A Sleuth Is Born Page 11

  “Billy Ray, whatever caused Eddie’s allergic reaction, it was an accident,” said Angela. “And it may not even have been the chef’s fault, anyway.” Angela looked away as Lee aimed a seething stare in her direction.

  “Ha! Then why’dja fire him, sugar britches,” blathered Eddie.

  “He wasn’t fired,” Angela said defensively. “I asked him to take a break. He decided to quit.”

  “Some job you’re doing running this place, hot stuff. First, we got a guest getting poisoned, then someone’s taking pictures of our ‘secret’ event.” Billy Ray raised his hand sloppily and pointed at Angela, Aseem, and Pat. “Gee, all three of y’all are in here. So who’s outside making sure no one’s spying on us again?”

  “I’m interested in your answer, too,” said Lee.

  Angela’s face burned. “I… I will head out momentarily. I forgot after getting Bijou set up in my room. It’s only been a short while. And we’ve had the drapes shut all night.”

  “Don’t worry, Angie,” piped up Bea. “We’re almost done for the night.” The heads-up play between the two remaining players, Frank and Walter, was winding down fast.

  “Then if no one’s doing the job, I’ll take a look myself.” Billy Ray staggered to his feet and headed to the ballroom doors. “I could use a little fresh air.” No one in the room could disagree. Pat held the door open for him and gave him a wide berth as he lumbered through it.

  “Player all-in,” said the dealer. A moment later, Frank was out. Walter was pronounced the winner, and Perry instructed the dealers to close up the games for the night.

  Bea and Perry stood beside the table, discreetly comparing notes.

  “He technically didn’t forfeit tonight, but Frank wasn’t exactly fighting to win, either,” Bea whispered to Perry.

  “My thoughts, too. How tired are you? I’d love to watch the video tonight with you, if you’re up for it.”

  Bea waved Aseem over and asked him if it would be possible to check out the video footage of the night’s tournament.

  “Sure. I can set it up so you can watch it from your suite.”

  “Come by in a few minutes. Pat, Perry, and I will be there.”

  “Should I tell Angela?”

  “No, you know how skittish she is. And don’t worry,” Bea added, seeing how guilty Aseem looked. “We’re just checking a few things that could be suspicious, and they’ll probably turn out to be nothing. If we see anything important, I’ll tell her, I promise.”

  Chapter 15

  “Bea, you awake?” Pat was knocking lightly on the adjoining door.

  “Huh? I am now,” honked Bea. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Thought you might be up already. Got some news on our little projects I thought you’d like to hear.”

  Bea swiveled her skinny little legs off the bed and reluctantly stood up. “OK, I’m up.”

  “How about I meet you in the breakfast room? Say, in 20 minutes? I could use some coffee.”

  “Me too. Sounds like a plan.”

  Bea squinted as she opened the drapes. The sun had been up for over an hour, but it was still early for her taste. On the plus side, getting started early would leave plenty of time for detective play before the game tonight. Wahoo!

  “Rebecca, play ‘Private Eyes.’” A little dancing would get the blood flowing.

  After a few minutes of her customary wobbling, Bea felt invigorated. She pulled a cold iced coffee from the mini-fridge and considered her wardrobe options. Both the prim ensemble she’d worn to the meeting in the kitchen yesterday and her “I FUDGING LOVE CHRISTMAS” sweatshirt were laying on the floor. Both barely worn, she thought. She picked up the prissy black sweater and shook it. Looks fine. It’s the safer choice, in case I run into Lee or Angela.

  She dressed, brushed her teeth, and splashed a little water on her face. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she decided she looked pretty good. She didn’t notice her tangled bow or the lint and paper flecks stuck to her pant legs. She gave her hair a superficial brush and headed out the door.

  Oops. Remembering what Perry told her last night, she nipped back into her suite and grabbed her cane. That’s better. Now I just have to remember to lean on it.

  She shut the door and headed to the breakfast room. Though she assumed no one was watching, she made a big show of leaning on the cane and shuffling down the hall. She was revisiting a technique she’d acquired as a poker player for maintaining a neutral facial expression at the table: Practicing always, even when no one’s looking, to ingrain the habit.

  Pat had already chosen the breakfast table farthest from the door, in the corner by the window. “Morning, Bea. I got a cup of coffee for you. From the looks of that bow, you can use it.” Bea looked confused, so Pat reached over and adjusted it for her.

  “Why thank you,” said Bea. “What’s on your mind. You’re raring to go this morning.”

  “Are you OK? You seemed to be leaning awfully hard on that cane.”

  “That’s great to hear!” In a whisper, Bea explained she was trying to restore her image as a silly and powerless old lady. “What’s your big news?”

  “It’s not all good. Should we start by comparing notes from last night? What did Mrs. G say about her charity?”

  “Fooey. I forgot to ask her. She’s started giving me the hairy eyeball, anyway. She keeps catching me mocking her. I don’t think I’d get a straight answer out of her.”

  “We can try asking a player about it later. How about I give you my update?”

  Pat told Bea she’d heard from her friend at the hospital—and it was looking more like someone had helped Eddie’s allergic reaction along.

  “They found a trace of a smoothie on his lips, and it looks like it might have contained almond milk—which was as bad for him as peanuts. No one in the hospital would have served it to him. They don’t even have almond milk on the premises.”

  “Do they have any way to track who visited him?”

  “Nope. But it must have been before dawn, when only one nurse was on duty. Eddie was found after the morning shift started, during the doctors’ rounds.”

  “Does this mean the cops are hunting for a murderer?”

  “Not quite yet. They’ve still got more tests to do, and i’s to dot and t’s to cross in the hospital. But my friend thinks it will be soon.”

  “Helps to have friends on the inside.”

  “Don’t I know it. Half of detecting is on the computer, the other half is friends who can help you out. I’ve got contacts in the DMV, crime labs, hospitals, hacker networks—anything that might help me track down a bit of dirt. It’s all about the network.”

  “That’s not how Jessica Fletcher does it,” Bea said.

  Pat groaned. “I’m getting a muffin. Want one?”

  “Another bit of news,” Pat said, firing up her smartphone. She turned it lengthwise, then showed Bea the screen.

  “Our troll is back at it!”

  “Yep. More pictures and all.”

  The review bomber’s blog had been updated in the middle of the night before. This time, grainy pictures of the poker party in the ballroom were displayed, framed and segmented by window panes.

  “Troll must have shot them through the transom windows. That’s how they got around the closed drapes,” Bea said. “Sneaky! But how did you not see the troll on your security beat?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t see anyone at all. We could do some poking around the grounds later.”

  “I wonder if Angela has seen this yet. Or Our Lady Lee the Perpetually Aggrieved. I hope not. I’d like to let Angie down easy.”

  Almost on cue, Angela walked into the room, Bijou in tow. She looked neatly dressed as always, but tired.

  “Morning,” she said. “Bijou got me up against my will. I could use some coffee.” She draped Bijou’s leash over the back of the chair. “Would you watch her for a sec while I grab a cup?”

  Large paper cup in hand,
Angela returned to the table and grabbed the dog’s strap. Bijou was now pulling against it, eager to get outside. “OK, girl, I get it. See you later, ladies. I promised my little friend here a walk, and I’ve already made her wait too long.”

  “Angie, mind if I tag along?” said Bea.

  Pat hung back in the breakfast room. The baked goods were tasty, the coffee was fresh, and she might even overhear a useful conversation or two, if she kept her nose in her phone and faded into the background.

  The players soon trickled in for their morning fuel. James and Frank sat at the table closest to the buffet, farthest from Pat. They looked tidy and serious, Frank’s sideburns crisply redefined with a fresh shave, James’s sandy hair slicked into place. She could sense them gauging whether she was listening, so she feigned rapt attention to her phone.

  One more night, Pat heard one of them say to the other in hushed tones.

  What’s the plan for getting the hell out of here? came the quiet reply.

  Not sure. I hope someone’s gonna tell us before the game gets going.

  Foxy, Rex and Max, and the twins’ twin girlfriends entered the room together, full of high spirits and looking like they’d stepped out of a society magazine. Pat cringed as they grabbed the table next to her, their banter drowning out James and Frank.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Mind if we take this chair?” Foxy said.

  “Help yourself.”

  As the five-some downed coffee and the men, at least, chomped on pastries, Foxy led the conversation like a self-appointed master of ceremonies—and a loud one at that. True to form, thought Pat. I don’t think I’ve met a man who seemed more full of himself.

  “Has it been living up to your expectations this year?” he asked Rex—or was it Max? “The tourney, the getaway I mean.”

  The twins looked at each other. “I suppose so,” said one.

  “We don’t come with ‘expectations,’” said the other. “We just like playing a big poker game in a place no one can find us. You get it, right? Once a year, we can get away from investment pitches, sales pitches, piles of legal documents.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Pat thought she saw Foxy’s head cock at the mention of ‘legal documents.’ Or maybe it was just her imagination.

  The first brother chimed back in. “I bet people who aren’t as wealthy as we are think we can do whatever we want, whenever we want,” he said. “But we’ve got a lot of responsibility. You understand what a burden it can be.”

  Pat accidentally let loose a snort, then tried to cover it with exaggerated coughing. “Pardon me,” she said, as the group of five stared. “Coffee down the windpipe.”

  She walked to the buffet to get a fresh cup and another treat, hoping the quintet would go back to ignoring her. The server had brought out a coffee cake that was fresh out of the oven and releasing a heavenly aroma. She lingered a few moments over selecting a slice, then galumphed as quietly as she could (danged combat boots!) back to her table.

  “You know anything about the charity?” Foxy said.

  Yes! thought Pat. Pay dirt.

  “Honestly, not really,” said one of the twins, a little sheepishly. “I don’t even remember the name of it. Something or other to do with children. We give to so many things, it’s hard to keep track.”

  “The bean-counters add it to the pile for our taxes,” the other said. “We more than max out our charity stuff every year. I’m not sure it even matters in the end, but we pass on whatever Lee gives us.

  “We’re not doing it for charity, even if Lee is,” he laughed. “We take her word for it that the charity’s doing something good because we want to play.”

  “I get it, I’m here for the game, too,” said Foxy. “Thank you again for getting me in. Now if one of us could win one of these tournaments. One more shot tonight.”

  “Oh please, Foxy. We took you to the cleaners in the cash game, remember? That’s where the real action is.”

  She might have imagined it, but in a brief glimpse of Foxy, Pat saw a wince. Maybe these stakes weren’t peanuts to all the players.

  If the players don’t even know about this charity how am I going to find anything out? Could government databases, perhaps the IRS, offer a clue? Do public companies have to report their charitable donations? Were any of these rich guys’ companies public?

  Time for good old-fashioned web research, Pat thought. She got up from her seat with a groan and decided she’d need more coffee. She was topping her mug off when Connie rushed in, looking disheveled. Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair could have used a brush.

  “Pat, I’m so glad I caught you,” she said, her voice shaky. “Have you seen Billy Ray? He didn’t come back to our suite last night.”

  I doubt this is the first time Billy Ray’s disappeared for the night, thought Pat. Then again, the humiliation probably doesn’t get easier with experience.

  Chapter 16

  “Aren’t you laying it on a little thick with the cane, Bea?” asked Angela, as they made their way from the breakfast room to the lobby doors. Bea was staggering like she’d just awakened from a coma and was re-learning how to walk.

  Bea put a finger to her lips. “Not so loud, girlie. Perry tells me I’ve been laying it on too thin. I’m trying to remind people I’m just a clueless old weakling.”

  “Good luck with that,” laughed Angela. “They’ve already spent two days with you.”

  Bea hoped Angela was wrong. Her time-tested theory rarely failed her: people were always ready to believe an older person was a nitwit. She had one last night to try to win one of the three tournaments. So far, she’d been putting too much energy into her secret sleuthing and too little into her game. Tonight was her last chance to scoop up a big prize. If she saw someone cheating again, tonight was also her last chance to catch them in the act.

  As they made their way onto the Inn’s grounds, Bijou trotted happily ahead, tail wagging. “Good girl,” said Angela, guiding the pup towards the spot she’d favored the night before.

  “We got lots to catch up on, girlie,” Bea said. “How ’bout I start? Pat and I figured out a few things about our favorite client and our dearly departed chef.”

  Bea explained that the chef had been right about peanut oil. Even if he had used it—and it seemed unlikely he had—highly refined peanut oil was almost certainly not the cause of Eddie’s reaction.

  “Lee seemed determined to blame the chef—didn’t that seem odd?”

  “Maybe she feels guilty,” Angela said. “Or wants to be sure no one else is hurt.”

  “She didn’t seem to feel bad about hurting Chef Ming.”

  “You simply can’t imagine she’s not a scammer, can you?”

  “Seems like she hasn’t told anyone very much about this ‘charity’ of hers,” Bea said, making exaggerated air quotes with her free hand.

  “OK, OK, I promise I’ll ask her about it again, if you promise to give her the benefit of the doubt. Deal?”

  “I can live with that. Will you ask her tonight, then? But what about Chef Ming?”

  Bijou found a spot to her liking and stopped to make use of it. Then she began sniffing again with extreme determination, pulling Angela along.

  “Yes, I’ll ask her tonight. And I don’t think Mrs. Glastonbury was right to insist we remove the chef, but I can understand her being nervous. We should let it go for now. Just because Mrs. G is demanding doesn’t mean she can’t also be a decent person—”

  Bijou caught the scent of something intriguing. She barked suddenly and gave the leash a sharp tug. Angela was so engrossed in defending her difficult client that the pooch nearly knocked her off balance.

  “Bijou!” said Angela. “What is the matter?”

  The dog was pulling her back towards the far side of the dilapidated building. “Sorry, Bea, she’s obsessed with the back of the barn for some reason. Last night she found a precious treasure—a fast-food wrapper,” Angela laughed. “Follow me if you want, or I’ll be back in a m
inute.”

  The dog tugged more urgently now, and Angela was jogging behind. “My goodness, girl!”

  Bea trailed behind. She was keeping up her cautious cane routine, in case someone was watching from their suite. She saw Angela disappear behind the barn a few yards ahead. The little hound began barking excitedly, and she heard her young friend shriek.

  “Angie?” Bea said, still a few steps behind.

  A moment later, she saw what Angela saw: the crumpled, lifeless body of Billy Ray, lying outside the barn. His neck was twisted. His shoulders rested on a huge boulder embedded in the ground. The loft ladder was lying flat on the grass nearby, a few yards from the barn wall. The barn door was a few inches ajar.

  Angela froze in place, her hand covering her mouth. “I didn’t bring my phone,” she whispered finally.

  “Angie, you go back inside and call the police, OK? I’ll stay here. Give me the leash. Doggette and I will wait for you.”

  Angela nodded, regaining her bearings. Bea watched her hurry back towards the Inn.

  Poor drunken Billy Ray, thought Bea. Maybe he was right about his luck after all. He sure picked an unfortunate time to try to climb a ladder.

  Bijou was still sniffing and became very interested in something inside the barn. The door’s opening was wide enough for the little dachshund, but hardly big enough for a person—even one as slight as Bea.

  Bea let go of the leash and the dog trotted inside. Then she hooked the curved end of her cane around the barn door, held on to the straight end, and leaned back with all her might. She pulled and pulled, and the door budged a bit—just enough for her to squeeze through.

  “Phew! Now what are you sniffing at, poochie?”

  The dog was joyfully investigating a pile of straw or hay at the front end of the barn, just under the loft. Someone had braided a makeshift rope from bailing twine; it was dangling from the loft down towards the straw pile. Whoever made it also left behind a white fast-food bag and a soda cup.