Death in Paradise (17 page)

The last thing in Laura's pile was a small red satin ribbon, the type that is used to trim lingerie. I picked it up carefully between my fingers as a shiver went down my spine. "What about this one? Where did you find it?"

"Did you see the big fight last night? The one where those people threw furniture and clothes over the railing?" I shook my head. It sounded like the same one Alyce Edgerton had told me about. "Well, they were right downstairs from us and it woke me up. Naturally, I was curious, so I took my room key and went outside to see what was going on. The rest of them didn't even stir. I leaned over the railing so I could see better and that's when I saw her dump his whole suitcase off the railing and so he went back inside, got hers, and did the same thing. Then the security guys came and made them go back in their room, and everything got quiet. But I have this thing where, every time I leave my room, I have to walk all the way around to get back to it. So that's what I did."

"You're on the seventeenth floor?" I asked.

"That's right," she said. "How'd you know that?"

"Oh," Jolene said, "Thea's a very fine detective."

Her words, like the little scrap of red satin, chilled me. "So you were walking back to your room...."I tried to remember when Alyce had said the fight took place. She hadn't been very precise. Around one or two in the morning, that's what she'd said.

"And I found this lying on the floor."

"Any idea where?"

"About halfway around from my room."

"Did you see anyone else while you were making your circle?"

"That's how I think of it, too," Laura said, "That I'm making my circle. Just the tall lady. The one who had hair kind of like yours. Shorter, though. She was going into her room. I don't think she saw me, though. The door was almost shut and she didn't turn around."

"And you didn't see anyone else on the way back to your room?"

"Just a man walking toward the elevator, but he looked puzzled, like he was on the wrong floor, and when he saw me, he turned and went down the stairs."

"Did you notice what he looked like?"

She thought for a minute. "Old," she said.

"Old like with gray hair?"

She shrugged. "Just old. Like my stepdad, Howard, only not so short and fat."

I was about to ask her if the man had had any noticeable characteristics, like a limp or facial hair, when she screwed up her eyes and looked at me suspiciously. "Why are you asking so many questions? You didn't ask a lot of questions about the other things I found."

I thought fast. "Well, if you're going to be a spy, you need to be very observant, right? So, since I used to be a pretty good spy myself, I'm testing you, to see if you measure up."

She sat up straighter and placed her folded hands on the table in front of her. "Well, do I?" she said. "Do I measure up?"

"You're an A-plus spy," I said. "Well, at least an A. And if you can tell me what time this all took place, I'll give you that A plus."

"One-thirty-seven," she said. "And I set my watch by the radio yesterday morning."

I looked at my watch. "Speaking of time, it's about time you went upstairs, especially since you were up late last night." I fingered the little piece of ribbon. "I don't suppose you'd let me have this?"

She considered my request. "Well, I don't know. It's one of my best things. Okay, I'll make you a deal." I got the impression Laura made a lot of deals and that her family was probably pretty sick of them. She pointed at the rose in my hair. "You give me that flower and I'll give you the ribbon."

I unpinned it and handed it to her. She tucked it away in the bag, to which she'd already restored the rest of her treasures. "Don't you want to know the story?" I asked.

She leaned forward, all eager eyes and grin. "There's a story?"

I nodded. "Today is my birthday," I said.

"How old?" she interrupted.

"Thirty-one. And back in Massachusetts, where I live, I have a boyfriend named Andre Lemieux—"

"That's a French name," she said. "Is he French?"

"His ancestors came from France. His family lives in Maine. Actually, that's where he lives, too, most of the time. He's a detective with the Maine State Police."

"Wow! A real detective? Like on TV?"

"Like on TV And he's handsome, too."

She squinted at me curiously. "Are you in love with him?"

"You bet. Anyway, today is my birthday, and so he sent me a dozen pink roses. Now you have one of them."

"Do you have a picture of him?" I opened my wallet and pulled out a picture Suzanne had taken. Andre and I were on Roller-blades. My first time. He had his arm around my waist so I wouldn't fall down. He looked liked like a million bucks. I looked like a total dork because I'd insisted on wearing every piece of padding I could find and a helmet. No, I didn't look like a dork. I looked like a Martian. She took the picture, studied it carefully, and handed it to Jolene. "He's gorgeous," she said. "You look like a dork."

"Laura," Jolene said, in her headmistress voice, "that's not very nice."

Laura looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry," she said. "I mean you look cautious."

Jolene handed the picture back. "She's right. He is gorgeous. And now, I think it's time we paid the bill and went upstairs to bed. What time shall we have our premeeting meeting in the morning?"

"Not at six."

"Right. How about seven-thirty, in my room? I'll call the others and let them know."

Laura slid off her chair, tucked her treasure bag in her pocket, and said a polite goodnight. She walked a few feet, then turned back with an impish grin. "You didn't ask if I saw anyone on the other floors."

"Did you?"

"It was the middle of the night," she said. "After the couple finished their fight, everyone disappeared real quick... quickly... I did see one woman, though, down on the floor below. I noticed her because she was staring up at my floor with an angry look on her face."

"All right, Detective. What did she look like?"

"Fat," she said. "Well, fattish. You know, with a wide, puffy kind of face and a sort of waddle when she walked. And she had blond hair. I don't think it was natural, though, because looking down like I was, I could see different colored roots. She was holding her hands like this"—she demonstrated by clasping her hands together and bringing them to her chest—"like she was praying or something. Well, gotta go. They're threatening to ground me." With a wave of her hand, she was off.

We watched her go, not speaking until she was out of sight. "Boy, I sure hope she's right that no one saw her," I said.

"What's the big deal about a piece of red ribbon?" Jolene asked. "When she pulled it out, you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"Oh, hell. The police asked me not to say anything to anyone, but I don't see what difference it makes if you know. You're hardly the type to go around killing people." Even as I said it, a long-ago conversation rang in my ear. I could still hear a voice say, "Everyone is the type to be a killer, given the right circumstances."

"It's bound to be in the papers anyway. The cops can never keep things secret. When we found Martina, she was dressed in red...." I couldn't bring myself to finish. Even as I started to say it, the image of Martina's grotesquely dressed and arranged corpse floated before my eyes. "Red lingerie."

"I see." She nodded. "And you think this might have..."

"I don't know. But it's possible. It's also possible that that little girl saw something. And if someone saw her... and knows she might make the connection... then she could be in trouble."

"That's an ugly thought."

"Murder is an ugly thing."

Jolene laid some bills on the table. "Let's go listen to Jonetta sing."

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

I don't indulge in hyperbole—it was a fact—listening to Jonetta sing was one of life's transforming experiences. Trying to describe her voice made me wish I had a bigger vocabulary; it made me dig down into the thesaurus of my soul and pull out magic words. I knew she had sung in a gospel choir since childhood because she'd told me. I knew she believed, like many people of deep and sincere faith, that through singing she could glorify God. I knew that even when she was singing to entertain, as she was now, the power of her voice made a difference. In the movie
Chariots of Fire
one of the characters says that when he runs he can feel God's pleasure. It must have been that way for Jonetta.

The noisy party we'd left earlier had become so still you could have heard a pin drop. People wanted to hear every note, word, phrase. And we'd almost missed it. When we tiptoed in, she was singing an old Gladys Knight song, "Midnight Train to Georgia," one of those songs that always revived my secret desire to be a torch singer. Listening to Jonetta always simultaneously rekindled that desire and squelched it. I listened to her, mouthing the words, wishing a magic wand might touch me and make my voice like hers.

I sat in the dark, alone in a crowd of people, and wondered how my life might have been different if I'd been born with some special talent, instead of merely a knack for competence and the will to get things done. Beautiful music, a warm tropical night, another day I wanted to forget. Was it any wonder I was filled with longing for things to be different? For life to be simple, for my path to be straight, for choices to be clear. Yes, I liked what I did, or I wouldn't be doing it. I didn't mind hard work. I enjoyed being good at something, at solving problems, giving good advice, helping people work things out. But my personal life, while rich in love, was otherwise a shambles.

Jack Leonard, Andre's boss with the Maine State Police, had given us a gift. Normally, Andre lives in Maine and I live in Massachusetts, and we manage a stressful, patchy commuting relationship. He'd sent Andre to Boston for a six-month course that had meant we could be together without commuting and distance and uncertainty. Jack's gift had been six months of normal life—breakfast together, dinners when we weren't otherwise detained by work, waking up in the same bed day after day. It hadn't been a surprise to learn that we liked our lives that way. We fight. We're both strong-willed, opinionated people. And we love. And while love may not conquer all, it certainly conquers much. But our time was almost up.

The words of the song were breaking down the barriers of my resistance, sneaking under my skin, making me think about the future when I wanted to avoid it. When she sang about a woman who'd rather live in her man's world than live without him in hers, I felt a tightness in my throat and a stinging behind my eyes. Could I find a way to live in his world? Find a way to blend his world and mine? I'm a workaholic. He's a workaholic. We both loved our jobs but there was no way we could be together and do our jobs without the long commutes that made us both so miserable, the forced spaces apart when one of us needed the other that made us sullen and resentful.

I knew that life was full of choices, not all of them easy. Look at Jonetta. She could have been a singer, that is, she could have been paid big bucks for singing, but she had chosen to educate girls who might not otherwise have a chance. Sometimes she used her music to raise money, and she taught all of the girls to sing. Once she'd said to me, "Sometimes, when you're down, a song is all you got, but it's still something you can do for yourself, and nobody can take it away." How could I not envy someone who had a calling, when I felt so rootess myself?

I sighed and Jolene put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. Sometimes I thought that included among her many talents was the ability to read minds. Certainly it was a useful talent for a headmistress.

Jonetta finished the song to a roar of applause and bowed, her silly, wonderful dress all aquiver as she did so. Behind the tables, the space had filled up with other hotel guests, and the roar of approval drowned out the persistent sound of the waves. "It's getting late," she said, "and we've all got a busy day tomorrow, so I'm going to stop now...." A moan went up from the crowd. "But I'm going to leave you with a little spiritual enrichment to carry away with you. You all know this song, and I expect you to sing right along with me. Okay?" She bowed her head for a moment, then lifted it and began to sing "Amazing Grace."

Inspiring music, stained glass windows, the poetry of biblical phrases, it was important that the things of religion have some apartness, some difference from everyday life, to remind us to give faith the thought and respect it needed. " 'I once was lost but now I'm found....' " she sang. I thought I was lost and not yet found. " 'Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come....' " I was haunted by death and loss, disconnection and uncertainty, fear and anger and resentment. Stirred by the music and unbearably restless, I pushed back my chair, the pressure to be by myself, away from people, suddenly more than I could stand.

"I'll see you in the morning," I whispered.

I threaded my way through the crowd and out to the beach path. There were few strollers out this late and my shoes echoed loudly in the darkness, an irritating little clomp, clomp, clomp as I walked. I slipped them off and padded along barefoot, the tar still warm from the sun, shoes dangling from my swinging arm. My mind in a muddle, I walked until my feet were sore. I was having the birthday blues. Another year older. No closer to having anything settled in my life. No clearer about what I wanted, except that I knew I wanted to be with Andre. I just didn't know how.