Kellen could hardly contain her irritation. “You suggested me to Carson Lennex?”
“Actually, he suggested you to me. I believe he likes you.”
Kellen’s heart sank. “Likes me?”
“Don’t worry. He never plays footsie with the staff—Priscilla Carter tried to get him involved in a romp, and that’s one of the things that got her in trouble. But he does have staff he prefers to deal with. I’m one of them.” Sheri Jean settled into smug satisfaction. “Apparently you are likely to be another. It’s a good thing—I promise.”
Kellen was too tired to be diplomatic. “Why?”
“He’s interesting, he’s genuine, he never asks for much in the way of labor, he has great friends and throws fabulous parties.”
And he steals toilet paper. Kellen sealed her lips tightly over that one.
Sheri Jean continued, “Look, this year he’s involved with the Shivering Sherlocks and their little game. He’s paying for the party, he’ll pose for photos with them and Lord knows he’s not getting anything out of it except a chance to chat with a bunch of older women. I swear, the man is almost too good to be true.”
Sheri Jean didn’t often enthuse. In fact, enthusing was the opposite of Sheri Jean’s usual behavior, and that alone increased Kellen’s suspicions.
Kellen said, “All right. I’ll serve.”
Sheri Jean indicated Jasmine, who was making inroads into the finger sandwiches. “You’d better have some lunch.”
Nils Brooks joined Jasmine at the side table and grabbed an apple and a cookie, then with a glance at Kellen and Sheri Jean, he ducked away.
“Authors,” Sheri Jean said in disgust. “I thought he was going into isolation to write a book, but every time I turn around, he’s here talking to somebody who could be doing real work.”
“Writer’s block,” Kellen said.
“I don’t get it. If you want to write a book, just write it.” Sheri Jean shrugged him off. “Now, you—you look like death.”
Kellen winced.
Sheri Jean said, “Sorry. But this is the first time since I’ve been here that we’ve discovered a body.”
Her words brought up the memory of those scattered bones, and Kellen found her knees getting a little wobbly.
Sheri Jean tsked, put her hand under Kellen’s arm and steered her toward the food. “Annie and Leo don’t expect you to work miracles, you know.”
“I know!” Now Sheri Jean was being nice. So out of character!
“The resort will get along fine without you for a few hours. You need to find a bed and crash. Lucky you’re in a hotel, hmm?”
As Kellen made her way to Annie’s office, she considered one simple truth: except for the honeymooners and the Shivering Sherlocks, almost everyone in this resort was a murder and smuggling suspect. While she was serving in the penthouse, she would take the chance to snoop around about Carson Lennex. She thought of the urbane, charming actor and chuckled.
As if someone as famous as Carson Lennex could ever be the Librarian.
* * *
Kellen sank onto the couch. She ought to work on tomorrow’s scheduling, but she was so tired the world was spinning, and every once in a while, she caught sight of something out of the corners of her eyes that when she looked, wasn’t really there: Priscilla’s ghost, or a murderous smuggler, or maybe an old memory that refused to be vanquished.
She withered back onto the cushions, tucked a pillow under her head and…
Cecilia knew she needed to go out into the city, to get familiar with the area, to take care of herself. To learn how to be Kellen.
Instead, she hid, avoiding television, internet and, most of all, human contact. Inevitably, she ran out of food. She was used to being hungry—Gregory had sometimes locked the cupboards—but she couldn’t die here. Not after the crimes that had been done in her name. She had to go out.
She prepared carefully, gathering Kellen’s grocery bags, her grocery cart, using the computer to review the route to the store. For the first time in two weeks, she descended the stairs, and as she did, the office door snapped open. A short, stout woman hustled out, eyes snapping in annoyance, envelopes and catalogs spilling from her hands. Mrs. del Sarto, Cecilia assumed.
“Miss Adams, in the future if you’re going to be gone for this long would you please stop your mail so it doesn’t clutter up my office and it looks as if Cityflix is still charging you so you’d better call them again and your girlfriend was here every day crying about you so would you please return her messages?” Mrs. del Sarto talked without drawing breath and manhandled the mail into one of the grocery bags hanging on Cecilia’s arm. As she straightened, she stared at Cecilia’s face.
Cecilia tensed and the refrain ran through her mind, Not Kellen. She knows. Not Kellen. She knows.
Mrs. del Sarto said, “The TV was telling the truth. You were there at that explosion in Maine. You look shell-shocked. You know the police are looking for you, right?”
Cecilia shook her head.
“They want to hear your version. Some of the people in that town say it’s a murder/suicide, but that guy’s family says you had something to do with it.”
“No. No!” Cecilia backed away. “I didn’t. Please don’t…tell anyone I’m here. I want to be alone.”
“I mind my own business.” But Mrs. del Sarto wore a pinched, pleased expression as if she’d discovered a vein of gold. “You’re going shopping? You could pick up a few things for me. Which store are you going to?”
Vivid scenarios filled Cecilia’s mind: the press discovering her at the grocery store, or worse, her return back here to the lobby clogged with police and reporters. “I’m not going out.”
Mrs. del Sarto pointed. “You have your cart.”
“I need to put this mail away. Then I…I have to go call Cityflix.” Cecilia backed toward the stairs. “I’ll be on hold for hours.”
“That’s true.” Mrs. del Sarto was patently displeased. “But you’ll have to come down sooner or later.”
Sooner. Before the police knocked on her door and demanded entrance. Upstairs, Cecilia repacked the suitcase and computer. She gathered cash and credit cards and put them in her wallet, then shoved the wallet into the back pocket of her jeans. She carefully stowed Kellen’s important documents—passport, driver’s license, diplomas and birth certificate—in Kellen’s travel wallet and hung it around her neck. In less than ten minutes she was out the door, on the street and headed toward the rail station.
New York was no longer safe for her.
Next stop: Philadelphia.
19
Kellen gasped, came awake, opened her eyes wide.
Philadelphia.
New York’s Grand Central Terminal south to Philly’s 30th Street Station. Mugged and lost everything except her cousin’s papers—driver’s license, diplomas, which she had strapped under her clothes.
No money. No credit cards. Afraid to speak to the police, to make claims on Kellen’s accounts. Months on the streets, cold, desolate, her best friend a sharp pair of scissors. Then…then there was the child, the sobbing little girl and the man who was hurting her…
Cecilia got so angry!
Kellen didn’t remember anything else. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. She did not remember anything else…until she woke in the hospital.
What had she forgotten? More than a year gone from her life. What had she done?
The phone on Annie’s desk rang. Kellen stared at it, then leaped to answer.
“Kellen. Kellen, dear, I’m so much better.” Annie’s voice sounded excessively chipper.
Kellen collapsed onto the desk chair. “Thank God. Leo said you were very ill. We kept you in our prayers.”
“Those prayers helped, because I’m fine now. How are things going at the resort? I trust everything is wel
l!” Okay. Annie’s voice was definitely too chipper.
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Although Lloyd Magnuson hadn’t yet called. “Are you still in the hospital?”
“The people at the hospital are so nice to me. The family is visiting a lot and Leo is such a lovey-dovey. Aren’t you, Leo?” Annie made some kissing noises.
Suddenly Leo was on the line. “Sorry about that demonstration of affection. She is better, much better, so I left to grab a little to eat, her morphine has kicked in and how she managed to dial the phone in her condition…” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to be so—”
“Not to worry. I completely understand.”
“Whose, um…” Leo’s voice regained volume. “I’m out in the corridor. She can’t hear me. Last night you said you found a corpse at the resort?”
“Priscilla Carter.”
“She didn’t ditch us, she’s dead? Of natural causes?”
Kellen swiveled around and looked out at the night that had so swiftly fallen. “Murder.”
“Who…? Where…? How…?” Leo couldn’t proceed beyond shocked stammering.
“Lloyd Magnuson took the remains to the coroner in Virtue Falls, but I haven’t heard back from him and his phone is going to voice mail.” Kellen let her frustration be known. “It’s dark and it’s cold and everyone’s looking at each other and wondering who did it. We’ve lost guests and employees over the news. I had hoped getting the facts from Mike Sun might help ease the tension.” Although nothing would ease her tension. Nils Brooks had taken care of that. “Do you think if I called Mr. Sun…?”
“He can’t release the information to you. I’ll take care of it. He knows me from way back, and they found Priscilla on Di Luca property. I’ll let you know when he fills me in. I’m sorry, Kellen. You know Annie and I would never have left if we had imagined something like this would happen.”
“Would it be possible to summon Mr. Gilfilen back from vacation? I’m ill equipped to lead the security team at any time, much less while I’m managing the resort.”
A pause. “Mr. Gilfilen can’t return. It’s not possible.”
She voiced her vague suspicion. “Look, if he’s somewhere close, could I contact him?”
“No! God, no.”
So he was somewhere close. “Leo, really. This is an emergency.”
Leo said, “Perhaps… Well, let me think. Other security personnel work for the Di Lucas. Let me see if I can find someone to send.” Another short pause. “Annie’s calling me. We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow.” He hung up.
Kellen looked at the phone, then placed it in its cradle. If she looked, she could probably find Mr. Gilfilen. He might be somewhere on the grounds, or maybe enjoying the great Washington coast…although that seemed out of character. But what good would tracking him down do? She knew Mr. Gilfilen well enough to know he would do what he would do, and nothing could alter his course.
Hell, maybe he was the Librarian.
The events of the previous day and night had acquired a stained veneer of disbelief and distrust. She looked at everyone—employees, guests, workmen—and wondered who they were beneath their everyday masks.
Her watch alarm vibrated on her wrist. She looked at her scheduler.
Time to pick up the appetizers for the Shivering Sherlocks event and do a little sleuthing of her own.
* * *
Max Di Luca walked down the hospital corridor toward Annie’s room. Today the news was good; she had survived the night and rallied. At breakfast, the whole Di Luca family had at last begun their late Christmas celebration with scrambled eggs and cheese, crisp bacon, fruit salad—and Aunt Sarah’s chocolate chip cookies. Now Max had been sent to remove Leo from his post at Annie’s side. Of course. Max was aggressive, decisive and a former football running back, hence when a possible challenge loomed, he was sent to take care of it. The family called him the Di Luca enforcer. They were joking. Mostly.
But as he approached Annie’s room, he saw Leo sitting in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, hands over his face.
Max’s heart squeezed in fear. He rushed to Leo and knelt beside him. “Leo? What’s wrong? Is Annie…?”
Leo lifted his head. He looked worn to the bone and hopeless. “Annie’s better. She really is.”
Max sat back on his heels. “Then what’s wrong?”
“As soon as we left the resort, everything there went to hell in a handbasket.”
Max stood up, pulled a chair close and asked sympathetically, “Another incompetent assistant manager?”
“No, she’s great. Efficient, intelligent, wants nothing more than to work all the time. She’s taken a huge load off Annie’s shoulders and mine.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Leo looked grimly at Max. “Yesterday they found the first assistant manager.”
Max leaped to the inevitable conclusion. “Dead?”
“Murdered. Kel… The assistant manager called and told me last night, but last night I didn’t care. Today I care. Priscilla, that poor, stupid girl, dead. At our resort. Who would do such a thing?”
Max asked the next logical question. “What does Mr. Gilfilen say?”
“He’s sort of on vacation.”
“Sort of? While you’re gone?” Had Leo and Annie gone senile?
“We’re having security problems at the resort.”
Nope, obviously not senile. “Murder and…?”
“Smuggling.” Leo filled Max in on the details of what Mr. Gilfilen suspected.
“Probably connected, then.” Max straightened his shoulders. “So while you’re here, you—or rather, your new assistant manager—needs someone with security experience on-site. In this situation, you have to have someone who you trust, and you know I’ve got the experience that you need.” He stood. “I’ll go.”
Leo straightened his shoulders right back. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the Di Luca Christmas. You have other responsibilities.”
“Rae will understand.” Max lifted his hand to stop any further objections. “We already had our private Christmas on December twenty-fifth, and when she’s here in the midst of the family, I hardly see her. I’ll explain it to her, and you know her—she has a generous spirit. She will understand.”
Leo stood and faced off with Max. “You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it is.” Max was used to being right, and to getting his way. “I’ll leave today.”
“First come and see Annie. She has things to say to you about the new assistant manager.”
“So there is something wrong with her.”
“Max! Stop jumping to conclusions! It’s not her. It’s you.”
Max took a step back. Leo was always loud—he was slightly deaf—but never so emphatic. “Leo, what’s wrong?”
Leo opened the door to Annie’s room.
Annie’s happy voice floated out, “Max, dear! So good to see you!”
Leo stepped in. “Max wants to go to handle security at the resort.”
“That’s a good idea! Except…” Annie’s voice lost its euphoria. “Oh, dear.”
Max could not imagine what was wrong with Leo and Annie. Of course, he didn’t have much of an imagination. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s no way you could.” Leo gestured him in. “Go, sit down with Annie and listen.”
20
Kellen hurried down to the kitchens, where the chefs were getting along admirably—the calm before the storm?—gathered the two waiting cardboard boxes and walked to the elevator that led to Carson Lennex’s penthouse.
Each penthouse had its own elevator. She stepped in and took the direct trip from the lobby to the eighth floor. The elevator doors opened and Kellen stepped out into a small entry. She walked through the open double
doors into the penthouse entry, where a curvaceous staircase led to the bedroom level, then went into the luxurious living room. The furniture was minimalistic: leather, steel and stone. Splashes of color lit the paintings on the wall, and on the fireplace mantel, bizarre clay art forms writhed. Shelves with well-read books and illuminated glass art lined one wall. Interesting. Kellen would have never suspected Annie would decorate the penthouses so eccentrically.
Carson Lennex stood behind the bar pouring wine and mixing drinks.
The Shivering Sherlocks were in costume, clustered around him, laughing and talking.
One of them was stretched out flat on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Kellen hurried over and knelt beside her. Patty. It was Patty dressed as Hercule Poirot. “Are you all right?”
Patty opened one eye. “I was just poisoned. Now they have to figure out who did it.”
“Oh.” Kellen settled back on her heels. “Oh. While you’re dead, would you care for an appetizer?”
Patty opened both eyes. “What have you got?”
Kellen peeked inside the first box and read the labels. “Wine-marinated frozen grapes, smoked salmon with capers on pumpernickel, rainbow fruit kabobs with yogurt fruit dip and, oh jeez, toast swords tipped with hummus-cide.” She looked seriously at Patty. “The hummus-cide is made from beets. It’s red.” And a little gruesome, considering the events of the past days, but this was a murder mystery weekend and she supposed the chef was allowed a bit of whimsy.
Certainly Patty laughed. “I’ll have one of each.”
“Let me set up and I’ll be back to you right away.”
Patty caught her wrist. “Me first. I’m dead, and once those piranhas descend, I’ll never get my share.”
Mr. Lennex knelt on the other side of Patty and slid two couch pillows under her head. “She’s right,” he said to Kellen. “Better feed her now.”
“I can always order up more,” Kellen pointed out.
“Then you can feed me later, too.” Patty rubbed her naturally expansive padding.
Mr. Lennex fetched a small square plate and a silver spoon and fork wrapped in a linen napkin.