Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(22)
“More than one, I’d imagine.”
“I’m talking about the one in his chin.” With everybody seated, Kellen got into the driver’s seat.
Birdie lowered the jump seat, faced the guests and picked up the second box of hors d’oeuvres.
“Hey, folks!” The pilot stuck his head in the van, startling everyone. “It’s getting dark. The weather’s closing in. I’ve got ice on the wings and I’m not going to chance taking my plane out. Mind if I stay at the resort until it clears?”
CHAD GRIFFIN:
MALE, 40S, PILOT, ACCOMPLISHED WOMANIZER (IN HIS OWN MIND). EATS TOO MUCH, DRINKS TOO MUCH, DRAMATIZES HIS (UNLIKELY) MILITARY BACKGROUND. SHIFTLESS, LAZY, IRRITATING TO RESORT STAFF, BARNACLE-LIKE (DIFFICULT TO REMOVE).
Still, Kellen had no choice, so she said, “Of course, Chad, come on in.”
He flung in his carry-on, slid into the passenger’s seat and turned to face the group behind him. “You’re not rid of me yet.”
The women laughed and assured him they didn’t mind.
As they made the trip to the resort, Birdie gave them a brief history of the area, the Di Luca family’s vision for this place where the land met the sea and sky and what they could expect in the way of activities. All the while she passed more hors d’oeuvres.
The newlyweds fell on them with enthusiasm: they were teenagers, this was free food—and they were going to need the energy.
The drive took twenty minutes, and as Kellen turned onto the sweeping driveway toward the portico, she saw something white near the drive under a row of rhododendrons. She knew what it was; one of the coyotes must have dragged a bone away from the carcass out on the grasses to gnaw on in peace.
Kellen interrupted Birdie, and with a broad gesture, she pointed toward the resort. “The main hotel building was built in 1957 and inspired by the royal palace of the Spanish kings of Navarre Olite. The resort was enlarged in 1970 and again in 1999. While you’re here, take the time to study the antiques the Di Luca family has collected.” She drove under the portico, turned and smiled at the guests. “Here we are! Your luggage has been tagged and will be in your rooms when you get there. Go in, check in and enjoy a complimentary beverage.”
Russell opened the van door and helped the ladies out. Chad Griffin grabbed his bag and hurried in. Birdie herded the guests into the lobby.
Kellen waited until they were inside and standing in line at the desk, then she pulled on her rain gear, grabbed a handful of linen napkins out of the van and sprinted down the wet driveway and into the grass. She started to reach for it, then halted, her hand inches from the broad bowl of the well-gnawed bone. It wasn’t a shank or a rib, but a hip socket or…or something similar. The femur remained in the socket and that, too, had been gnawed on.
Something about this wasn’t right. More than not right. Terribly, horribly wrong. This looked like…
A man’s voice spoke behind her. “That’s a female human pelvic bone.”
She jumped hard and spun around.
Nils Brooks stepped back, hands up.
Right. He had startled her, but she’d overreacted. Feeling foolish, she snapped, “How would you know?”
“Writer. Suspense. I study this stuff. Also, I was in the military. I saw some bodies while I was on active duty.”
Rain fell. Wind blew. He kept his glasses in his pocket and those eyes—brown with dark lashes—made her nervous. Made her wipe her damp palms on the thighs of her pants. “What branch?”
“Marines.”
No wonder she didn’t like him.
“Why are you out here?” she asked.
“I spotted the bone when we drove in, saw you run for it, thought I’d see why it had your attention.”
Great. He was observant and irritating. “This held my attention because guests are squeamish.” Covering her hand with a napkin, she picked up the bones.
The femur wiggled around, grinding in the socket.
“Unless you have gorillas around here, there is nothing other than a human woman that has that distinctive shape.” He bent to look more closely.
She covered the bones with another napkin. “I’ll show this to the Cape Charade policeman.”
Nils Brooks stuck his hands into his pockets. “Let me know what he says.” Turning away, he wandered back toward the portico and the lobby, and as he did, he called back, “But I’m right.”
Too bad that he probably was right.
She sprinted across the soggy lawn toward the hotel wing where the remodelers were working, and as she ran, she called Temo. “Did you get that carcass picked up yet?”
“Not. Yet.” She could hear the motor of his ATV, the wind blowing past the phone and his incredible frustration. “First I had to explain to two of the local idiots that, no, I’m not paying them to play games on their iPads. Then Smart Home called. They are neither.”
“Smart, nor home? I am sorry, Temo. Let me know what you find as soon as you find the, um, skeleton.” She hung up on him, then called Sheri Jean Hagerty. “I have an emergency. Can I postpone for an hour?”
“You had an emergency yesterday.”
“Did you hear about the carcass found on the grounds this morning?”
“What about it?”
“One of the coyotes dragged off a chunk and a guest saw it.” Which was true. Nils Brooks had seen it.