Despite Gerald and Plum’s half-hearted insistence on paying the check, Cornelia put down her black American Express card and treated everyone. Her friends Amber and Maia didn’t even make an attempt to chip in. The way they acted, it was normal for Cornelia to pay. Plum supposed when your father is a billionaire, a few plates of sushi don’t make much of a dent.
When they returned home, Gerald was tipsy and exhausted and decided to retire for the night. It wasn’t even a solid ten minutes before Plum heard his snores drifting through the town house. She made herself a cup of hibiscus tea and sat down at her desk and clicked on her computer. Plum began an internet search on Johnny Wisebrook. Because he had been a famous rock star, there were tons of links that appeared in the search engine, requiring her to narrow her quest. She typed in Johnny Wisebrook, women, predator. Several items popped up.
Now, Plum knew enough to take everything with a grain of salt. Being a celebrity meant you were an open target, and people came out of the woodwork to accuse celebrities of different things. There were always long-lost relatives, shunned classmates, and begrudged waiters who cashed in their fifteen minutes of fame by charging a famous person with some bad deed. But after weeding through the obvious crazies, Plum found an article in a respectable newspaper from two years prior that did a roundup of all the legitimate-sounding women who had accused Johnny of being sleazy.
There were two women who piqued Plum’s interest. Both described Johnny as heavily pursuing them on a beach, and one of them called him a “gross, old man,” while the other one called him a “letch.” He didn’t assault or attack either of them, so nothing ever came of their accusations, but Plum wondered what if perhaps Johnny was provoked by being rebuffed and decided to kill someone.
Plum sat back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. She was tired, but this was an interesting lead. Could Johnny have tried to have his way with Arielle and, when she fought back, killed her? It was possible. Arielle was a known celebrity stalker, but maybe he pushed her too far? Plum copied the link and put it in an email then sent it to Juan Kevin. She wrote a question mark in the subject line.
She looked through some of the other articles, but none appeared to be as damning as the one she sent to Juan Kevin. Lots of unsubstantiated claims by spurned lovers looking for a payout. She started to get up from her desk when her email pinged. It was Juan Kevin. He asked if she could talk. Plum dialed his number.
“What made you decide to look into Johnny?” Juan Kevin asked by way of greeting when he answered the phone.
“I met Cornelia Nettles tonight, and she is definitely not a fan of his. She called him a monster.”
Juan Kevin was quiet on the other end of the phone. Plum strained her ears to hear if someone was with him at his house, but it was silent. She felt relieved and glad that he was alone then mad at herself for caring.
“You know…I have heard buzz about Johnny before,” said Juan Kevin, finally. “I always brushed it off, because you know…”
“Because you think he’s so wonderful? Because he’s famous?”
“Maybe,” Juan Kevin admitted. “But maybe there was something to the rumors.”
“Definitely worth checking out,” said Plum.
“I’ll get on that tomorrow,” he said. “Thanks for alerting me to the article.”
“Do you know if the police have any leads?” she asked.
“If they do, they’re not saying,” said Juan Kevin. “And I’m busy doing damage control. It is not good for Las Frutas to have another murder. I’m trying to contain it.”
“That will be difficult,” said Plum.
“Yes and no,” said Juan Kevin. “The fact that Arielle was the daughter of a media baron helps. He has forbidden his magazines and newspapers from reporting on it as he and his family grieve.”
“Good luck with that,” said Plum. “It’s going to get out, and the press will be crawling around soon enough. They’re vermin,” she added, ignoring the fact that she’d been one of those vermin herself not too long ago.
“Yes,” agreed Juan Kevin. “We’re being extremely careful about who we let into the resort. We are not letting anyone make new reservations, only those with standing ones are allowed in. That way we know they are legitimate vacationers.”
“Smart.”
There was a pregnant pause where Plum wanted to ask him what he was doing and suggest getting together, but she didn’t have the nerve. Finally, he spoke.
“Well, get some sleep. I’ll probably talk to you tomorrow,” he said.
“Okay, good night.”
She went to bed angry at herself for the missed opportunity. She could have asked him over for a casual drink to discuss business. That and nothing else. There was nothing untoward suggested. Why had they suddenly become strangers? They’d been on the brink of a real friendship (and possibly more) a month ago. Had she driven him away with her own insecurity? She put her pillow over her head, ignored the buzzing mosquito, and forced herself to sleep.
* * *
Lucia was able to tap into her network of friends at the resort and learn that Shakira Perez, Dieter’s girlfriend, took a dance-based cardio fitness class every morning at the hotel gym. Plum decided it would be a good time to ask her a few questions, especially since Dieter would not be around. Isolate the subject was a command that Plum had learned on an interrogation website.
Although she hadn’t exercised in months (maybe years), Plum was undaunted by attending the class. She put on a pair of Tory Burch sweatpants (more of a fashion statement than actual athletic wear) and the only T-shirt that she owned, which had been part of a promotional package she had received during her editorial days. It was from a now-defunct hotel that had targeted wealthy, single millennials. It had pictures of famous couples emblazoned on the purple shirt, and the inscription said, “Find eternal love like they did.” Sadly, all of the couples featured had split up.
The hotel gym was located near the spa. It had the requisite sports equipment—treadmills, StairMasters, elliptical machines, weights, as well as a smoothie bar. Upon check-in at the reception, Plum was offered a small towel the size of a cocktail napkin, which had clearly spent many turns in the dryer judging by its hard surface and lack of fuzz, as well as a bottle of water. She glanced around at the other women who were checking in but did not see Shakira.
They were ushered into a studio where a perky and petite Paraison woman with an enviable figure identified herself as Coco and immediately warned them that they would be sweating like never before. The other participants were obviously familiar with the program and instantly cheered then merged into two rows, like a chorus line. Plum somehow ended up front and center just a few feet from Coco. When the teacher went to turn on the music, Plum glanced around the room one more time and was relieved to see Shakira in the corner. Even in workout clothes, she looked very glamorous, and the tight spandex leggings and tank top that she wore accentuated her curves.
Then suddenly the room descended into darkness and a disco ball dropped. Strobe lights began to highlight individuals in the studio as the music blared at a level that Plum thought probably carried to the Nettleses’ villa. Coco began dancing at a frenzied pace, clapping her hands, moving left and right, and to Plum’s horror and consternation, everyone else did the same. After thirty seconds Plum was panting as if she had run up Mount Everest as fast as she possibly could. How were these women able to clap and keep the beat? she wondered.
There was a strong chance that she might be sick.
Coco noticed Plum was struggling and moved over to her. A strobe light immediately focused on Plum, and she could not have felt more exposed.
“What’s your name?” Coco bellowed.
Plum was so out of breath, she could barely talk. “Plum,” she whispered between gasps.
“Okay, Plum, let’s get going. Ladies! Let’s give it up for Plum! She needs all your encouragement!”
While Coco clapped, the ladies immediately began cheering and yelling, “Go, Plum! You can do it!” They didn’t even break their routine as they did so.
Plum smiled weakly. Everyone had their eyes on her, especially Coco, who kept nodding along and staring at Plum flailing under the glare of the spotlight. Plum thought of people escaping prison and the light from the towers tracking them in the courtyard and considered this situation not dissimilar.
Despite Coco’s encouragement and the ladies “giving it up for her,” after the first song ended, Plum excused herself to go to the bathroom and never returned.
It didn’t matter that the rest of the class was thirty more minutes, because Plum took that time to sit on the bench outside and recover. At first she had to put her head between her legs so she wouldn’t throw up, but after she guzzled three of the water bottles that the kind receptionist bestowed upon her, she began to feel less dizzy. She could not imagine that people did this every day. And by choice.
When the class ended, people began filtering out. Plum was amazed to notice that some of the women didn’t even appear to have broken a sweat. Their makeup (who wears makeup to work out?) was still perfectly in place, and only a few dabbed themselves with a towel. Meanwhile, Plum had lasted five minutes and had sweat stains all over her clothing.
She saw Shakira dart out and begin to head to the locker room. Plum quickly followed.
“Shakira!” she said.
Shakira turned around and looked at her blankly.
“It’s Plum Lockhart. We met at Dieter’s the other day.”
“Oh, right,” said Shakira. She didn’t look convinced that she had met Plum, which the latter found offensive.
“I wanted to ask you about Arielle Waldron,” began Plum.
“What about her?” asked Shakira.
“I’m a friend of the family,” lied Plum, “and we are trying to find answers. I wonder if you have any idea of what happened. Or who might have killed her.”
“That is for the police to decide, no?” she asked. She began to walk toward a locker, and Plum followed suit.
“Yes, of course, but maybe you had some ideas.”
“No,” said Shakira. She picked up a towel from the clean stack by the wall. “I did not know the girl.”
“But I heard that you whispered something about the Nettleses and Dieter saying to get rid of the girl,” said Plum.
Shakira took a moment to dab herself with her towel before she responded. “I do not remember that.”
“Even after she was killed, you didn’t remember that you didn’t want her there?”
“Many people come to the villa.”
Shakira typed in a combination, and the locker door swung open. She pulled out a giant Maxima bag and placed it on the bench in front of her. She reached in and retrieved her cell phone and scanned the messages, and then, as if deciding there was nothing important, dumped the phone back inside. She then pulled out a Lucite cosmetic bag, the cheap kind that one might pick up at a pharmacy. It had a brush, some lip gloss, blush, foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow in it.
“That’s very organized to bring your makeup to the gym,” said Plum, attempting to continue the conversation and lead it on a friendlier path.
“I do not shower here, too dirty. But I need my makeup to refresh before I leave,” she said. “Didn’t you bring yours?”
“No,” confessed Plum. It hadn’t even occurred to her.
“You’re single,” said Shakira, more as a statement than a question.
“Yes,” Plum confirmed.
Shakira took her bag and walked to the mirror. “I always carry it with me wherever I go. But I keep an eye on it now. My makeup kit was stolen the other day. I am very angry. It had my favorite skin cream in it.”
A light bulb went off in Plum’s head. “What kind of makeup kit was it?”
Shakira was staring at herself in the mirror as she meticulously applied eyeliner. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what label was the bag?”
“It was Maxima. Such a pity. Went with my gym bag. I had the set,” Shakira said. “I hope the little bitch who stole it has an allergic reaction to my makeup.”
* * *
After the gym Plum headed over to Villa Tomate to do a walkabout and assess the progress. She also wanted to make sure the handymen, painters, and landscapers had shown up for work on time, which unfortunately was sometimes considered optional in Paraiso. Plum was on a tight schedule if she wanted to be able to rent it quickly.
Plum thought about her conversation at the gym. It had to have been Shakira’s makeup kit that Arielle stole, but the question was, did Shakira know that? Did she love that makeup kit so much, she would kill Arielle for it? Probably not. But it could be one reason she wanted to banish her from the house.
Plum was pleased with the progress of the villa. The walls had been painted, and the artisans were grouting the broken tiles. After leaving the villa in the hands of the workmen, she was heading back to her office when she saw Gary Grigorian in a golf cart, turning into the hotel. He was alone, which appeared to be an anomaly for him, what with his desperate wife always hanging all over him, and Plum couldn’t resist the opportunity to chat with him without her pesky interference. Perhaps he would be more candid.
Gary was already inside the hotel lobby when she entered, and she saw that he veered into the gift shop. Plum followed suit. It was an elegant little boutique that sold the requisite candy bars, magazines, and paperback novels but also offered a wide variety of shirts, baseball caps, fleeces, and other paraphernalia emblazoned with the Las Frutas logo. Additionally, there was an entire wall with racks of expensive bathing suits, tunics, and cover-ups, marked up to extremely high prices to take advantage of those poor souls who had forgotten their beach outfits. Plum found Gary at the counter, chatting with a pretty saleswoman helping him select a cigar from the giant humidor.
“I’d like a big one,” said Gary.
The woman eyed him flirtatiously. “I think I know what you mean.”
Gary put the cigar in his fingers. “Yes, this will do.”
“Hi, Gary,” said Plum.
Gary quickly swung around gave her a look as if he had been caught in a scandalous act. “Plum, I’m buying a cigar.”
“So I see,” she said.
“Hallie doesn’t like me to smoke. I have to sneak around. That’s why you scared me,” he explained.
Is that why you nearly jumped out of your skin? Plum wanted to ask. Or is it because you were flirting with the saleswoman? No wonder Hallie keeps you on a tight leash.
“I don’t blame her,” said Plum. “I can’t stand the smell of cigar smoke. Or any smoke for that matter.”
Gary gave her a charming smile, the kind she had seen him use on old lady contestants who got the wrong answer on his stupid game show.
“I’ll make sure not to smoke anywhere near you,” he said. He pulled out his wallet and handed the saleswoman his credit card.
“How are things going at Dieter’s?” asked Plum.
“Fine,” Gary replied blandly.
“Are the police swarming all over? Is everyone being interviewed?” asked Plum.
Gary gave her neutral stare. “No. They questioned us, but it’s pretty obvious none of us had anything to do with the murder, so they’re looking elsewhere.”
“Huh,” said Plum. “No one is a suspect?”
Gary cocked his head to the side. “You really think one of us would have killed her? We didn’t even know her.”
“You never met her before?” Plum pressed.
“Where would I have met her?”
“I don’t know, but I was curious,” said Plum.
Gary gave her a haughty look. “It’s possible I met her. I’m a celebrity, and people come up to me all the time and want an autograph or to take my picture. I cannot one hundred percent deny that I may have met her.”
The saleswoman returned and handed Gary back his credit card, as well as his cigar in a little pouch. He thanked her, and she gave him a coquettish wink. Plum was repulsed. Gary wasn’t even handsome but because he was a minor celebrity some women threw themselves at him?
“Nice seeing you,” said Gary, who then left the store before Plum could fire any more questions at him.
She lingered for a bit, as if to emphasize that she was not following him, then exited the store.
When Plum exited the hotel, she approached her golf cart and was about to pull out her key when she saw Gary emerge from a side door of the hotel and walk out to the veranda in the company of a pretty, redheaded woman. She was wearing a dark-blue dress that was a bit formal, and high-heel pumps. Gary craned his neck around, as if making sure no one could see them, and Plum quickly darted behind a truck that was parked next to her. When she peeked out, she saw that Gary and the woman were talking in the corner of the veranda. Gary’s back was to her, so Plum was obscured from his view. She was able to study the woman, who was listening intently.
Plum slunk her way around the truck and kept her body low to the ground. She crept toward the edge of the veranda and crouched down in front of the neatly clipped bushes that lined the hotel. Plum felt fairly hidden from their view; that is, unless Gary and his companion craned their necks searching for someone below, which was unlikely. From this location, she was able to hear their conversation as long as she ignored the quizzical looks from departing guests who undoubtedly wondered why she was lurking in the grass.
“We can’t be seen together,” Gary said.
“I know, I know,” said the woman.
“No one can know you’re here,” Gary insisted.
“Don’t worry, I was super careful. And I’m sorry that I made you come to the hotel, but I had to talk to you about…her.”
“We don’t have to worry about her,” said Gary. “I told you.”
“Are you sure?” asked the woman, her voice uncertain. “I’m scared for you. It just seems like you might be exposed. I think you’re vulnerable.”
“No one saw, no one knows,” insisted Gary.
“Well, except…”
“He’s not a problem,” said Gary.
“But what about the evidence…”
“It’s taken care of. No one will ever see it,” said Gary.
“How can you be so sure?” asked the redhead.
“Money talks,” said Gary with certainty. “And now I really have to go, Hallie is waiting for me. I don’t want her to come looking, she’ll get everyone involved, and then you will be discovered.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’m going to see you soon enough,” said Gary. “Don’t worry, we won’t need to hide much longer.”
“Yes,” sighed the redhead. “It’s all this sneaking around that puts me on edge. I’m not used to it.”
“Me neither. I’m counting down the minutes. I’ll catch you later.”
Plum heard Gary move and quickly scampered around the edge of the hotel, practically diving into a bush. She pressed her entire body into it, the spiky branches stabbing her in the back, and wished she could camouflage herself. Fortunately, Gary was in too much of a rush to glance her way, and she only saw the back of him thundering down the stairs. She waited until he had tucked himself into his car and then unfurled herself from the bush. After brushing herself off, she glanced up and realized with horror that she was face-to-face with the redhead. The woman appeared disconcerted to see Plum emerging from the foliage.
“Oh, sorry,” said Plum. She instantly improvised. “I was playing hide-and-seek with my son. You didn’t see a small boy, about two years old, wearing a sailor suit?”
The redhead gave her a concerned look. “No, do you need help searching for him?”
“That’s okay, I’m sure he’ll turn up,” said Plum lightly.
“Yes, but he’s only two years old? There’s lots of water around here. What if he’s gone missing?” she said urgently.
“I’m not worried. He’s a good swimmer,” said Plum. “And if he doesn’t turn up, que será, será.”
“You can’t be serious,” said the redhead.
“Of course I am,” said Plum, but she decided she had to make a break for it. “Anyway, thanks, I’ll check the beach.”
She darted away and left the red-haired woman shaking her head.