Sunset Beach(117)

“Go on,” Ben urged. “Tell me about the Munsters guy.”

“He’s a sexual predator,” Drue said. “He pressured Jazmin, and Neesa, for sex. And in return, he gave them better shifts, extra pay, whatever favors he could do.”

“Sounds like a pig,” Ben said.

“A murderous pig,” Drue said. “Jazmin’s boyfriend, who used to work at the hotel, said she was trying to get hired at the Silver Sands, down the beach, to get away from this Herman guy. But he wasn’t the only perv. The hotel’s head of security, even the engineering chief, they were all doing stuff like that. One of the other housekeepers told me…”

“Told you what?” Ben asked, leaning forward. “Are you okay?”

“Just super tired,” she said. “What was I saying? God, I’m so tired, I’m loopy.” She gulped more of the smoothie, hoping the B12 powder would energize her. “Anyway, it all came down to Neesa. The night Jazmin was killed, at the end of her shift, Byars got her called up to a room in the oldest wing of the hotel. It’s not clear if he tried to rape Jazmin or what, but she fought back, or tried to. So he killed her.”

“How do you know any of this?” Ben asked.

“Neesa told me. I tricked her into coming over here earlier today.” Drue held up the bleached strand of hair closest to her face. “She was supposed to be dyeing my hair blond, because she’s studying to be a hairdresser. Thank God, she won’t get that chance. After she had a lot of vodka and a lot of prosecco, she told me everything, but what she didn’t know was that there was a detective in the other room.”

“Wait. So this Neesa person confessed? You’ve got me confused.”

“Yeah, but of course, she claims Byars threatened to kill her if she didn’t help. After he’d killed Jaz, he called her on the walkie-talkie all the housekeepers carry and told her to come to the room. When she got there, he made her help clean it up. He’d already put Jaz’s body in the rolling laundry cart.”

“Ohhh,” Ben said slowly. “But that doesn’t make sense. The hotel security cameras showed Jazmin later that night. Working the late shift.”

Drue managed a smug smile. “Wasn’t Jazmin. It was Neesa. Wearing Jazmin’s hat and keeping her head down.”

“You said something on the phone about Zee being involved?” he prompted.

“Yeah. Zee, he saw the same videos as me. But he never…” She yawned.

“Have you told Brice about any of this?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyelids felt like lead and she was feeling light-headed and nauseous.

“Does Brice know about any of this?” Ben repeated.

“Not yet. Zee’s his friend…”

She managed, with difficulty, to stand up. She stumbled slightly as she headed toward her bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked, scrambling to his feet and following behind.

“Sleep,” she mumbled. “I gotta sleep. Call me later. Okay? Bye.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call,” Ben said. “Sweet dreams.”

Drue heard the front door closing just about the time her stomach began to cramp. She staggered to the bathroom and retched violently.

She was still clinging to the commode, five minutes later, when she heard the front door open and footsteps going down the hall, rapidly, toward the kitchen. She opened her mouth to cry out but she was too weak and too sick. A moment later, she heard the door close again. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breaths were coming in shallow gasps.

Come back, Ben, she whimpered silently.

What was happening to her? She was cold. So very cold. Her hands felt like ice.

At some point, she either passed out or fell asleep. When she came to, she had no concept of time. Her face was pressed against the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Something was very wrong. She had to get to the phone, had to call for help.

She grasped the edge of the bathtub and tried to pull up to a sitting position. Her arms and legs felt like spaghetti, and her head was throbbing. She sank back onto the floor, sobbing with frustration. Minutes passed, or maybe hours. She wasn’t sure.

Her stomach cramped again and she clung to the commode, hanging her head over the side. She reached for a towel and mopped her face with it. She heard the faint ringing of her phone from the other room. Where was it? The kitchen? Living room? Her head was so fuzzy.

She sat up slowly and tried again to pull herself up. This time, she made it, although the stabbing pain in her knee reminded her of the ordeal she’d recently put it through. She clung to the towel bar and lurched forward, grasping the edge of the doorway for stability. Then, slowly, down the narrow hallway, stopping every few inches, until she reached the living room.

By the time she flopped down onto the sofa, the ringing had stopped, and she had no idea where the phone actually was. Her stomach cramped again and she prayed that the feeling would subside, because she had no strength to make it back to the bathroom.

She was lying on the sofa when the doorbell rang. She tried to sit up but was too weak. It rang a second time, and then a third. “Help,” she whispered, her breaths coming in short, shallow bursts.

A man’s voice called out, impatient. “Drue? You home? Drue? It’s Jonah.”

“I’m here,” she tried to call. But the words came out as little more than a whimper.