EMBELLISHED TO DEATH (3 page)

“You go talk to her. I'll speak with the other ladies.” Steve limped toward Ellie and Pauline. The friends had their arms wrapped around each other.

Steve's insistence on getting involved in a criminal matter was new for me. Usually, he lectured me about staying out of police business. Either the knock to his head had him behaving contrary to his usual self, or the lack of police presence had the prosecutor in him needing to secure the scene and get information so the criminal faced justice.

“Did anyone see what car she arrived in?” Bob called out. “There's no ID on her.”

“No,” Ellie said.

Pauline shook her head.

Cars entered into the parking lot. An employee directed the traffic away from Bob, the blonde, and the injured woman.

While Steve questioned the few witnesses, I set about collecting and noting any potential evidence. Bob would get information from the blonde woman.

Sirens filled the air. An ambulance and police were nearing the resort. I quickly prayed for the injured woman and Steve. He appeared all right, but it never hurt to send up a request for aid.

Using my cell phone, I photographed where I'd been standing and then of the woman and Bob. If the paramedics came first, I doubted they'd wait on the police arriving to get an overview of the accident scene before they transported her to the hospital.

Placing a hand on a parked car, I leaned over and peered under it. Something was under there. I knelt down. A plastic prescription bottle had rolled to a stop by the back tire. I snapped a picture before zooming in to look at the label.

No name, just a warning stating “Causes drowsiness. Be careful when operating a motor vehicle or other machinery.”

I shimmied under the car, focusing my phone on the bottle. I snapped a picture. With the flash I could see a partial name: Ma. I crawled out as I didn't want to move the bottle by accident as I tried to read the full name.

“What are you doing?” An angry male voice asked.

I had a bad feeling about this. I looked up.

A large man glared down at me. His sunglasses were clipped to a lanyard which held a police badge. A tablet was tucked against his side.

Definitely not good. I stood and dusted small bits of gravel and dust from my clothes. “There's a pill bottle under the car.”

“Unless it's yours, or you're a police officer, I don't understand why you're trying to retrieve it.”

I didn't think the detective really wanted an answer to the question so I remained silent.

Paramedics attended to the victim. One began chest compressions while the other put an oxygen mask on her. My body grew cold even though the sun beat down. The paramedic stopped compressions and nodded at his partner. The woman was placed on a stretcher.

I released a small breath of relief. She was okay. For now.

Bob headed over to us. “Is there a problem?”

The detective directed his gaze to Bob. Anger flowed across the detective's face. He pointed at me then the car. “Did you have anything to do with this Roget? A private investigator's license isn't the same as a police badge.”

“We were trying to help, Detective Bell.”

Detective Bell held up a hand and silenced him. “Save it, Roget. I'm tired of you and your kind worming your way into investigations. I thought with your brother gone, I wouldn't have to deal with you anymore.”

His kind? What did that mean? “Do you have a problem with people in general or just Bob?”

“I have a problem with people who tamper with a crime scene.” Detective Bell crossed his arms and scowled.

The man had a scarier expression than Ted.

“I was trying to help. A car almost ran me over. If it wasn't for my boyfriend yanking me to safety, I'd have been hit. And then the car continued speeding and ran over that poor woman.” I pointed at the stretcher being loaded into an ambulance.

“And with your expertise in criminal matters, you decided you should investigate the scene and gather up evidence.” He glared at Bob. “Let me guess, one of your students.”

“No, she's a friend,” Bob said, avoiding my eyes.

Student? Did Bob teach classes on private investigating? Maybe…no, what I was thinking. There was no way I wanted to do this for a living, and no way Ted's head wouldn't explode over this. Or Steve. Or my grandmothers' for that matter.

“Miss…” The detective waited on me to supply my name.

“Hunter. Faith Hunter.”

“All right, Miss Hunter, can you tell me what you saw?” Detective Bell poised a stylus over the screen of a tablet.

“Like I said, I was going over to talk to Bob and this car sped through the parking lot. I would've been struck if my boyfriend hadn't—”

In the background, one of the paramedics leapt into the back of the ambulance and began chest compressions again on the victim.

“His name?” Bell's stylus flew over the mid-size screen as he typed away. “Miss Hunter, his name.”

I tore my attention away from the ambulance. “Steve Davis. He pulled me to safety and got injured in the process.”

“Good thing he was looking out for you.” Bell focused on his tablet. “Color of car? Make? Model? License plate?”

“It was beige. A gold color. Four door. Sedan-ish.”

Bell's gaze left the screen for a moment to settle a “you got to be kidding” look on me. “Ford? Chevrolet?”

I shrugged. “I'm not a car person.”

“Roget? Can you fill in any details?”

“Four door. Shorter body with a good size trunk.”

Bell nodded. “That gives me a little more to go on. Anything else?”

“The car hit the victim head on. She rolled off the hood.”

“Did you get a look at the driver?” Hope gleamed in Bell's eyes.

“No. I faced the passenger side of the car. All I remember is the look on the woman's face when the car struck her.” I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Can you describe it to me?” Bell shifted closer to me, his voice soft. He placed a gentle hand under my elbow. “I know this was a traumatic event to witness, but it might help.”

I replayed the moment in my mind, blinking back tears. “Surprised. Like she couldn't believe it was happening. She was so wrapped up in something in her head, she never saw or heard us or the car until it was too late.”

Bob frowned. “Surprised how?”

“I don't know.” I felt so inadequate. I wanted to give the detective the information he needed to find the driver, but knew almost nothing. “The blonde woman by the ambulance was at the corner when the car sped out.”

Bell nodded, the stylus jumping around the screen. “I'll talk to her next.”

“Detective Bell!” An officer standing near the resort door waved at him.

“There was no identification on the victim,” Bob said. “Do you know who she is?”

“Stay out of this case, Roget. The only one asking questions will be me. I expect both of you to mind your business.” Detective Bell knocked into Bob as he headed toward the resort. “Excuse me.”

“He did that on purpose.” I took a step after the rude detective.

Bob caught hold of my hand and pulled me back. “Leave it, Faith. He has a problem with me—”

“Because you're—”

“About a year ago, I solved a case he'd been working on for two months. I tried sharing the information I had with him but he ignored it. I gave it to another officer and that detective got the credit for solving it.”

“Ouch.”

“Even more so when the guy who used the information is now your supervisor.”

“Maybe he should listen to people more.”

A smile tugged at Bob's mouth. “I'm surprised that's the advice you'd give. According to Ted—”

I held up my hand. “I know. I know. Listening isn't a skill I have.”

“You're going to need to improve that skill real fast.” Bob led me to a quieter spot in the parking lot. “I need you to keep an ear out for anything weird going on this weekend.”

“Weird as in...” I trailed off.

“I don't know. That's the problem I'm hoping you can help me with. I don't know what would be out of the ordinary at a crop.”

I stared at the ambulance. “You think she was run over deliberately? Is the woman in there the identity thief?”

“The woman I'm looking for isn't known for being dangerous, but the people looking for her are,” Bob said.

“So, the hit-and run might not be an accident but an attempted murder.”

“I'll know more once I find out who she is. No one knows.”

“Or Detective Bell doesn't want you to know,” I said.

“That's in the realm of possibility.”

“It's a good thing we have our own evidence since Detective Bell most likely won't share.”

“Our own evidence?” Bob frowned.

I turned my phone around and scrolled through the pictures. “See? I have location photos of where Steve was almost hit and where the woman was run down. And this is the pill bottle I saw under the car. I couldn't get a picture of the entire name on it.”

“May I get a closer look?” Bob held out his hand.

“Sure.” I handed over the phone.

He looked my phone over, smiled, then tapped it to his. With a couple of taps on my cell phone's screen, the pictures were deleted.

“Hey!” I snatched my phone back. “Those pictures were my property.”

“Those photos were trouble for you.” Bob pocketed his cell phone. “I want you to just listen and take notes, not chase down a criminal. Let me handle that part. The car accident might not have anything to do with my case.”

“But it might.”

“True. But, I can't leave the women at the retreat exposed to an identity thief while I go find out. And, if I tracked her here, so might've the other people looking for her.”

A knot in my throat made it hard to speak. “That wouldn't be good.”

“No. When one is stealing identities, it's best to make sure it doesn't belong to a criminal.”

“I'll do whatever I can.”

“Not whatever. Listen. Watch. Report to me. Don't engage them.” Bob borrowed my phone and programmed in his number.

Steve approached us, looking pale.

There was no way I'd say more with Steve standing nearby. The last thing Steve needed was worrying about me getting involved in something I shouldn't. I'd put the man through enough anxiety during the last year with my sleuthing.

Steve draped an arm around my shoulders. “What's going on over here?”

I knew Steve wouldn't believe me if I said “nothing” so I went with the partial truth, a new habit of mine. “Bob is telling me I'm not an investigator and should leave the car accident to him and the police.”

“I agree with him.” Steve grimaced and closed his eyes. “That detective isn't going to give you the leeway Detective Roget does.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“The lights are getting to me.”

The lights on the cruisers spun, flashing red in a constant pattern. He flinched and averted his gaze to the ground.

I wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let's go. You should go rest for a little bit.”

“No, I'm fine.” Steve tried stepping away from me but I tightened my grip. “We still need to set up the store. It's too much for you to do alone.”

“Bob will help me. Right?” I fixed a pleading gaze on Bob.

“Absolutely. I just need to make a few calls and I'll meet you inside.”

I watched the ambulance pull out of the parking lot. Sirens silent, which probably meant the victim had died. A shudder raced through me. “She died. We can't let the person get away with it.”

Bell turned and fixed a hard gaze on me.

Steve tucked me into his side. “On second thought, I might not be as fine as I thought. I'd like you to help me to my room. Maybe if you're watching over me, it'll keep you out of trouble.” I leaned into him, needing his support as much as he needed mine.

THREE

  

I shivered in the air-conditioning and moved closer to Steve, needing not only some warmth but knowledge he was okay. The steadiness of his arm was comforting.

“We need a list of the guests.” A uniformed officer drummed his fingers on the counter.

Detective Bell approached the desk, transferring his phone from one hand to the other.

“Do you have a warrant?” The clerk wrapped her arms around the computer screen.

I admired the clerk's show of protecting the information. Of course, turning off the screen would've worked, though less dramatic.

“No.” The officer looked over his shoulder at Detective Bell.

I schooled my features into boredom, not wanting Steve to know the conversation piqued my interest, and squeezed my heart. A poor woman died—was killed—and no one knew her name.

Detective Bell sighed and rested his arm on the counter. “I can get one. It'll take me a few hours. If the press shows up, I'll make sure to tell them the resort is slowing me down in identifying the victim of a hit-and-run.”

“I don't have the authority.” The clerk's voice wobbled along with the computer monitor she hugged.

“Then get me the person who has the authority.” Bell's voice was hard like overcooked brittle.

The clerk pivoted to the left and shooed another clerk from the back office. “We'll track the manager down for you. He's had a couple of emergencies, beside the one in the parking lot, to deal with today.”

“While a staff member looks for him, I'll make a few calls. Maybe the media can get the word out about a poor woman struck down and killed in the parking lot of Eagle Mountain Estate Resorts and the employees of said resort will not cooperate with police.” Bell pressed a button on the side of his cell. The screen lit up. “What's your name?”

“Can he do that?” I whispered to Steve.

Steve hooked his arm through mine. “Let's unload. We'll check in later.”

“You should rest.” I stood my ground in line behind Bell.

“And the detective told you to mind your business,” Steve said.

As if in a slow motion movie sequence, Detective Bell turned. “Why am I not surprised that eavesdropping is part of your repertoire? Officer Dunbar, may I have your handcuffs?”

My eyes widened.

Steve tucked me behind him. “Faith is forcing me to check-in.”

“You were knocked out cold.” I wiggled out to confront Steve face-to-face. “If you won't go to the hospital, you should at least take it easy.”

“She's right.” Bell ushered us to the front. “Why don't you check this nice couple in early? Mr. Davis really should have a quiet place to rest since he risked his life to save one of your guests. Also gives you some extra time to track down the manager.”

“Of course,” the clerk said. “I'll just need an ID.”

I nudged Steve. “He'll give you his. Mine is in the truck. I'll check into my room later.”

“Detective,” a young officer rushed inside. “We still haven't identified the victim. The morg—”

Bell tilted his head toward me and held up a hand to quiet the officer. “We'll clear that up soon.”

“No one knows her,” the officer said

No one? A knot formed in my throat. I decided to try and help a little. “Some croppers come as a single and not as part of a group. Lydia Clement or Marsha Smith could give you a copy of the registration forms.”

“The forms indicate who came alone?” Bell asked.

I nodded. “Groups split room costs. And croppers will write on their forms who they'd like to share a table with and have around them. The organizers do their best to accommodate all requests. They'd know who came as singles.”

Bell handed the officer back his handcuffs. “Thank you for the information, Miss Hunter. That'll help us speed up the process.”

“Your keys.” The clerk held out a white sleeve.

I felt someone hovering behind me. I glanced over my shoulder.

Ellie gave me an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry to bother you right now, but we still can't get into the conference center. No one's seen Lydia or knows where Marsha is.”

“Go on.” Steve held the card in the air. “I'll be in the room.”

I hesitated. Steve suffered a head injury. He shouldn't be left alone.

He removed one of the room keys and placed it in my back pocket. He brushed a kiss over my lips. “Come check on me once you help them.”

“All right.” I hated leaving him, but we did need to get into the room. Hopefully, Gussie Buford and Darlene Johnson would show up soon. They'd get the store ready for me while I cared for Steve.

“If we split up we might find someone who can let us in sooner,” Ellie said. “Pauline is checking out the fitness center, and I told her I'd run down to the convenience store near the entrance to the interstate. Maybe Lydia or Marsha went there.”

“Lydia asked me to let the manager know she was running late. He must have a set of keys to let us in.”

“The bar and grill is down the hall,” the clerk said, pointing the way. “You might find Marsha there.”

The sneer in the woman's voice caught my attention. “Did you see her there?”

“I haven't.” The clerk pressed her lips together.

That was all she was going to say about that, but I was smart enough to hear the unsaid drama.

“Thanks.” I hurried down the hallway, which fortunately was short. We needed to get in the conference center. If the store was opened late, no biggie, but if the scrappers lost cropping time we would never hear the end of it. Plus it might affect the reputation of the Cropportunity events and any extra income opportunities for Scrap This.

I almost missed the bar as a tiny wooden sign was all that announced the location. The door was the same style and painted the same color as the doors for the restrooms. I tugged it open. One man sat in the corner typing away on a laptop, and another man wearing khakis and a white polo shirt with a logo of an inverted V resembling a mountain range talked to the bartender. I saw the word “manager” on his nametag but couldn't make out his name.

“I ain't switching shifts so I can babysit a bunch of women.” The bartender swiped a cloth across the counter. He used the back of his hand to shove a lock of blond hair from his eyes. “Besides, I'm already here and clocked in.”

“Abby isn't physically able to help a woman to her room if it becomes necessary,” the manager said. “We have enough explaining to do to the owner.”

I kept back and waited for an opportunity to break into the conversation. Should I tell him Detective Bell was looking for him, or let the detective introduce himself?

The bartender raised his hands and shook his head. “No way am I going to do that. I'm not taking a chance of some woman accusing me of assault or something. Tell Abby to call you if someone needs to be carried up to their room again.”

“You'll be doing the late shift on Saturday.” The manager pointed at the bartender and spun around. “I don't care how it messes up your plans.”

I hadn't anticipated the manger making so sudden an escape. I had crept up so close, the man bumped into me. I staggered backwards. Flailing my arms about, I tried to keep myself upright.

The manager snagged my arm. He smiled at me but it was more of a questioning one than apologetic. “My pardon, ma'am, I didn't see you behind me.”

“I'm sorry. I should've let you know I was here. I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“I'm sure you didn't.” The manager forced out a smile.

The bartender snorted and continued cleaning.

“If you'll excuse me... ” He started out the door.

“Lydia asked me to find you. She and Marsha have been detained. We need to get into the conference center to set up for the crop retreat.”

The manager rummaged around in his pockets. “Detained, that's a new word for it.”

“Mr. Anderson, I need to speak with you.” Detective Bell walked over to us. “Are you aware there was a fatal accident in your parking lot?”

“Yes.” A nerve in the man's jaw twitched. “I was trying to get some information about one of our guests. I have a feeling she might be the cause of the accident.”

I shuffled back a few feet. I couldn't leave until I got the key.

“Do you mind, Miss Hunter?” Bell fixed a police officer evil-eye on me.

The manager handed a key ring over to me. “You can open up the conference center. Please return those to the front desk when you're done.”

“I will. Thanks.” I jangled the keys.

“Make sure you do, Miss Hunter. I'd hate to have to conduct a search for missing keys,” Detective Bell said.

I opted to go through the building to avoid the heat, and stay away from the crime scene out front. A police officer was talking two women. They both shook their heads.

I pushed the small lever on the glass door and entered into the long narrow hallway. My gaze rested on the sign. Great. Hotel security locked the door at midnight. Either we'd have to walk outside or else make sure someone was stationed at the door as cropping continued all night long. Usually, a wardrobe change from comfy day clothes to PJs happened sometime after dinner. I'd hate for a cropper to get locked out.

Dim recessed lights lined the ceiling from one set of doors to the next. The walls were painted a soft gray and the carpet was a deep red with black filigree accents. The place looked dark, matching my mood.

Hair tingled on the back of my neck. What was it about this hallway that gave me the creeps?

Maybe it was the design that combined all the what-not-to-do's women are instructed on from a very young age. Don't go down dark places. If alone, walk in an area others can spot you. There were no windows in the hallway, just rows of doors. Were those doors leading to offices or storage closets also lacking windows and lights? I swallowed. Stop it. This hotel was filled with women. Croppers. Nothing to fear.

Except for an identity thief—and a murderer.

The driver of the hit-and-run vehicle might return to the scene of the crime to root out any witnesses. And if the murderer didn't kill their correct target, they might come back to get it right. I hoped Bob, or the police, found out the woman's identity soon. It would be hard enough to shut down am identity thief's scam, stopping a hired killer seemed out of our league.

Voices carried from down the hallway.

Two people huddled in a small alcove area before the other set of doors. Two wooden signs hung from the ceiling. One was a stick man wearing a top hat pointing to the left, and the other a stick woman in a flowing dress pointing to the right.

A woman with wet, undistinguishable colored hair wearing a shapeless gray tunic paired with gray leggings, waved her arms around, agitated about something. The shadows in the hallway kept her half-hidden.

“It'll be fine.” Lydia Clement shifted her grip on a large tote.

I crept closer, hoping to catch Lydia's attention.

Lydia drew as close to the woman as she could without actually joining her in the shift. Her own gray and white outfit, though snazzier and dressier, almost blended right into the other woman's. “We'll talk later.”

I inched as close as I dared.

Harsh sounding whispers floated back and forth between the women. Both heads tilted toward each other, muscles bunched up. The tension in the other woman could be from the humongous tote tugging down her shoulder.

A commotion came from the vicinity of the crop registration area. Even the heavy glass doors did little to block out the sound of the irate women.

Lydia's head jerked toward the sound. When her gaze came back to her conversation, she spotted me and frowned. The tote she carried plunked to the floor.

The other woman skedaddled into the bathroom.

“Can I help you?” Lydia crossed her arms. The dim light and her pale clothes gave her the appearance of an angry poltergeist.

“A woman got killed in front of the resort. The police don't know her name yet.”

With eyes closed, Lydia rubbed her temples, her thin fingers moving in a circular fashion. She slanted her head toward the door. “I heard. What a terrible thing. Poor Marsha witnessed the whole thing and is beside herself. I really hope I can keep her focused on the crop.”

I stared at Lydia, not knowing what to say. She looked at me oddly. My silence was causing concern.

She rubbed her left temple with one hand and her stomach with the other. “I'm going to get an ulcer. I know I shouldn't tell you this but Marsha had a drinking problem in the past. I'm afraid what happened might send her back down that path.”

“It was a horrible thing to witness. I can find you a helper if Marsha isn't up to it.” I'd hate to lose Gussie or Darlene's help this weekend, but Lydia needed them more them me.

“I appreciate the offer but we'll manage,” Lydia said. “I think it's better to keep Marsha's mind focused on something. It's thinking that will get her in trouble.”

I knew that problem all too well.

A low buzz echoed in the hallway.

Lydia pulled out a smartphone, swiped her finger across the screen and started typing away. “Great. The manager's been trying to get a hold of me all morning. So are the vendors.”

The conference center was still locked. “The manager gave me a set of keys. I'll go let everyone into the building.”

The bathroom door crashed open, nearly flattening Lydia to the wall. A flustered Marsha, who smelled like a bottle of mouthwash, rushed out. Her straw colored hair now in a messy ponytail. “The police want to talk to me. Again. But I need to redo the seating chart.”

Lydia sighed. “You told me you had everything under control. The vendors are stuck outside.”

Marsha blushed and avoided my gaze. “No, they're not. I let them in right after— I was late. I'm sorry.”