| |
Detective Hottie
––––––––
A UNIFORMED POLICE officer arrived first at the scene. She was short and stocky with mousy hair slicked back in a tight bun. Her pleasant, but serious, expression never wavered as she confirmed I was the 911 caller, then she ushered me away from the body and quickly set up a perimeter with crime scene tape. Just like in the movies. Then she pulled out a cell phone and began tapping wildly at the keys while keeping a gimlet eye on me.
“You discovered the body?” she asked without preamble, fingers flying over the touch screen. Light glinted off her nametag and badge. It was dark, but it looked like her innocuous last name was “Smith.”
I glanced at Natasha’s body still lying in the cabana, her blond hair swaying in the slight breeze, the bloodstain locked in my mind forever. Creepy. Something niggled at the corner of my mind. Something about the crime scene. Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite grasp it. Shock, maybe.
“Yes. I found the body.” What else was there to say?
“Your name and address, please.”
“Viola Roberts,” I said and then rattled off my home address in Astoria, Oregon. All standard procedure. I knew this from watching true-crime shows on television. The Investigation Discovery Channel was my guilty pleasure. I was particularly enamored of Lt. Joe Kenda, Homicide Hunter. I’d even gone so far as to buy one of his mugs.
“Walk me through what happened leading to the discovery.” Her expression was deadpan. She’d make a great poker player. All business, this one.
I cleared my throat and swiped a thin layer of sweat off my upper lip. It was humid as all get out. I would have liked to take this into the air-conditioned hotel, but I got that she couldn’t leave the body unattended.
“I was trying to work, but I couldn’t focus, so I decided to take a walk along the beach.”
“What do you do for a living?” Officer Smith asked, sounding almost bored. I knew she wasn’t. I could see the glint in her eyes that told me she was taking in absolutely everything.
“I’m a writer. I’m here for the conference.” I wasn’t sure she knew there was a conference at the hotel, but she likely would before the end of the night.
She nodded sharply. “You took a walk.”
“Yes. I was headed to the water when I caught sight of Natasha, er, the body out of the corner of my eye. I thought maybe she was passed out or something, so I figured I’d better wake her and get her inside.”
“You knew the victim?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Great. Not only was I probably a suspect since I’d found the body, but the fact I knew her could really get me in hot water.
“I know of her,” I corrected. “We run in the same circles. Go to the same conferences. We’ve met, but nothing more than that. We don’t hang out or anything.”
“Why? You have a problem with her?” She tapped one blunt finger against her phone screen.
Well, darn. My mother raised me not to lie, but if I admitted what I thought of Natasha, they’d probably throw me in the slammer and toss away the key. Did Florida have the death penalty? I shuddered.
“Not a problem, really. Natasha is, was, just never my sort of person. We’re civil, but not BFFs or anything.” Which was true. Natasha and I had never gotten into an argument. Her disagreement had been with Cheryl, which I figured Officer Smith didn’t need to know since Cheryl wasn’t the killer. Of that I was certain. “These conferences attract all sorts of people. You can’t be tight with all of them.”
“All right,” Officer Smith said as the paramedics arrived, followed by two more uniformed officers, some CSIs, and a plainclothes policeman. “Stay here. The detective in charge will likely have some questions for you.”
I nodded and sank down onto one of the nearby lounge chairs. Might as well make myself comfortable.
What looked like the head of hotel security and probably the night manager swarmed over the sand to join the plainclothes policeman. Bet he was the detective in charge, if the gold shield was anything to go by. I’d never met a real homicide detective. I couldn’t help but feel a little thrill, even as I told myself not to be so macabre, what with Natasha lying dead just a few feet away.
One of the CSIs set up a flood lamp. As he switched it on, I got a good look at the body for the first time. The whole scene looked unreal, the dark stain like something from a movie. And the knife... I froze for a split second. That was what had been niggling at me. The knife was identical to the one the bartender had been using to cut up lemons. Should I mention that to Officer Smith? Surely that would be important. It meant the killer was the bartender. Or one of them, anyway. Didn’t it?
I turned to glance at the detective, and my breath caught in my throat. He was young, or at least younger than I was—probably in his mid-thirties— taller than the other men around him and leanly muscled. Or at least he looked that way under the rumpled, cheap suit. His brown hair needed a trim, and he was clutching a large cup of coffee in one nicely shaped hand. The man could have been a movie star, he was that good looking.
And here I sat looking like the victim of a reverse makeover with my makeup washed off and my hair a disaster, thanks to the humidity. My usual glossy waves had turned into a frizzy hot mess. Figured. First really good-looking man I’d come across, and he probably not only thought I was a homeless person, but a murderer to boot.
Of course Lucas Salvatore was a darn fine-looking man, too. Although he didn’t have that wonderfully dangerous edge that the detective had. Detective Hottie was one interesting man. I couldn’t wait for the interrogation to begin.
––––––––
THIRTY SECONDS IN AND I’d changed my mind. Interrogation wasn’t fun, and it had ceased to be interesting fifteen minutes ago. Detective Hottie was a jerk. I tried really hard not to glare at him. I doubted I was successful.
“Giving me dirty looks isn’t going to help you, Ms. Roberts,” he said sternly. I usually thought of hazel eyes as being warm, but his were icy and cold. “I’m just doing my job.”
I sighed. It was true. “Sorry, what was it you asked, Detective...?”
“Detective Diego Costa, ma’am.”
I wished he’d stop calling me “ma’am.” It made me feel ancient. “I’m not that old,” I muttered under my breath.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
I barely resisted the urge to growl. “Nothing, Detective.”
He gave me a blank look that was downright scary. “When was the last time you saw the victim alive?”
“Like I told Officer Smith, Natasha Winters was alive and well at about ten p.m. I saw her in the courtyard arguing with her almost-ex-husband, Jason Winters.”
“Almost ex-husband?”
“It’s a long story.”
He stared at me with those scary eyes. “I’ve got time.”
“Most of what I know is only third-party gossip, mind you.”
“Understood.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “When Natasha first started making money as a writer, she hired a personal assistant, Piper Ross. Piper was young, good looking, and...well, one thing led to another.”
“I see.” There was zero expression in Costa’s voice. I had no idea if he approved, disapproved, or plain didn’t care.
“Basically, word is that Jason and Piper had an affair, so Natasha fired Piper, threw Jason out on his, er, backside, and filed for divorce. They’ve been fighting nonstop over the money and the divorce still isn’t final.”
“No pre-nup then?”
I shrugged. “Wouldn’t think so. Natasha and Jason were married for something like twenty years before Natasha hit it big. Until then it was Jason supporting them.”
“I’ll check on that,” Costa assured me. “The fight. What was it about?”
I relayed what I’d heard, knowing the almost-ex-husband would be suspect numero uno. I felt bad for Jason. He didn’t seem like a killer, but he had been the last person to see Natasha alive. Probably. Still, I couldn’t see him committing cold-blooded murder. Or hot-blooded murder, for that matter. He was just so...mild. There was always the possibility that after their argument, Natasha had met up with someone else who had it in for her.
Wow, that really narrows it down, I thought wryly. Half the convention had it in for Natasha. Probably half the hotel staff, too, by now.
After a few more questions, Detective Hottie, I mean Costa, gave me a stern look. The kind meant to make suspects quail in their boots...or flip-flops. I bet he practiced it in the mirror. “That’s all for now, ma’am.” Ugh. There was that foul word again. “You can go back to your room, but please don’t leave the island.”
Which meant I was a suspect. Goodie. Of course, since I’d found the body, I wasn’t terribly surprised.
“Of course not,” I said, giving him a guileless smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Have a good evening, Detective.” And with that, I strode across the smooth, white sand, putting a little extra sway in my hips. If I thought that would distract Detective Costa, I was bound for disappointment. A quick glance over my shoulder told me he was completely focused on the crime scene. He hadn’t even given me a second glance. More’s the pity.
My natural curiosity got the better of me, and with the detective focused elsewhere, I slid behind the first cabana that was a few feet away from the one housing Natasha’s body. Huddled behind the billowing white canvas, I attempted to eavesdrop. I’d seen Jessica Fletcher do it plenty of times. Surely I was smart enough to pull it off. Maybe I could learn something. After all, Cheryl would want all the details, and I couldn’t disappoint. Not to mention, with myself as one of the prime suspects, I felt the need to clear my name as soon as possible. Couldn’t do that unless I knew what was going on, now, could I?
Costa’s voice was a low rumble against the background of wind and waves. I tucked a strand of errant hair behind my ear, as if that could help me hear better. He was talking to Smith. No doubt getting her recorded version of events. She’d been first on the scene, and I knew from my crime shows, that meant her observations would be important to the lead detective. I wondered what she was saying about me. I couldn’t make out their conversation.
Frustrated, I finally gave up, right about the time the coroner prepared to load the body on a gurney. I really didn’t want to stick around to watch them haul Natasha away. The thought of her lying dead squidged me out. Even more, I didn’t need Detective Costa catching me lurking around the crime scene. No doubt I’d go to the top of his suspect list pronto.
With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, I slipped through the shadows toward the pool. My bare foot hit something hard, sending the small object skittering across the sand. With a frown, I leaned over to pick it up. It was a simple, narrow, silver bracelet. The adjustable kind. It looked like maybe there was something etched on it, but the light was poor. I thought for a split second about turning it over to Costa, then hesitated. The bracelet might have nothing to do with the murder. It was nowhere near the body, after all. Plenty of people played on the beach every day. It could belong to anyone. I’d do a little research on it. If I couldn’t find the owner, well, then I would think about turning it over to Costa.
Mind made up, I tucked the bracelet into my capris pocket and hurried across the sand toward the resort. Circling the pool, I huddled against the side of one of the buildings as the coroner passed by with his burden, then slipped down the passageway toward my building. I didn’t relax until I was inside my room with the door locked and bolted.