“Lloyd Magnuson took the remains to the coroner in Virtue Falls, but I haven’t heard back from him and his phone is going to voice mail.” Kellen let her frustration be known. “It’s dark and it’s cold and everyone’s looking at each other and wondering who did it. We’ve lost guests and employees over the news. I had hoped getting the facts from Mike Sun might help ease the tension.” Although nothing would ease her tension. Nils Brooks had taken care of that. “Do you think if I called Mr. Sun…?”
“He can’t release the information to you. I’ll take care of it. He knows me from way back, and they found Priscilla on Di Luca property. I’ll let you know when he fills me in. I’m sorry, Kellen. You know Annie and I would never have left if we had imagined something like this would happen.”
“Would it be possible to summon Mr. Gilfilen back from vacation? I’m ill equipped to lead the security team at any time, much less while I’m managing the resort.”
A pause. “Mr. Gilfilen can’t return. It’s not possible.”
She voiced her vague suspicion. “Look, if he’s somewhere close, could I contact him?”
“No! God, no.”
So he was somewhere close. “Leo, really. This is an emergency.”
Leo said, “Perhaps… Well, let me think. Other security personnel work for the Di Lucas. Let me see if I can find someone to send.” Another short pause. “Annie’s calling me. We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow.” He hung up.
Kellen looked at the phone, then placed it in its cradle. If she looked, she could probably find Mr. Gilfilen. He might be somewhere on the grounds, or maybe enjoying the great Washington coast…although that seemed out of character. But what good would tracking him down do? She knew Mr. Gilfilen well enough to know he would do what he would do, and nothing could alter his course.
Hell, maybe he was the Librarian.
The events of the previous day and night had acquired a stained veneer of disbelief and distrust. She looked at everyone—employees, guests, workmen—and wondered who they were beneath their everyday masks.
Her watch alarm vibrated on her wrist. She looked at her scheduler.
Time to pick up the appetizers for the Shivering Sherlocks event and do a little sleuthing of her own.
*
Max Di Luca walked down the hospital corridor toward Annie’s room. Today the news was good; she had survived the night and rallied. At breakfast, the whole Di Luca family had at last begun their late Christmas celebration with scrambled eggs and cheese, crisp bacon, fruit salad—and Aunt Sarah’s chocolate chip cookies. Now Max had been sent to remove Leo from his post at Annie’s side. Of course. Max was aggressive, decisive and a former football running back, hence when a possible challenge loomed, he was sent to take care of it. The family called him the Di Luca enforcer. They were joking. Mostly.
But as he approached Annie’s room, he saw Leo sitting in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, hands over his face.
Max’s heart squeezed in fear. He rushed to Leo and knelt beside him. “Leo? What’s wrong? Is Annie…?”
Leo lifted his head. He looked worn to the bone and hopeless. “Annie’s better. She really is.”
Max sat back on his heels. “Then what’s wrong?”
“As soon as we left the resort, everything there went to hell in a handbasket.”
Max stood up, pulled a chair close and asked sympathetically, “Another incompetent assistant manager?”
“No, she’s great. Efficient, intelligent, wants nothing more than to work all the time. She’s taken a huge load off Annie’s shoulders and mine.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Leo looked grimly at Max. “Yesterday they found the first assistant manager.”
Max leaped to the inevitable conclusion. “Dead?”
“Murdered. Kel… The assistant manager called and told me last night, but last night I didn’t care. Today I care. Priscilla, that poor, stupid girl, dead. At our resort. Who would do such a thing?”
Max asked the next logical question. “What does Mr. Gilfilen say?”
“He’s sort of on vacation.”
“Sort of? While you’re gone?” Had Leo and Annie gone senile?
“We’re having security problems at the resort.”
Nope, obviously not senile. “Murder and…?”
“Smuggling.” Leo filled Max in on the details of what Mr. Gilfilen suspected.
“Probably connected, then.” Max straightened his shoulders. “So while you’re here, you—or rather, your new assistant manager—needs someone with security experience on-site. In this situation, you have to have someone who you trust, and you know I’ve got the experience that you need.” He stood. “I’ll go.”
Leo straightened his shoulders right back. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the Di Luca Christmas. You have other responsibilities.”
“Rae will understand.” Max lifted his hand to stop any further objections. “We already had our private Christmas on December twenty-fifth, and when she’s here in the midst of the family, I hardly see her. I’ll explain it to her, and you know her—she has a generous spirit. She will understand.”
Leo stood and faced off with Max. “You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it is.” Max was used to being right, and to getting his way. “I’ll leave today.”
“First come and see Annie. She has things to say to you about the new assistant manager.”
“So there is something wrong with her.”
“Max! Stop jumping to conclusions! It’s not her. It’s you.”
Max took a step back. Leo was always loud—he was slightly deaf—but never so emphatic. “Leo, what’s wrong?”
Leo opened the door to Annie’s room.
Annie’s happy voice floated out, “Max, dear! So good to see you!”
Leo stepped in. “Max wants to go to handle security at the resort.”
“That’s a good idea! Except…” Annie’s voice lost its euphoria. “Oh, dear.”
Max could not imagine what was wrong with Leo and Annie. Of course, he didn’t have much of an imagination. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s no way you could.” Leo gestured him in. “Go, sit down with Annie and listen.”
20
Kellen hurried down to the kitchens, where the chefs were getting along admirably—the calm before the storm?—gathered the two waiting cardboard boxes and walked to the elevator that led to Carson Lennex’s penthouse.
Each penthouse had its own elevator. She stepped in and took the direct trip from the lobby to the eighth floor. The elevator doors opened and Kellen stepped out into a small entry. She walked through the open double doors into the penthouse entry, where a curvaceous staircase led to the bedroom level, then went into the luxurious living room. The furniture was minimalistic: leather, steel and stone. Splashes of color lit the paintings on the wall, and on the fireplace mantel, bizarre clay art forms writhed. Shelves with well-read books and illuminated glass art lined one wall. Interesting. Kellen would have never suspected Annie would decorate the penthouses so eccentrically.
Carson Lennex stood behind the bar pouring wine and mixing drinks.
The Shivering Sherlocks were in costume, clustered around him, laughing and talking.
One of them was stretched out flat on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Kellen hurried over and knelt beside her. Patty. It was Patty dressed as Hercule Poirot. “Are you all right?”
Patty opened one eye. “I was just poisoned. Now they have to figure out who did it.”
“Oh.” Kellen settled back on her heels. “Oh. While you’re dead, would you care for an appetizer?”
Patty opened both eyes. “What have you got?”
Kellen peeked inside the first box and read the labels. “Wine-marinated frozen grapes, smoked salmon with capers on pumpernickel, rainbow fruit kabobs with yogurt fruit dip and, oh jeez, toast swords tipped with hummus-cide.” She looked seriously at Patty. “The hummus-cide is made from beets. It’s red.” And a little gruesome, considering the events of the past days, but this was a murder mystery weekend and she supposed the chef was allowed a bit of whimsy.
Certainly Patty laughed. “I’ll have one of each.”
“Let me set up and I’ll be back to you right away.”
Patty caught her wrist. “Me first. I’m dead, and once those piranhas descend, I’ll never get my share.”
Mr. Lennex knelt on the other side of Patty and slid two couch pillows under her head. “She’s right,” he said to Kellen. “Better feed her now.”
“I can always order up more,” Kellen pointed out.