“He doesn’t seem to be very bright.”
“Agreed.” Anybody who arrived alone to seek out a murderous smuggler didn’t get a gold star for smarts, at least not on Kellen’s chart.
“Do you like him?” Mara sounded anxious.
“No.” Not him, nor his astute observations and his blunt way of attacking. “Hang on. Let me duck in here and we’ll get going.” Inside, she shed her clothes and stashed her pistol. She pulled on her running gear, then hurried out to meet Mara. She said, “I can’t do kickboxing this morning. Too much to do, not enough sleep. Maybe tomorrow. Let’s run!” She leaped off her own porch and headed along the lighted pathways, headed toward the behemoth of a hotel where her day would begin.
After a minute, Mara was running at her heels, shouting, “How do you expect me to win the International Ninja Challenge if you’re not dedicated to my cause?”
“Determination!” Kellen shouted back. “Yours!” Today she didn’t allow Mara to set the pace. Not today. Today Kellen was in charge.
18
Kellen stomped her way through the morning, taking on the battling chefs and banging their heads together until they promised to cooperate, calling the security idiots on the carpet and discussing the spa schedule with a sulky Mara. She told Chad Griffin the weather was due to clear, so he would want to be on his way, and the thoroughly offended pilot cleared out. Finally, she sought Sheri Jean to discuss the current and delicate employee relations.
In between conferences, she reflected that she should go sleepless more often. Problems seemed to melt away when she ceased trying to solve employee issues and told them to handle their jobs with the competence for which they were hired.
Now if she could just get Lloyd Magnuson to answer his phone, she’d straighten him out, too. Take Priscilla’s body up to the Virtue Falls coroner and not call in with a report. Could he be more inconsiderate?
In passing, she glimpsed Nils, glasses on, earnest expression in place, interviewing the various members of the staff for his “book.”
She found Sheri Jean in the lobby speaking with two of their guests, a middle-aged black woman from San Francisco and her teenaged daughter.
Sheri Jean smiled at Kellen in a clenched teeth sort of way and introduced her. “This is Mrs. Kazah and her daughter, Jasmine. These two ladies would like to check out two days early. I explained we have a policy of, in these circumstances, keeping the room deposit, but they have expressed unhappiness about the storms. I thought perhaps you could okay the change of policy.”
Kellen smiled at the thirteen-year-old Jasmine. “The weather has been ghastly, hasn’t it?”
“It’s dark all the time, not just cloudy, but night lasts for hours! And hours! The hotel is so empty it’s spooky. Is it always like this?” Jasmine asked.
“It’s my first year here, but they tell me this winter’s storms have been unusually ferocious.” Kellen put her hand on Sheri Jean’s shoulder and ignored Sheri Jean’s flinch of rejection. “Of course we’ll refund the deposit.”
“I do like the food here!” Jasmine stared toward the lobby, where Frances was putting out a plate of cookies, a bowl of apples and some finger sandwiches, and she sounded a lot more like the adolescent she was.
“Then you’d better go get a little more before you move on with your vacation!” Kellen said.
Mrs. Kazah watched her daughter leave, then in a low voice said, “I appreciate this. We really can’t afford this resort at any other time of the year, and we would stay, but news of the murder rattled Jasmine and she had nightmares. After the divorce, she’s grown so sensitive to atmosphere—and it is very dark and quiet here. So many empty corridors.”
Sheri Jean thawed a little. “I understand. Do you have someplace else to go?”
Mrs. Kazah said, “I saw a motel in Cape Charade and thought maybe—”
Sheri Jean and Kellen exchanged horrified glances. The Cape Charade Motel was known for drug deals and bedbugs and was no place for a woman and a child.
Sheri Jean leaped into action. “We have an arrangement with Virtue Falls Resort. It’s a beautiful place, an old boutique hotel north of here about three hours. If that interests you, we can call and get you a room.”
Sheri Jean herded the lady to the reception desk and returned to Kellen. “The Kazahs aren’t the only ones to be spooked by Priscilla’s murder. I lost Lewis from the concierge desk and Lena from guest services, and it’s not as if I was overstaffed to start with.”
“What are they afraid of?”
“Rumors are saying Priscilla’s hands were cut off.”
Kellen had told only Mara. But Lloyd and Temo had known. Maybe they’d gossiped. Or maybe the killer had spread the word to sow uneasiness.
Kellen had to discover the truth about the murder before the staff, minimal as it was, panicked. She had promised Annie she would keep the resort running. She had promised herself a home. Murder and smuggling were nothing more than a challenge. She’d faced worse in her life.
Sheri Jean continued, “It’s dark and it’s cold. The hotel is big and empty.” She shrugged as if trying to dislodge a phantom’s cold hand on her neck. “It’s creepy. Have you heard anything specific about Priscilla’s remains?”
Kellen gave a smile that showed too many gleaming white teeth. “I haven’t heard a word from Lloyd Magnuson, and his phone goes right to voice mail.”
Sheri Jean made a disgusted sound. “When Lloyd goes to Virtue Falls, he visits and eats and drinks. When Mike Sun calls with the results of the autopsy, Lloyd will sober up. Eventually, he’ll get around to giving you a call.”
“It’s really too bad I don’t have him here right now. He’d be sober when I was done with him.”
Sheri Jean took a step back. “You, um, don’t suffer fools lightly, do you?”
“Not when we’re dealing with murder.”
“I saw that cloth and that shoe and the ring. But it’s so hard to believe.” Sheri Jean gestured at the lobby, warm, gracious, the epitome of hospitality. “Nobody liked Priscilla, but she wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t worth killing.”
Kellen watched Sheri Jean as she said, “Maybe she got into something she shouldn’t have.”
“That’s possible. She wanted whatever she couldn’t have.” Sheri Jean looked both impatient and sorry.
Kellen couldn’t discern anything from that. “Is there anyone you can call to cover for Lewis and Lena?”
“I need someone to serve at tonight’s Shivering Sherlocks event.” Sheri Jean eyed Kellen. “Carson Lennex is hosting. Have you been up to the penthouse?”
“No. But I’m functioning on three hours of sleep and—”
“I already told Carson you had agreed to do it.”
Kellen could hardly contain her irritation. “You suggested me to Carson Lennex?”
“Actually, he suggested you to me. I believe he likes you.”
Kellen’s heart sank. “Likes me?”
“Don’t worry. He never plays footsie with the staff—Priscilla Carter tried to get him involved in a romp, and that’s one of the things that got her in trouble. But he does have staff he prefers to deal with. I’m one of them.” Sheri Jean settled into smug satisfaction. “Apparently you are likely to be another. It’s a good thing—I promise.”
Kellen was too tired to be diplomatic. “Why?”
“He’s interesting, he’s genuine, he never asks for much in the way of labor, he has great friends and throws fabulous parties.”
And he steals toilet paper. Kellen sealed her lips tightly over that one.
Sheri Jean continued, “Look, this year he’s involved with the Shivering Sherlocks and their little game. He’s paying for the party, he’ll pose for photos with them and Lord knows he’s not getting anything out of it except a chance to chat with a bunch of older women. I swear, the man is almost too good to be true.”
Sheri Jean didn’t often enthuse. In fact, enthusing was the opposite of Sheri Jean’s usual behavior, and that alone increased Kellen’s suspicions.