Death in Paradise (20 page)

He stood up, picked up the cheesecake, crossed the room, and set it beside the bed. Then he carefully took the chocolate cake from my hand. "Thanks," he said. He sat back down in his chair and took a big bite.

"Okay. Who's the kid?" Nihilani asked.

"I don't know what room she's in. There's a little girl... about eleven... named Laura Mitchell, in one of the rooms on the other side of Martina's floor. She woke up because of the fight last night. You have heard about the fight?"

Nihilani nodded. "Newlyweds," he said. Bernstein went on eating my cake.

"After the fight, she wandered back to her room. She says she has a ritual that whenever she comes out of her room, she has to go all the way around to get back in. On her way around, she found the ribbon on the floor near Martina's door."

"She see anything?"

"She says she saw a woman with dark hair, not as tall as I am, going into one of the rooms. She didn't see a face. And that's all she says she saw but I didn't press her. And a man who went down the stairs. And on the floor below, she saw a woman who, judging by the description she gave me, might have been Drusilla Aird. There might be things she doesn't remember or things she saw that she doesn't even know are important. That's why I'm worried about her. About something happening to her, if the word got out. I don't even think her family knows she was out wandering. I gather she wanders a lot. She says she's a spy."

"Laura Mitchell," Nihilani said, and wrote something in his book. Then he raised his head and gave me a dose of those cold eyes. I shivered under the covers. "Drusilla Aird. What can you tell me about her?"

"Very little. All I know are the stories other people have told and I'm sure you've heard those."

"Humor me," he said, tapping his pencil against the pad.

I thought I would. Sometimes I imagined I detected a shade of warmth in the man but mostly he scared me to death. I thought of his kind of coldness as reserved for the bad guys. The ones without consciences. True, he had fetched me water, inquired after my well-being, and been sort of understanding when I stole the speech, but still there was that cold, hard something. It made me glad I wasn't a bad guy. I repeated the lunch-table gossip about Drusilla Aird, plus what little I knew on my own, ending with the tale of Drusilla and Linda Janovich having their knock-down, drag-out melee at dinner. When I was done I got a nod. Profuse thanks, considering the source.

"This Linda Janovich. The ex-wife. What can you tell me about her?" He had his pencil poised.

"Nothing. I've never met her. Formally, I mean. She's the one I tackled tonight. People say she's nice."

Nihilani snorted. "Getting back to this kid. Laura Mitchell. What's she look like?"

Bernstein finished the last few crumbs of my cake and set the plate aside. He looked a hundredth of a percent more cheerful. He reached for the pot and poured himself more coffee. He didn't offer to pour for either of us.

"Laura? A sprite. She's very thin, with reddish hair and pale skin. Short. Appealing. A nice, nimble mind. Everywhere she goes, she collects a bag of found treasures. The ribbon was in her bag."

"How'd you happen to see it?"

"We're buddies. We were having drinks in the bar, and she showed me."

"You were having drinks in the bar with an eleven-year-old?" Bernstein said.

"Oh, give me a break, Lenny. I'm trying to protect her from you, remember? I'm hardly the type to go out and corrupt the young. She had her parents' permission and she was drinking a nonalcoholic strawberry daiquiri. You can check my bar tab if you want. And there was a witness present."

"Don't trust us much, do you?"

"My own personal cop, Andre Lemieux, I love. But, Lenny, you and your buddy here have hardly been candidates for Mr. Congeniality, have you? When you've dealt with as many jerks as I have, you get a chip on your shoulder. I'm doing my best here, okay? So give it a rest. Or go downstairs to the lobby and kick the potted palms or something."

Nihilani was back on his feet again. "I don't suppose you have anything else in your bag of tricks to pull out? You aren't about to unveil the identity of the murderer, just to show us up?"

I gave him my best smile. "I would if I could."

"I believe you," he said, and they left.

I wasn't sorry to see them go. Maybe there was a fundamental truth I was avoiding here. Maybe I wasn't a good citizen. Whatever the truth was, I wasn't going to discover it tonight. I had less than three hours to sleep before it began all over again. And Bernstein had eaten my cake.

 

 

 

Chapter 14

 

My wake-up call was delivered by a woman born to be in the wake-up business. Her voice was light and bright and cheery, soothing and gentle as she nudged me out of sleep and into the day. I thanked her and finished crawling out of my cocoon. The untouched strawberry cheesecake was sitting by the bed and it didn't look any more appetizing than it had three hours ago. The topping looked like dried blood. Just the sight of it turned my stomach. I picked it up and threw it in the trash as I dashed for the bathroom.

My whole body felt stiff and sore, even after a shower, and I did a bunch of stretches trying to work out the kinks and make things limber again. What did I expect? I was a year older, in a high-stress situation, and woefully short of sleep. I pulled on a T-shirt and the new sage green jumper that had landed on my desk after Suzanne's last shopping trip. I looked good in green. It made my eyes glitter. Unless that glitter was residual irritation at my nocturnal visitors. For years, I relied on my partner, Suzanne, to buy my clothes. She liked to shop; I didn't. She had good taste; I could never tell what was going to suit me or fit me. Then Suzanne got married and had a baby and suddenly she was too busy to shop.

Lately I'd been looking pretty ragged, but things had taken a turn for the better when a nifty discount store opened up within walking distance of Suzanne's house. Now she goes for evening strolls while her husband Paul takes care of Paul Junior, or sometimes she even puts Junior in a stroller, and off she goes. It's magic. Suddenly I have clothes again. They appear on my desk. I write checks. The world is a better place. Andre may like me as Lady Godiva but the business world expects consultants to be dressed. I've never tried showing up naked but chances are it would make it hard to get much business done.

I did the best I could with my hair. Inside the hotel it was all right, but outside, the damp tropical air made it even curlier than usual and it was like a big cloud of knots. Oh, what the hell. I was the one who wanted it long. I opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony. It was early and things were still quiet. No jet skis buzzing. No catamarans. No sailboats with brightly colored sails. No children splashing and shouting. It was nice. The last taste of dawn was still in the sky.

"Good morning." I turned and there was Dr. Pryzinski on his balcony, reading a book.

"Good morning. Looks like a lovely day."

"It does," he said. "Marie and I are taking a boat trip to Molokini today to do some snorkeling. Maybe you'd like to join us?"

It sounded like fun and I was dying to get away from the hotel. "What time are you going?"

He checked his watch, a funny habit many of us have when thinking about time. "It's a two o'clock boat," he said, "so we're leaving here around one. Marie hates being late. We've got room in the car and we'd love to have you."

I did my own quick calculations. The seminars were starting at nine, which meant that everyone would be done by eleven-thirty and then off to their fun events. According to a memo that had been slipped under my door, the board was meeting with the hotel manager at seven and our public relations person at seven-thirty, so we should be able to take care of business before the seminars. Yes. I was free. I could do it. "I'd love to," I said. "Do I need to make a reservation?"

"No problem," he said. "I'll give the concierge a call and have you added to our party."

"I don't have any gear."

He smiled the paternal smile of one who knows all the tricks. Ed and Marie had children. "That's no problem either. They said they'd have lots of it on the boat for anyone who didn't bring their own. We'll just knock on your door on the way out, shall we?" I had the feeling that I was being taken up, or taken in, or however you'd put it. Being taken care of. It was nice. Dr. Pryzinski might spend his days up to his elbows in blood, but he hadn't lost his humanity. Maybe it was a Midwest-versus-the-East kind of thing. Whenever I leave the East Coast to visit schools, I feel like I'm entering a nicer, simpler world. The problems may be much the same, but the people rev at lower RPMs.

From inside I heard Marie's voice. "Eddie? Are you out there talking to yourself?"

"I'm talking to Thea, dear. Come on out and say hello. I've invited her to come snorkeling with us."

She stuck her head out. It was still done up in big pink foam rollers. "Hi," she said. "No more trouble with the police, I hope?"

"They dropped by at about two a.m. Stayed an hour and went away. I get the feeling they don't like me much."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," she said, shaking the rollers wisely. "It's not you. That's just how they are, isn't it, Ed?" Ed nodded. I got the feeling that Ed nodded a lot, whether he agreed with her or not. But then, I also got the feeling that Ed really liked Marie, and that pleased me. I'm always happy when I see older couples who visibly like each other. It gives me hope.

"Bernstein's touchy," he said. "He's a good cop, though. You can trust him and he's smart. As long as you're straight with him, you don't have anything to worry about."

I thought I'd been about as straight as a person can be with cops. "I've done my best," I said.

When I bent down to pick up my earrings, I noticed that the message light was blinking. I hadn't checked it since I'd told them to hold my calls yesterday afternoon. It was incredibly irresponsible and not at all like me. I picked it up and followed the instructions. The first message was from Andre. Very brief, he didn't want to disturb me, giving me the number at Jack Leonard's and at the local station where I could reach him if I needed to. He hoped I was out on the beach working on those tan lines. He'd call later. The second was from Jolene, changing where we were meeting and confirming the times.

The third one began with a long silence, and then a little voice, saying, "Hi, this is the spy. Meet me by the blue parrot in the lobby at noon and I'll make it worth your while. P.S. The police are taking me to breakfast and Geoffrey is green with envy. How did you ever manage that?"

Poor Laura. I hoped the police would be gentle with her. I had little confidence in Bernstein's self-control, and Nihilani might have a side I hadn't yet seen, but so far, he seemed to have no warmth. Yes, I said to an imaginary Andre, I know the police aren't supposed to be warm and fuzzy, but Laura, for all her precocity, was only a child. And a sensitive one.

Had it not already been curly, the fourth message would have curled my hair. Just a man's voice, no greeting. "You bitch. You told them! If I ever get my hands on you, I'll wring your fucking neck."

"And a gracious good morning to you, too, Lewis," I said as I hung up the phone. I carefully saved the message. I thought I might want to play it for my friends from the Maui police.

I couldn't remember whether Jolene had said it was a breakfast meeting or not. I hoped so. I'd been snatched away from the grilled shrimp in mid-bite so it felt like I'd never finished dinner. I don't like things left unfinished. They haunt me. I'll come back hours later to a half-finished cup of coffee, and woe to the person who throws it out in the meantime. I'll spend the rest of the day with a restless sense that something still needs to be done. Probably I have a bit of the obsessive-compulsive personality. Then again, who doesn't? Just like there are no functional families, there are probably no people around without some quirks that qualify as defined disorders. We can only hope to keep them sufficiently in check so we still function.

I hurried into the meeting room and followed my nose directly to the coffee urn, fortifying myself with a cup before I said good morning to anyone. Since I knew the others, I figured the dapper Asian man at the head of the table must be the hotel manager. He looked like he was already having a bad day. I set my coffee on the table, but before I could sit down, Jolene grabbed my elbow and pulled me aside.

"I saw Lewis Broder a minute ago," she whispered. "At the desk with a suitcase. Checking out, I suppose. He gave me the dirtiest look! As if I was responsible for doing him some harm. And he left an awful message on my machine, accusing me of reporting him to the police. After what he did last night, I
should
have reported him. But I didn't. And see what I get for my forbearance?"

Forbearance was Jolene's kind of word. Tolerant. Patient. She was sharp enough to know that goodness didn't require being a fool. "Don't worry about it," I said. "He left me one, too. Did he threaten to strangle you, too?"