. They always knew when people were arriving and departing. You couldn’t just drive pass this place and say, “Honey, let’s stay here.” Flying in was the only option. So, if Charlotte could put aside her pride for a few minutes, ten maximum, she could keep Leticia in our room and I would be alone at the front desk. Investigating. Or, more accurately, snooping. And praying I didn’t get caught.
I kept my head down in a magazine as Leticia came out of reception and headed toward the rooms. She didn’t run, but she walked as fast as she could, without bringing attention to herself.
I counted to ten, replaced the magazine on the coffee table, and walked to reception.
“Hello,” I called out, just to be sure the reception area was empty. No reply.
I scurried behind the front desk, hoping to see the log-in book. The desk was empty. I opened the drawer. Success. I pulled out the book marked “Guests” and quickly flipped through the last entries.
I saw Charlotte’s beautiful signature and my scrawl, below it. I tried to remember the order in which we signed the book. By order of elimination, I found Higgins.
Illegible. I shouldn’t be surprised. He had been a doctor, after all.
I needed the copies of the passports. I opened the drawer below and scrolled through the hanging files. They weren’t marked in English. Assuming the most recent guest information would be in the closest filing folder, I pulled it out. Jackpot.
I didn’t have time to read them now. I didn’t know how long Charlotte would be able to keep Leticia occupied. I didn’t know whose patience would run out first. I pulled out my iPhone and snapped photos of each.
I glanced at my watch. I had found what I had set out for but felt I, maybe, had a few more minutes to investigate.
The manager’s office, or more accurately, the computer, beckoned. I held my breath and listened. No signs of anyone coming. I dashed into her office. I touched the mouse to awaken the open laptop. The screen lit and the computer’s wallpaper, a beautiful shot of a giraffe at sunset, popped up. I had expected to input a password but the desktop’s icons were there, laid over the giraffe’s image. Geez, what kind of security did this place have? She really should have a password on this computer.
I checked the top right-hand section of the screen. No bars indicating Wi-Fi reception. I clicked on it. Only one option Wi-Fi network presented itself. I clicked on it. The wheel spun as it searched. My stomach churned in unison.
No signal found.
I clicked on the email icon. Nothing had been sent or received since two nights ago—the night Dr. Higgins died. There had been no distressing email sent from the lodge that a resident had died. No junk mail received.
Nothing coming or going.
She was telling the truth. She didn’t have internet either.
I glanced at my watch. My time was up. I had found what I had set out for. The passport photos. And, a bonus, I had confirmed the lodge had no internet connection.
I ran out of her office just in time. Hearing someone approaching, hoping it was a guest, I stood and looked out the window onto the driveway.
I stood motionless, as my heart beat rapidly, as if I’d been standing, admiring the view of the dirt and gravel, for minutes.
Leticia walked in with a scowl. I appeared surprised, as if awoken from a daydream.
She plastered on a fake smile, one she probably used often for the guests. “How can I help, Ms. Naomi?”
“Any update on the internet?”
“No. It’s temporary. We’re working on it. It’ll be fixed shortly.”
I nodded understanding and used all my effort to walk out leisurely. I maintained that pace, wondering if there were security cameras watching my retreat to my room.
“Nice job,” I commended my sister once I was back inside our room.
“She thinks I’m a nut job.”
“That’s okay.”
“That’s okay?” she repeated.
“Please. At worst, she thinks you’re an annoying guest. She probably thinks you’re just a typical city girl scared of insects.”
“But there wasn’t an insect.”
“But there could have been one.” That’s what makes a lie believable, when it’s based on truth.
She paused. “What do you mean ‘could have been’?” I hadn’t wanted to tell her. “Naomi!”
I had been lucky we didn’t have this argument immediately after my request. “It was just a little one. It’s gone now. Nothing to worry about.”
She jumped onto the coffee table and screamed. She scanned the floors, the walls, and even the ceiling for any signs of little crawling lives. She would have not enjoyed the treehouse and its nightly guests who clung to the mosquito netting. “How little?”
“Now who thinks you’re the nut job?” I asked, as she stood panicked on the table.
“I don’t care what you think.”
“There’s nothing here, Charlotte. Get off the table.”
She made a final scan of the room from her perch and then stepped off. “When?”
“Our first night.”
“How big?”
Holding my fingers two inches apart, I answered. She nodded and fear drained from her face. Fortunately, she didn’t ask the length of the insect I had seen in the shower the first night. The fear would have quickly returned. The screams too.
“Did you get what you needed?” she asked.
“Yep.” I sat on the couch and pulled out my iPhone. “Want to see?”
“No, I think you’re the nut job.”
She went into the bathroom and started the shower. Now would be a good time to tell her where I had seen the insect. I remained quiet and smiled.
“You think this place has security cameras?”
“What?” she yelled from the bathroom. She peeked her head out of the bathroom.
“Security cameras? You think they have any?” I asked again.
“No, I think we would have seen them.”
I tapped on my phone’s photo icon and pulled up the passport photos. I’d been in such a rush, I’d taken photos of each one, including mine and Charlotte’s. I scrolled past them.
Geraldine Beatrice Wallace
Jack Arnold Wallace
Hazel Margaret Vankey
Colin James Vankey
The Vankeys were from Canada. Had they mentioned that? I couldn’t remember. Like orientation, I hadn’t paid attention during introductions.
I stopped at the next passport image. The one I had wanted.
Jonah Pettigrew Higgins.
Without internet, his full name was of little use to me. I checked the Wi-Fi setting on my phone. Still no internet.
I returned to the passport photos. Few passport photos are nice, except Charlotte’s. Hers looked like a glamour shot. Dr. Higgins’ photo was no exception. He stood scowling at the camera, his brown hair slicked back. I glanced at the expiration date of the US passport; the photos were about three years ago, putting him at fifty-eight when he died.
I zoomed out of the photo. On the bottom of the paper, Leticia had scribbled, “No emergency contact information provided.”
I scrolled back to the previous photos. Each traveler had an emergency contact name, phone number, and relationship information listed under the copy of their passport.
Geri and Jack had a son, Jack Jr., listed. Colin and Hazel had a daughter, Anna, listed. Charlotte had put our mother down for us.
I scrolled through the remaining three photos and zoomed in on the passports.
Sabrina Coleky-Johnson.
Zonah Coleky.
Zaden Johnson.
For these three, I inspected their birthdates. Sabrina was thirty-eight. Zonah was twenty. Zaden was fourteen. I now felt more comfortable assuming Sabrina was Zonah’s mother. When I zoomed out, I confirmed it.
Sabrina had listed herself, “mother,” as the emergency contact for both of the boys. She’d listed C.K. Johnson, husband, as her emergency contact.
Another mystery solved.