| |
Into the Great Beyond
––––––––
WE ENTERED THE FAIRWINDS Resort lobby to find complete and utter chaos. Huddled groups of employees gathered around crying. Guests milled about, looking confused and anxious. The night manager was trying to calm everyone with limited success, and in the middle of it all, Kyle— the bartender and Natasha’s lover—was arguing loudly with a female bartender.
“Oh, please,” the woman shouted over a sobbing waitress, eyes snapping angrily. “You never loved her, Kyle. You ditched her as soon as that nasty woman showed up.”
“You don’t know anything, Becky.” Kyle slammed a glass down on the bar so hard it cracked. “I loved her more than you could ever understand.” And with that, he stormed out of the bar and across the lobby to disappear down one of the corridors. It was all very dramatic. A little too dramatic. I could only surmise that the “nasty woman” Becky referred to was Natasha. So, Kyle had a girlfriend before Natasha. Someone he’d dumped to be with the diva. Could it be the sobbing waitress?
I edged closer to the bar, dragging Cheryl with me. I eyed Becky, the female bartender. “Men, eh?”
She snorted. “You have no idea. He’s a womanizing jerk, that one.”
I nodded to the still sobbing waitress. “That his ex-girlfriend?”
“No, that’s Tiffany, Andrea’s best friend. Andrea was Kyle’s ex-girlfriend.”
I frowned. “Was?”
Becky leaned over the bar, voice low. “We just got word. Andrea was killed tonight. Isn’t that sad?” She glanced over at Tiffany. “Sorry, better go calm her down before my boss freaks out.”
As she walked away, I grabbed Cheryl’s arm. “I think the dead woman at Don CeSar was Kyle’s girlfriend.”
She frowned. “Did you hit your head? Natasha’s been dead for days.”
“No, no,” I said impatiently. “His girlfriend before Natasha. From the sounds of the argument he just had, I’m guessing he dumped whomever it was for Natasha. Now not only is Natasha dead, but so is the old girlfriend, Andrea.” Which begged the question: why would someone murder both of Kyle’s girlfriends? It was an odd coincidence, if you asked me. Vendetta maybe?
Cheryl frowned. “Are you sure?”
‘Not one hundred percent, but pretty sure. Let’s talk to Becky some more.”
“Becky?”
“Bartender.” I nodded to the woman who’d been arguing with Kyle. She was patting the tearful waitress, Tiffany, on the back and shoving tissues at her.
Cheryl perked up. “I could use a drink.”
We sauntered over and took seats on two of the empty barstools just as Tiffany managed to get herself more or less under control. She hurried off with a sad wave to Becky. We ordered our drinks, the usual blackberry bourbon for me and wine for Cheryl. I glanced around casually.
“Can you tell us what happened?” I asked Becky. She looked to be about thirty and was on the slender side with a colorful full-sleeve tattoo of a dragon on her left arm. “It’s just so...awful. I can’t imagine how you all are coping.”
“Some of us worse than others, as you saw. The police were just here,” Becky said with a shake of her head. “They were trying to find next of kin for a body they’d found—all she had on her was her work ID.”
“Which led them here,” I guessed.
She nodded. “Turns out it was Andrea. She worked here. Poor thing.” She sighed.
I clucked sympathetically. “That’s so sad. Where did she work? Maybe we met her.”
“I doubt it. Andrea works in the spa. She’s a massage therapist, but she was off most of this week. It’s just terrible. And after Kyle dumping her and everything.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I feel badly for her family.”
“Well, in this case I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t have any. She was raised in foster care, I guess. No relatives to speak of.” Becky shook her head, her face hardening in anger. “She was so young. So sweet. Nobody deserves to die that way.”
“What way?” Of course, I’d already guessed, but I needed confirmation.
Becky leaned across the bar. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but it’s just so shocking, you know?”
I nodded. “I get it. I promise, my lips are sealed.”
“Well, according to Lyn, our assistant manager, the police say somebody hit her over the head and then pushed her down the stairs over at the Don CeSar. Isn’t that awful? Poor kid.” She shook her head.
“That’s dreadful,” I murmured. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but inside I was dancing. Because I now had confirmation that Kyle’s ex-girlfriend, Andrea, was the murder victim at the Don CeSar. What she’d been doing there and why she’d been killed were questions that still needed answering, but I’d no doubt that somehow or other, Andrea’s and Natasha’s deaths were somehow related, and I was going to find out how.
––––––––
I HALF EXPECTED COSTA to show up at my room that night, pounding on the door and accusing me of murdering poor Andrea. That seemed to be his general modus operandi. After all, I was pretty certain I was still on his list of suspects for Natasha’s death, and Costa wasn’t a stupid man. He’d no doubt already figured out the two killings were related.
Instead, I had a rather rocky night’s sleep, followed by a peaceful morning cup of coffee. I even made it to the first lecture of the day: The Future of Historical Fiction.
I know. Scintillating, right? And it was actually interesting, the little bits I heard as my mind wandered to other things. Like murder.
I’d already more or less cleared Kyle of Natasha’s murder. That meant he was probably innocent of Andrea’s, as well—if the murders were connected, as I believed. Still, I made a mental note to check if he had an alibi.
I was also certain that Jason and Piper were innocent of Natasha’s murder, and they had zero reason to kill this Andrea girl. I’d need to check their alibis, too, though. Had to be thorough.
I still needed to talk to the other three suspects in Natasha’s death: Yvonne, Greta, and Avery. Though I couldn’t imagine why any of them would kill Andrea, a woman they didn’t know. Unless Andrea knew something about Natasha’s murder, of course. But what? Had she witnessed it? Or had someone told her something? I needed to find out more about this Andrea.
I decided the best way to find out more about the victim was to speak to her coworkers. So I promptly made myself an appointment at the spa for a massage. All in the name of research.
The resort spa was one of those soothing, Zen places with world music—the kind with pan flutes and whatnot— playing softly over the sound system and scented candles burning in every nook and cranny. The decorator was inordinately fond of seagrass baskets and blue paint. Everywhere I looked, things were painted in varying shades of blue, mostly of the sky and seafoam variety. Even the artwork—which was modern in the extreme—consisted of slashes and splashes of cerulean and sapphire.
I was greeted by a young woman wearing a baby-blue smock and a serene smile, who showed me to a curtained alcove where I could undress. I was given a matching powder-blue robe and a pair of spa slippers and paraded down a wide corridor into a treatment room with a massage table and more scented candles that were probably supposed to smell of the ocean, but really smelled like bathroom spray. And, you guessed it, blue everywhere.
The woman said in a soothing manner that I should disrobe and climb onto the table face down and that my therapist, Rose, would be with me in a moment. I nodded agreeably and, once she left the room, disrobed and climbed on the table. I was determined to enjoy this to the fullest. A massage while interrogating? Best multi-tasking ever.
The door opened, and I turned my head to watch Rose pad in. She was dressed in a blue smock like the first girl and had her sunset-red hair up in a sloppy bun. The kind that always looked so cute on someone like Rose, but made me look like a homeless person with bad fashion sense.
“And how are we today?” she asked in well-modulated tones. The sort of tones that made me want to ring a person’s neck. Maybe Andrea had been killed by a client for being annoying. I smirked and told myself not to be an idiot.
“A little tense,” I admitted. “It’s been a long week. This spa comes highly recommended.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. By whom?”
“Someone who works here. Andrea something?”
Her face fell. “Oh, that’s so sad.”
“Sad?”
Her blue eyes widened innocently. “Didn’t you hear? Andrea has passed.”
I frowned and played dumb. “Passed what?”
“Into the Great Beyond.”
I widened my eyes as if in surprise. “You mean she’s dead?”
“Shhh. We don’t like to use words of negativity here,” she said serenely. “This is a happy place.”
Actually, it was one step up from a mortuary, but to each her own. “Sorry.”
“Now, why don’t you relax so we can begin?” She rubbed some unscented oil in her hands and began smearing it on my back before gently kneading my muscles. I nearly groaned in delight. I really needed to get a massage more often.
In any case, massage or no massage, it was time to get to work. “Well, I’m really sorry. About Andrea, I mean. I didn’t know her or anything, but she seemed really nice.”
“Oh, she was lovely. The sweetest person,” Rose assured me. “I’m certain her light will shine brightly upon us from the stars.”
Alrighty then. “Of course,” I agreed cheerfully. “But it’s just so sad. She was so young. How did she die?” I moaned as Rose hit a particularly sore spot right below my right shoulder blade.
“Breathe deeply,” Rose reminded me. I complied, hoping she’d say more. She didn’t disappoint. “I really shouldn’t be talking about something so negative,” she said, “but it’s shocking, you know? They say,” she lowered her voice as if imparting a great secret, “that Andrea was murdered.”
“Oh, that’s ghastly,” I agreed softly, voice barely above a whisper. “That poor dear. Why would anyone want to murder that sweet girl?” I knew nothing about Andrea except that Becky the bartender had liked her and Kyle had dated her, but I figured saying nice things about Andrea would get me far with Rose and her positivity.
She didn’t disappoint. “Well, if you ask me, it’s something to do with the murder of that writer lady.”
“Natasha Winters?”
I could feel her shrug. “I guess so.”
“What would Andrea have to do with Natasha’s murder? Did they know each other?”
“I don’t think so, but the night before she died, Andrea told me she knew something.”
“About the murder?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Knew what exactly?” I asked eagerly.
“She didn’t say,” Rose said.
Disappointment flooded me.
“But I’m guessing she knew something about the murder. Something she didn’t tell the police. That would be just like Andrea. She doesn’t like to get people in trouble.” Her tone turned dark. “Even if they deserve it.”
“You think she knew who the killer was?”
I felt Rose shrug again. “Who knows? And now she’s gone, we’ll never know, will we? Now, deep breath. Let’s focus on you.”
I got no more information out of Rose. But my mind was in a whirl. Andrea had claimed to know something about the murder, and now she was dead. The question was: what did she know? I needed to find out and fast.