Kellen blinked at the two of them. They knew each other. She supposed that made sense. After all, Max was a Di Luca and had visited before.
He offered coffee and described Annie’s superautomatic coffee maker in a worshipful tone.
Sheriff Kwinault requested an espresso con panna, then leaned her stick against the coatrack and sat across the desk from Kellen. As she accepted the tiny cup from Max, she said, “We found Lloyd Magnuson. His car was hidden in the foliage at one of the pocket parks along the highway. We think from the way it was positioned he pulled into the lot, tried to park, hit the gas instead of the brake and slammed out of the paved area and into the underbrush. Damage done by the last storm, by the winds and the rain, hid the evidence, and it was only this morning that one of my officers found him.”
“He’s dead,” Kellen said.
Sheriff Kwinault paused, her cup halfway to her mouth. “Definitely.”
“He hit a tree?” Without asking, Max brought Kellen a mug of hazelnut coffee with sugar.
“An overdose,” Sheriff Kwinault answered.
“An overdose!” Kellen gestured to Max.
He closed the office door, then got himself a bottle of water and pulled up another chair.
“Of what?” Kellen asked.
“Before Lloyd Magnuson came to Cape Charade, he was a heroin addict. He got clean, he moved to Cape Charade, he’s been clean ever since.” Sheriff Kwinault took a sip. “But he had the paraphernalia in the car and there were needle tracks on his arm.”
“When I saw him, he was fine,” Kellen assured her. “Out of his depth as a law officer, but not impaired.”
“What about Priscilla’s body?” Max asked.
Sheriff Kwinault put her cup on the desk. “There was no body in the car with him.”
“So some kind of foul play,” Max said.
Kellen found she needed the coffee; the heat, the caffeine, the sugar alleviated, a little, the chill of death.
“Definitely foul play. No one forced Lloyd to take heroin, but someone had it to offer,” Sheriff Kwinault said.
“Your officers couldn’t find him, but someone managed to steal Priscilla’s body.” Kellen hitched forward in her chair. “How?”
Max reached into his pocket, pulled out a key chain and pushed a button.
His phone squawked.
“I lose my keys all the time,” he said. “My wallet, too.”
Kellen imagined him coming in from outside and flinging his keys and wallet wherever, and not remembering where they had landed. That evening, he would cook dinner, talk about his day, sing, play cards, laugh…
The next morning, when he got ready to leave for work, he couldn’t find his keys and wallet, and he roared and fussed as if someone had stolen his belongings, when it was his own carelessness at fault…
It was almost as if she had been there.
He continued, “I’ve got a finder on them, and it’s the least sophisticated of the electronics. All the killer had to do was tape a finder on the lid of the plastic box, and he or she could find the body in no time flat.”
“Law enforcement gets easier and harder all the time,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “Who saw him last?”
“Temo.” Kellen knew Temo; with his mother’s history, he didn’t use, sell or tolerate drug use, but he did recognize it when he saw it. While she made the call on speakerphone, Sheriff Kwinault gestured to Max to be quiet.
He stood and paced over to the window.
Temo answered, sounding tired and distracted.
“I have the sheriff here,” Kellen said. “They found Lloyd Magnuson.”
Temo’s voice changed to wary. “He’s dead?”
“Very dead.” Sheriff Kwinault tinkered with her cup. “Kellen Adams says you were the last person to see him. Can you tell me about it?”
“Start at when I left you with him and the body,” Kellen said.
Temo waited a moment, maybe to gather his thoughts. “I told Kellen I’d clean up the girl’s bones, so Kellen left. The policeman, he didn’t want to touch anything. He really didn’t want to touch the girl, so he got in contact with the resort and asked for a plastic box to put her in, then he left in an ATV to get it. He was gone for a while—”
“How long a while?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“I had collected the bones, all the bits of cloth, and I said a prayer for the repose of her soul. So…half an hour? A little more?”
“Thank you. That helps,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “When Lloyd Magnuson returned…?”
“He was driving his toy car. He had a big square plastic bin, like a storage bin where you keep a child’s toys. I put the girl’s bones in there.”
“How was Lloyd?” Sheriff Kwinault’s tone was carefully neutral.
Temo’s tone matched hers. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Was he sad for the death?” Kellen asked. “Did he seem frightened of the remains?” The caffeine and sugar helped her remember the scene, to get past her own horror and focus on the memory of Lloyd Magnuson at that moment.
“Frightened?” Temo still used that cautious voice.
“Most people don’t like the idea of driving with a corpse,” Kellen said.
A pause that went on long enough to make Kellen start to speak, and Sheriff Kwinault decisively signaled that she should not.
Finally, Temo said, “He was singing.”
“Singing?” Sheriff Kwinault exchanged glances with Kellen and Max. “Happy songs?”
“Yes. Rap songs. From Hamilton. He… Like maybe he had a drink while he was at the resort. Liquid courage, maybe?” Temo was verbally squirming.
“Something more than liquor?” Sheriff Kwinault asked. “Maybe drugs?”
“Um…”
Kellen leaned forward and stared at the phone as if she could make eye contact, convince him. “It’s okay, Temo. Tell her.”
“Sí. Yes. He was high on something.”
“Do you know what?” Kellen asked.
“I do not know. I didn’t ask.” In a fierce and bitter tone, Temo said, “He was a cop.”
Sheriff Kwinault said, “I understand.”
At her mild tone, Temo calmed a little. “I knew he shouldn’t be on the road, but I’m brown. I’ve got an accent. I’m not from around here and I didn’t try to stop him.”
Sheriff Kwinault nodded. “I do understand. I promise I do. Please go on.”
“I asked if he was okay. He said he was great, but his skin was flushed red and his eyes were very bright for a man who was going to take a corpse on a drive.”
“All right. Then what happened?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“Then…nothing. I loaded the plastic box into the back of his toy car, and he drove away.”
“You loaded the box into the car,” Kellen repeated back at him.
“Yes. He almost forgot, so I did it.” Now Temo let his curiosity take over. “Why?”
“That’s all. Thank you. If I need to talk to you again, I’ll call. Is that all right?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“Sí. As you wish. I will be here. He was a very weird man, but no matter. He didn’t deserve death.” Temo hung up.
For the first time since they’d started the call, Max returned to the desk and pulled up a chair. “We know that Lloyd was fine when Kellen left the scene. We know Lloyd was pumped full of heroin when he crashed his car. In between those two truths, we have some possibilities.”
“He came back to the resort and, faced with driving a corpse to Virtue Falls, gave in to his addiction,” Sheriff Kwinault said.
“Where’d he get the heroin?” Kellen asked.
“From his car?” Max suggested. “He’d already bought it off-site and had been fighting the need to use it? Alternately, someone at the resort offered it to him.”
&
nbsp; Kellen felt sick. “Who?”
Both Max and Sheriff Kwinault looked at her.
Kellen answered their unspoken question. “None of the current guests seem likely—” a lie, she thought Carson Lennex was very likely, but she wasn’t ready to accuse him “—and I don’t believe any of the employees are users. They’re all functioning at a strong level. Right now, we don’t have enough staff that anyone can slack off.”
“They don’t have to be users to distribute,” Sheriff Kwinault said. “Assuming Temo was telling the truth—”
“He isn’t a seller,” Kellen said fiercely.
“—Lloyd Magnuson came back to get Priscilla Carter’s body and he was already stoned. As he drove, he got progressively less able to operate the car, tried to stop somewhere, drove into the brush and out of sight. He died there, and at some point, someone took the plastic container with the corpse out of the vehicle.” Sheriff Kwinault leaned forward. “Why was there a corpse with no hands? Why was Lloyd Magnuson given drugs? Why was the body stolen? What is going on here?”
Max answered, “Someone is using the Yearning Sands dock for smuggling.”
Good. Kellen hadn’t had to anguish over how much to tell Sheriff Kwinault. Max had taken the issue out of her hands.
Sheriff Kwinault was patently not surprised. “Do we know what? Or who?”
“We don’t know what is being smuggled,” Max said.
Kellen didn’t correct him.
Max continued, “But we do think the head of smuggling is someone here at the resort.”
“Very likely it’s drugs, and whoever gave Lloyd the heroin is our felon.” Sheriff Kwinault looked at Kellen. “You say not Temo?”
“No.” Yet he needed to support his sister, and he’d do anything for her. Kellen feared he could be desperate enough to join a ruthless smuggler. Why not suspect him of distributing heroin, too? “Maybe.”
“Any other suspects?” Sheriff Kwinault asked.
“I think too many?” Max looked at Kellen for confirmation.
She nodded.
Sheriff Kwinault sighed. “Have you called the Coast Guard?”
“Yes,” Kellen said. “That is, not me, but yes, they’ve been contacted.”
“Then they’re keeping an eye on things here in between other duties.” Sheriff Kwinault tapped her fingers on the desk. “Let me talk to them. The fact we’ve got a mutilated body that’s missing and a dead law officer should get their attention.”
“Will they listen to you?” Kellen asked.
“Yes. I’m the former Virtue Falls Coast Guard commander.” Sheriff Kwinault gestured at the star on her chest. “And I have this nifty badge.”
Max indicated Kellen. “She’s a veteran of a war zone.”
“Really?” Sheriff Kwinault looked Kellen over. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Keeping up with your fitness?”
Kellen thought of Mara and their daily sparrings. “Yes.” Like she had a choice.
“With any luck, our smugglers will underestimate you.” Sheriff Kwinault stood. “I’ll send officers to check in every few hours. Call us for any reason, no matter how small. Max, you’re working security for the duration?”
“I am.”
“Good. You look big. You look scary. Maybe that’ll keep the bad guys at bay until the Coast Guard can scoop them up.”
“I’ll do my best Incredible Hulk imitation,” Max promised.
Sheriff Kwinault smirked at him. “You’re closer to the giant Marshmallow Man.”
Yes. They had obviously met before.
Kellen and Sheriff Kwinault shook hands again. “Can I offer you dinner in our restaurant before you go?” Kellen asked.
“Thank you, I’d be delighted to take you up on it, but the weather folks are predicting a big storm and I’m on duty.” Sheriff Kwinault shrugged her way into her coat. “Not that the weather folks have been right very often this winter.”
“Dinner to go?” Kellen asked.
“That would be much appreciated,” Sheriff Kwinault conceded.
“I’ll set her up,” Max said and took Sheriff Kwinault to the elevator and the lobby.
While he was gone, Kellen texted Mr. Gilfilen the news of Lloyd Magnuson’s death and ended with a plea that he cease his operation.
His text came back. Acknowledged.
By which he meant he had received her news, and he would continue to do what he thought right.
When Max came back, Kellen was staring out the big window, where the everlasting gray clouds churned and threatened. “I gave Frances instructions to give Kateri anything she wanted as a to-go meal.”
“Thank you.”
“I called Annie and Leo to tell them about Lloyd Magnuson.”
“Thank you again.” She hadn’t even thought to do that. “I informed Mr. Gilfilen… You do know about Mr. Gilfilen?”
“Leo told me. I think it’s a stupid idea, but Vince Gilfilen is a force to be reckoned with.” Max watched her watch the sky and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Somehow, that was worse than I expected.” Kellen found she was sitting ramrod straight, her fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t want to think of Lloyd being tempted by a devil. It’s cruel and callous, and whoever it is, whatever it is, is here at the resort.”
“At your refuge.”
“Yes.”
“And whoever did this could be your friend.”
“Yes.” The word was no more than a sigh.
He came around the desk and knelt beside her chair, and made his offer with every evidence of sincerity. “It’s dangerous here. If you’d like to go away, I can assume control.”
Shocked, she looked him square in the face. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I’ll talk to Annie. I’m capable of being resort assistant manager. You can go on vacation, take a leave of absence. No one would think the worst of you. This situation is dangerous and—”
She pushed her chair away from him. “I can’t leave. Run away? The resort is my responsibility. The people here are my responsibility. If one of my friends is guilty of these heinous acts—well, I recommended them to Annie and Leo. What kind of person would I be if I ran away?” She would be Cecilia, running away from her own cousin’s death.
“I thought—”
“Stop thinking. You’re security until Mr. Gilfilen returns to his regular duties, that’s all. I’m in charge of the resort. I’ll stay in charge of the resort.” She stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make rounds, talk to the guests and employees, assure them everything is being handled to the best of our abilities and their safety is our first concern. I suggest you do the same thing—go meet your security team, and after that, see if you can talk Mr. Gilfilen in before he gets killed, too.”
* * *
Max watched Kellen stride out of the office.
This was not going at all like he expected.
30
Kellen arrived in the guest lounge in time to see the Shivering Sherlocks off to their last evening with Carson Lennex in his suite. Tonight, they assured her, they would discover who was guilty of…whatever silly mystery murder had occurred.
Kellen scolded herself. Guests had the right to come to Yearning Sands Resort and enact whatever frivolous drama they wished. These women deserved their vacation. They never expected to arrive when real murders and real terrors abounded. But Kellen did know she didn’t have the patience, not tonight, to serve appetizers and drinks, and so she commissioned Sheri Jean. Then Kellen toured the rest of the resort: the kitchens, the spa, the housekeeping services. She did not visit the maintenance building. She knew she should show herself, but she feared her friends. She feared what she would have to do if one of them was guilty.
Instead, she went to her cottage, walked in, shut the door behind her and took a moment to bre
athe. In. And out. In. And out.
Xander would be proud.
She needed a moment alone in a place of her own, no guests, no staff, no noise. Just a meal eaten in peace without the constant yammer and the faces and the fear and the drama. She owed that to herself. She wandered through the kitchen, looking in cupboards. She had everything to put together Niçoise salad. That sounded good and easy, and—
Who did this Max think he was? Suggesting she flake out in the middle of multiple murders and a smuggling investigation?
She put water on to boil, assembled olive oil, vinegar, garlic and Dijon mustard for the dressing.
She was not that person. That was not her. Not since… Not since she woke up…
Cecilia woke in a panic of terror.
She didn’t know where she was.
She didn’t remember how she got here.
But someone wanted to kill her.
She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear that whatever had trapped her was watching, waiting for a hint of life to pounce and slash and destroy.
Blindly, she tried to take survey of her surroundings.
The air around her was cool, fresh. So…she was inside a building. Her fingers twitched, feeling…a sheet below and a sheet above. She rested on a bed, her head slightly elevated on a firm mattress. Everything smelled clean. Music played, soothing music, meditation music.
Other than that…silence. No voices.
Her toes twitched.
She wanted to sit up, to get up, to run away. But she forced herself to remain still, quiescent, until that moment when she knew either she was alone…or she wasn’t.
No way to tell except… She opened her eyes the thinnest slit. Without moving her head, she looked left. She looked right. Pale green walls. A window that looked out to a leafy tree and, beyond that, a gloomy gray sky. That ridiculous plinky-plunky music continued to play, music to soothe a restless mind. She opened her eyes all the way. She was alone in a hospital room. The door was open into a corridor. On one side of the bed, she saw a metal end table; against the wall, a tall metal cabinet, a chair with an open book facedown on the seat, and on a tray hooked to the chair’s arm was an open cup of applesauce.
On the other side of the bed, she saw a shiny chrome IV stand that fed her fluids…and God knew what else.