Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(29)
“Faithful, but not honest,” she said.
Axel broke a sweat.
She studied the monitors, watched a smiling Sheri Jean mingle with the guests, saw the miles of empty corridors and the outdoor entrances.
“This guy’s interesting.” Axel pointed at Nils Brooks. “He came in from his cottage, looked around the lobby, then wandered the halls taking notes.”
“He’s a writer.” She felt as if she was making excuses for him. “But even for a writer, that’s odd behavior.”
As if he had heard her, Nils Brooks turned and looked up at the security camera. She studied him, added to and corrected his profile:
NILS BROOKS:
MALE, 30S, 6’, 180 LBS., BROWN HAIR (BLOND ROOTS?), BROWN EYES (COMPELLING), LONG LASHES, MILITARY HAIRCUT. NARROW JAW. DARK-RIMMED GLASSES. CUTE. HANDSOME. NERDY. CONFIDENT. CLOTHING: EXPENSIVE, WELL-WORN.
Somehow, he didn’t add up. Had she misread him on first sight? If so, how? She didn’t miss clues. Watching him now, unobserved, he seemed more the commanding personality she’d first spoken to on the phone. In her experience, contradictions in personality meant trouble. Was he hiding something? Or was she overreacting to today’s discovery?
Axel was clearly delighted to have redirected her attention. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, please do.” She looked Axel up and down. “Finding a body has made me aware that everyone currently at the resort, both guests and employees, could be victims—and could be killers.”
He frowned. “Hey, look, I’m sorry you found a body, but it’s not like someone got murdered.”
“It was a murder.”
“Oh shit.” His face got red and he perspired more profusely. “At least it wasn’t somebody from around here.”
Sarcastically, she said, “That does make everything better.” She thought that he was in a prime position to be the killer. But the problem with having such a gruesome crime laid on her doorstep was—everybody looked like a villain. “Mr. Gilfilen set everything up before he left, so he told me. I’ll occasionally drop by, but call me if you see anything suspicious.”
“Right.” Axel pulled a tissue out of a box and blotted his face, then blew his nose. With sweaty sincerity, he said, “I’ll watch, Miss Adams. We don’t want anything like murder happening again.”
At least he understood that.
She made it to Annie’s office without interruption—that was one advantage to being at an almost empty resort—up two flights of stairs to a wide set of double doors. A square glass-covered table with a well-constructed model of the resort and its grounds dominated the center of the spacious room. Annie’s desk faced the door. Kellen’s desk faced the window. A small, comfortable seating area with a gas fireplace and bookshelves hugged one corner. A dusty CB radio, kept for emergencies, hid in a cabinet with paper clips and typewriter ribbons.
Kellen used the house phone to make the call.
Leo picked up. “What is it?” His voice sounded tired and rough.
“Mr. Di Luca, we have a crisis here at the resort.”
“Do your best to handle it.”
Not the response she expected. “You don’t understand. We found a body. A dead body. A corpse.”
“You don’t understand. Annie arrived here and collapsed. She’s got pneumonia. She’s in the hospital on oxygen and she’s in the middle of an arthritic flare-up. She’s suffering, maybe dying.”
Pity and grief caught her around the throat. “Mr. Di Luca, I’m so sorry. What can I do for you? For Annie?”
“Take care of her resort.” He took a rasping breath. “Annie has complete faith in you. I do, too. Whatever decisions you make, I’ll back you one hundred percent. If Annie makes it through the night, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If not…”
“I’ll pray for her and you and your family.” Kellen meant it with all her heart. She hung up and stared out the window at the vista that had been so glorious three months ago when she had interviewed for this position. Now wind-driven rain splattered against the windows, dark low-hanging clouds blocked the view, and behind all that, the sun was setting, stealing the last vestiges of brief winter light. Kellen could see why Annie had warned her of the difficult Washington winters, of the unending dark and constant rain. Annie…
Sweet Annie. Smart Annie. She had been struggling this morning, saying odd things that meant…nothing, or so Kellen hoped. Annie always put on such a good face, it was easy to forget her age and condition. But not now. Not when death hovered close.
Kellen checked the time. If Lloyd Magnuson had left as soon as they’d finished cleanup, he should be close to Virtue Falls by now, maybe even there, and he needed to know they had ID’d the victim. She called his beloved flip phone. It rang, but he didn’t pick up. She left a message.
Mara rapped on the door frame. “Hey. You busy? Did you bring Annie up-to-date?”
“Leo says she’s ill.”
“My God. What luck. What…timing. In the hospital?”
“Yes, and…” Kellen choked back the words. She could not bring herself to say Annie might not recover. She wouldn’t believe it, and she wouldn’t say it. “We’re going to have to go on as best we can.”