Dangerous Secrets (7 page)

‶
I think she′s in the hot
tub,″ Maggie volunteered.

Susan looked chagrined, picked up a clean glass
and poured herself a large sherry from the decanter on the bar. I got the
feeling this wasn′t something she normally did—God forbid she should let
her hair down in front of the guests. Ah, but we weren′t paying guests, I
reminded myself. I settled back in my seat, grabbed a magazine off the end
table and flipped pages, trying to ignore Susan as thoroughly as she ignored
me.

‶
Mrs. Andolina is not happy with
her,″ Susan continued.

‶
So we heard.″

Susan took another sip.
‶
As long as she
isn′t drinking, Eileen′s the perfect guest. But after she′s
had a few—″

Maggie joined our hostess at the bar.
‶
I
don′t envy you dealing with such things.″

I buried my nose deeper into the magazine,
trying not to listen.

‶
Don′t get me wrong, I
love running the inn. But sometimes I have a bad day. Today is one of
them.″

We must have run into her when she was having a
string of them, I thought as I put the magazine down and wandered back into the
game room. Racking up the table, I picked up a cue and sank balls while the
women talked.

‶
It′s an odd mix of guests
this weekend,″ Susan continued.
‶
There′s not a lot of
interaction going on. But at least we have good help.″

‶
Didn′t you say Nadine was
new?″

‶
Yes, but she′s working
out. Thank goodness we′ve had Adam all season.″

As I moved to the side of the pool table, Susan
perched on the piano bench, slipped off her left shoe and massaged her foot.
‶
We
hired him last spring to help Zack with the renovations. He asked to stay on
when we opened again in May. He plans to go to college next semester for hotel
management. He′d be good at it. But then he′ll be gone and
we′ll have to start interviewing all over again.″

‶
Sounds like it′s hard to
keep good help,″ Maggie said.

‶
It is. Especially in a seasonal
business like this. I can′t blame them for finding other jobs when
we′re closed, but it′s damned inconvenient.″

I racked up for another game, aware of the lag
in their conversation.

‶
I′ve been admiring that
mirror on the stairway,″ Maggie said.

‶
Do you want to buy it?″

I glanced up as Maggie blinked in surprise.
‶
Well—″

‶
Just about everything in the
inn is for sale. It′s my surplus.″

‶
Surplus?″

‶
I rent space in one of the
antique co-ops in Waitsfield. It′s not a great moneymaker, but it helps
make ends meet during the months we′re closed.″

‶
I′ve thought about doing
the same thing, but I never had the capital to get started.”

‶
In spring, I go on buying
sprees for weeks at a time. Usually in Pennsylvania and Ohio. After the autumn
leaves are done and the tourists leave, we′ll be closed for six weeks and
I′ll split my time between here and the co-op. We hope to renovate the
rest of the rooms in time for ski season. That should make a big difference to
our balance sheet. Come April, I′ll go on another buying trip.″

‶
Sounds like you′ve got
all the bases covered.″

Susan finished her drink and slipped her shoe
back on.
‶
I′d
better warn Ms. Marshall about her mouth.″ She pursed her lips, as though
taking on the bitch persona. She didn′t have to stretch far to find it.
‶
Good
night,″ she said to Maggie, once again ignoring my presence. She took the
dirty glasses to the kitchen. Moments later we heard the screen door bang.

I looked up over my cue stick to see Maggie
watching me from the doorway.
‶
Don′t even think about it.″

‶
About what?″

‶
Starting an antiques
business.″

‶
I don′t have the money.
But maybe I can talk Brenda into going in on it with me.″

‶
Don′t ask her for a
nickel. I′m serious.″

‶
Oh, you won′t let me have
any fun.″ She poked her tongue out at me, then wandered closer, and
fanned her face with her hand.
‶
That sherry made me feel flushed. Want to go for a
swim?″

I concentrated on making my shot. The cue ball
slammed into the eight ball.
‶
We′ll smell like chlorine.″

‶
I don′t care. It′s
hot. Please?″

The cue stick went back on the wall rack.
‶
All
right. Maybe we can steal some of those big towels they leave out.″

We went back to our room and changed.
Maggie′s about a size twelve, which I consider just about right. I
thought she′d look terrific in a two-piece swimsuit, but like most
American women, Maggie believes anyone who isn′t a size zero—herself
especially—is too fat. Besides, she has a surgery scar she doesn′t like
parading around. So, she donned a conservative, black, one-piece swimsuit and
her beach cover-up, which I′m sure had never been worn on any beach. She
went ahead of me down the stairs and out through the gardens to the pool.

Spotlights on the inn′s exterior lit the
barbecue and pool area. Angry shouts split the night. I held Maggie back. Susan
and Eileen were going at it down by the hot tub.

‶
Oh, God, she′s still
there,″ Maggie grated.

‶
So what. Ignore her. We came
here to swim, remember?″

Susan′s voice rose.
‶
I
don′t care how much you paid! I want you out of here tomorrow morning. Do
you understand?″

Sudden quiet ensued.

I peeked around the edge of the barbecue as
Susan stalked off toward the sunroom. We waited a few more moments before I
took Maggie′s hand and we crept into the open.

Steam curled from the hot tub into the cool
night air. Eileen sat with her back toward us, the scotch bottle and tumbler
within easy reach.

For once, Maggie took my advice. She ignored
the Englishwoman and kicked off her slippers, claiming a large, fluffy towel
draped over the back of one of the white, wrought-iron chairs. Then she took
off her cover-up, walked to the edge of the pool′s deep end, and dove in.
Perfection. She surfaced and swam to the shallow end.

I applauded her graceful form.
‶
I
had no idea you were such an athlete.″

‶
I used to be on the
girl′s swim team in high school. How about you?″

‶
No,″ I said in mock
seriousness,
‶
I
never made the girl′s swim team. But I passed intermediate swimming in my
freshman year. Failed it the other three times.″ I dipped a toe into the water.
‶
God,
that′s cold.″

‶
You have to get wet all at
once.″

I backed off to sit in one of the chairs.
‶
I′ll
pass.″

‶
Chicken.″ She pushed off
the edge of the pool, doing the backstroke. Once at the opposite end of the
pool, she effortlessly turned and did a butterfly stroke. I liked to watch her
swim. I liked to watch her do just about anything.

Maggie′s splashing didn′t garner
much attention from our fellow bather. Eileen kept her back to us, morosely
sipping her scotch. I felt a pinch and swatted a mosquito on my arm.

The breeze rose, bringing with it the
unmistakable odor of marijuana. I heard a woman′s laughter—Alyssa?—coming
from the edge of the yard where I′d seen Adirondack chairs overlooking
the creek. At least two of the nonsmoking inn′s patrons hadn′t
kicked the habit.

I shivered in the cool night air and my
thoughts drifted to Colorado, wondering how it related to my brother and that
lonely stretch of road.

Lost in thought, I was totally unprepared for
the cold water that splashed me.
‶
Hey!″

‶
You look like you′re in a
daze,″ Maggie said playfully.

I toweled off my arm and leg.
‶
So?″

She tread water in the middle of the deep end.
‶
Come
on in, the water′s fine.″

‶
It′s freezing.″

‶
It′s heated!″

‶
To what? Sixty-eight? Sorry, I
like my pool water warm as bath water.″

‶
Then join me,″ came the
voice from the hot tub. Did Eileen sound just a little desperate?

Maggie glared at me. I shrugged for her
benefit.
‶
Uh,
thanks, but—″ I faked a yawn.
‶
All this mountain air has
gotten to me. Are you ready to call it a night, Maggie?″

In answer, she swam over to the shallow end and
walked up the steps. I handed her a towel, and she dried off. I grabbed another
couple of towels to take to the room, waiting for Maggie to don her cover-up
and slippers.

‶
Good night, Eileen,″ I
said as we headed back for the inn.

She ignored me, apparently tired of being
rebuffed. Barefooted, I padded across the patio and opened the screen door to
the kitchen for Maggie.

‶
Grab some glasses and ice and
we′ll have a nightcap,″ she said.

‶
Good idea.″ I handed her
the towels and she continued up the stairs for our room.

The downstairs common areas seemed deserted. I
went behind the bar, annoyed to find the ice bucket empty, cursing whoever left
it that way. Grabbing it, I headed back for the kitchen. A single fluorescent
fixture switched on over the center island was the room′s only light.
Except for dirty coffee cups and wine glasses in the large porcelain sink, the
room was immaculate. A hulking, commercial refrigerator stood defiantly against
the north wall. The freezer was full of blocks of frozen sausage, blueberries,
and other assorted goodies for the breakfast buffet. I filled the bucket from a
half-empty ten pound bag of ice and closed the heavy door.

Something niggled at my brain, but nothing
looked out of place. My eyes were drawn back to the sink, or rather what was in
it. I resisted the urge to pick up the cups and glasses. If I touched them, I
might get some unpleasant flash of insight, and I was too tired to learn some
new, no doubt unsavory, fact on one or more of the guests.

‶
The hell with you all,″ I
muttered, and headed back for the barroom. I grabbed two of the tall glasses,
filled them with ice, and went straight to our room, determined I
wouldn′t think about those dirty dishes in the sink.

Chapter 7

I dreamed I was falling—mouth open in a silent
scream—tumbling, end over end into a black abyss. Hot air whooshed past me,
whipping my clothes, searing my soul. And I knew when I hit bottom it would be
the end.

I awoke, muscles quivering, sweating, and
panting. Faint light brightened the uncurtained window. Maggie slept on her
side, facing the opposite wall, her breathing slow and even.

Still groggy, it took me a full ten seconds to
figure out I was safe, but the feeling of panic wouldn′t quit.

I was all right ... but someone else
wasn′t.

My back protested as I hauled myself out of
that awful bed. I grabbed my watch: 6:15. Tossing on my clothes, I stuffed bare
feet into my Reeboks and closed the door behind me. I nearly stumbled on the stairs
in my haste, some inner force guiding me toward the back of the house.

Adam was alone in the kitchen, setting up the
warming trays for the buffet.
‶
Good morning. You′re too early for breakfast,
but I′ve got a pot of coffee brewing.″ His smile looked forced. My
expression must have warned him that something was up.
‶
What′s
wrong?″

‶
I thought I heard a noise
outside. I′m not familiar with the grounds. Will you come out with
me?″ I′d lied. I knew exactly what I′d find, and I wanted a
witness.

Adam looked at me with suspicion, studying me.
Then, reluctantly,
‶
Okay.”

He unlocked the door to the back garden and we
stepped outside. Mist clung to the mountaintops, the damp, chill air
penetrating my cotton shirt. I wished I′d put on a jacket. I looked
around to get my bearings, and then knew where we had to look.

Across the patio, a magnificent stand of cosmos
blocked the view from the house to the pool.
‶
Over there,″ I said,
leading the way.

We pushed past the flowers and onto the empty
concrete deck. A smattering of leaves floated on the surface of the pool, and
next to them Eileen Marshall bobbed face down in the hot tub.

Adam ran toward her, skidding to a halt.
‶
Do
you know CPR?″

‶
Don′t touch her!″

‶
But maybe it′s not too
late!″

I let out a shuddering breath.
‶
She
was there when we went in last night. She must have been dead for hours.”

Except for the hum of an air conditioner
somewhere behind us, it was eerily silent. Adam kept staring at the dead woman,
his face twisted with distress.

‶
Come on,″ I said.
‶
We′d
better call 911.″

‶
Damn,″ Adam grated.
‶
Susan′s
going to have a shit fit when she hears about this.″

Susan was pissed. Lips drawn into a thin line,
she surveyed the hot tub′s victim. By the time the first Stowe PD patrol
car showed up some ten minutes later, a rather breathless Zack had also
arrived. His expression was unreadable, but Susan seemed more angry than upset
that Eileen had died on her property. Typically, she viewed the woman′s
death from strictly a commercial perspective: how was this going to affect her
business?

‶
Her name is Eileen
Marshall,″ Susan volunteered to the young officer.

‶
Who found her?″

‶
We did,″ Adam answered,
and nodded toward me.

‶
What happened?″ the
officer asked me.

I read his nametag: Dan Morris.
‶
She
was pretty drunk last night. Maybe she fell asleep,″ I offered, although
I′d known from the moment I saw Eileen floating that she′d been
murdered, but I wasn′t eager to volunteer that information and become the
prime suspect, either.

‶
I suppose she could have had a
heart attack. We posted a sign warning people with medical conditions not to
use the hot tub, but there′s not much we can do to stop them,″
Susan said.

‶
We′ll wait for the ME to
decide the cause of death,″ the officer said.

I glanced back at the inn. Some of the other
guests had awakened and were rubbernecking and speculating on the scene before
them.

Susan spoke to Zack.
‶
I′m sure we
both don′t need to be out here. You′d better go in and supervise
breakfast. I can answer any questions the police have.”

‶
Are you sure, honey?″

‶
Yes,″ she snapped—her
standard mode of speech. Oblivious, Zack nodded and headed for the house.

‶
Can I go in now, too?″
Adam asked.

‶
No, we′ll need you here
for a while yet,″ the officer said and ushered us away from the
site—standard crime-scene protocol. I guess I wasn′t the only one
thinking this might not be an accident.

Adam slumped into one of the patio chairs.
‶
It′ll
be okay,″ I assured him.

He shrugged, unconvinced.

‶
Sir,″ the cop said, and
motioned to me.

Another standard procedure: separate the
witnesses so they don′t contaminate each other′s stories. This cop
was good.

‶
You said the victim was drunk
last night,″ Morris said.

‶
I′m a bartender. She was
definitely over the legal limit.″

‶
What was her state of
mind?″

‶
Argumentative. She said some
caustic things to several of the other guests.″ I told him Eileen had
insulted Mrs. Andolina, what she′d said to Laura Ross the night before,
and her loud discussion with Susan.

‶
What time did you last see
her?″

I frowned.
‶
We left the pool about ten
forty-five, maybe eleven o′clock.″

‶
We?″

‶
Me and my girlfriend, Maggie
Brennan.″

He wrote down her name.
‶
And you say the
victim had a bottle of whiskey?″

‶
Scotch. Grand Macnish, in a
plastic bottle. She was drinking out of a plastic tumbler. Pool rules, no
glass.″

The cop looked around.
‶
There’s no sign of
it. Was anyone else around?″

‶
Two other guests may have seen
her. Doug and Alyssa. They were out by the creek,″ I said, leaving out my
suspicions on how they′d spent their evening.

Within minutes, two plainclothes detectives had
arrived, along with the chief of police. The yellow crime tape came out and the
investigation began in earnest.

I was impressed with the care the small town
cops gave the scene—especially since at first glance the area looked totally
innocent. As a former insurance investigator, I was used to looking over
possible crime scenes. Being there brought back a kind of macabre nostalgia.

When the crime photographer arrived, I admit a
degree of professional curiosity. Though they kept me pretty far back, I
watched as he took photos from every conceivable angle, including flat on the
cement deck for a shot of the body at ground level. They paid particular
attention to the concrete deck, and I wondered if I′d missed traces of
blood.

After the initial photos were taken, and the
county medical examiner arrived, they hauled Eileen′s bloated, naked body
from the tub, laying her on the concrete deck. In death she looked younger than
she had the night before. A discolored, crescent-shaped cut and bruise marred
the left side of her forehead. The photographer took close-ups of her face, as
well as the edges of the hot tub; there were no other signs of trauma on the
body. The bruise didn′t match the edge of the tub. But something else was
wrong. Eileen′s abdomen should′ve been discolored by pooled blood.
Could she have bled to death? The police had the same idea, for next they took
water samples, then completely dismantled the hot tub′s filtering system.

I turned away, embarrassed for the dead woman.
The last thing she would have wanted was strangers gawking at her wrinkled,
naked body.

With all the questions and photos, it was hours
before the Eileen Marshall’s body was removed by the medical examiner. By then
I′d told my story to four or five officers of different ranks, making
sure to tell it exactly the same every time. Sgt. Beach seemed to be in charge.
He wasn′t a local. His voice bore the trace of a mid-western accent—maybe
Iowa. He wasn′t much older than me, and maybe five-ten in height.

Meanwhile, Morris and the other officers
interviewed the rest of the guests. They even went through the inn′s
trash looking for the missing scotch bottle. And while there wasn′t talk
about them coming back with a warrant to search each room, it seemed like the
next step. At one point Susan disappeared with two of the cops, and the
photographer, to chronicle and then pack Eileen′s belongings.

When the ME′s wagon pulled away, Sgt.
Beach gathered all the guests in the dining room.
‶
Folks, I know this
is going to be an inconvenience to some of you, but until we determine how Ms.
Marshall died, I ask that everyone stay in the area. If you move to different
accommodations, please let the police department know. We′ll be in
touch.″

The Andolinas looked grim as they left the
dining room, presumably for their room. Alyssa and her beau seemed
shell-shocked, and wandered out back, probably to look over the death site.

I was starved, and it was almost eleven when I
finally sat down to eat. A tense-looking Maggie waited for me, and pulled her
chair close to mine. The meal was a somber affair. The camaraderie evident in
the kitchen the day before was gone. None of the guests were particularly
hungry, as evidenced by the food still heaped in the warming trays. Even though
they were booked for another week, we overhead the young Canadian couple
debating whether they should cancel and go home. I put odds that the wife would
win and as soon as the police cleared them they′d be on their way home to
Québec as fast as their BMW could take them. Personally, I didn′t blame
them.

Maggie sipped her coffee and picked apart a
carrot muffin.
‶
How
do you think it happened?″

‶
Not here,″ I said under
my breath.

She nodded and pushed her plate aside. I
finished my breakfast in silence.

About the time the dust from the preliminary
investigation had settled, Susan came looking for us. Her eyes were haunted.
‶
You′ll
still take the pictures and finish the article, won′t you?″ Her
voice just broke a whisper.

‶
We′ll finish the
job,″ I said.

‶
Thank you.″ Real humility
colored her voice.
‶
We′ve worked so hard, I hope this
doesn′t ruin our business.″ She turned and slowly walked toward the
stairs.

I downed the rest of my orange juice, pushed
back from the table, and we headed for our room.

‶
Well?″ Maggie asked, as
soon as I′d shut the door.

‶
Eileen was murdered.″

Her pale face and worried eyes reflected her
fear.
‶
That
means somebody here at the inn killed her. Why? Do you think they′ll come
after any one else?″

I took her in my arms and brushed a kiss along
her forehead.
‶
Now
why would they do that?″

‶
I don′t know. I′m
scared. I′ve never seen a murdered person before.″

‶
It′s scary,″ I
admitted.

‶
Is that how you felt when
Shelley was killed?″

My wife and I had separated six months before
the police came to my Manhattan apartment to tell me she′d been killed,
execution style, in what they figured was a drug deal gone sour.
Shelley′s cocaine habit had caused our breakup.

‶
It was disbelief, more than
anything else. The woman I married was not the same woman they found dead in a
bathroom at Grand Central Station.”

‶
What did that sweet old woman
do to make someone—″ She stopped, no doubt remembering what I′d
told her, her own anger toward Eileen, and how the woman had treated the other
guests the night before.
‶
Did you tell the police what you know?″ Maggie
asked.

‶
They′ll do a background
check. Maybe her friends can tell them who her lover was.″

‶
So you won′t?″

‶
I don′t know who it
is.″

Maggie looked worried.
‶
You knew this was
going to happen, didn′t you?″

‶
I felt something was going to
happen—that someone was going to die. I didn′t know it would be murder.
Now I feel foolish asking Richard to come all the way up here.″

‶
What will you tell him when he
gets here tonight?″

‶
I don′t know.″ The
truth was, I didn′t want to think about it.
‶
Come on,
let′s go downstairs and finish the photography. Then we can relax.
Besides, it′ll keep our minds off of all this other stuff.″

The setup went much slower, probably because it
had become a chore instead of a lark. Eileen′s death had cast a pall over
the inn. Most of the guests had gotten in their cars and taken off; those who
didn′t went to hide in their rooms. Zack and Susan seemed to be in
seclusion as well, and, after what transpired the night before, I didn′t
care if I saw any of them ever again.

The work dragged. Once, while Maggie rearranged
the props, I looked out the window and saw a couple of cops walking the
grounds, presumably looking for evidence. It made me uneasy.

I found it hard to concentrate, constantly
rehashing the conflicting emotions and events I′d experienced since
arriving at the inn. At least two—possibly three—people might′ve had
reasons to murder the woman: Eileen′s lover, the lover′s wife, or
maybe Eileen had been blackmailing Laura Ross and she had done the evil deed.
Eileen seemed to have intimate knowledge of her past or present. And what did
any of that have to do with that empty stretch of road and Colorado?