Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(31)

Sheri Jean scooted over. “Is there a problem?”

“Cell tower must be down. I’m going to get Candy a phone.”

Sheri Jean looked sternly at Candy. “I could have done that.”

“You were busy! This young lady was just wandering around. You must be the resort’s jack-of-all-trades.” Candy smiled kindly at Kellen.

“Pretty much. Let me find you that phone.” Kellen walked over to Frances at the concierge desk. “The cell tower has stopped transmitting. Do we have any communications at all?”

Frances looked up from her keyboard and monitor and glared evilly. “All communications are down. No cable, so no TV.”

“Landline?”

“That we’ve got.” Frances handed over a cordless phone. “And the CB radio in Annie’s office in case of real emergency. That thing always works. The storm’s playing havoc with anything satellite related. I’m supposed to be making reservations for a whale-watching tour, weather permitting, for the newlyweds.” She gestured broadly. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Tell them weather is not permitting.” Kellen glanced around. “It’s not like they’re hanging around looking for something to do. If you know what I mean.”

“Her great-aunt gave them a whale-watching tour as a gift, and by God, she’s determined they should watch whales.”

“I wonder how long it’s been since she was a newlywed.”

“Really.” Frances lowered her voice. “You can go out on the ocean, heave your guts up, freeze to death and hope for an orca sighting…or you can stay in bed, warm and cozy, and have sex. What would you want to do?”

“I hear sex can cause motion sickness, too.”

Frances cackled. “Only if it’s done right.”

Chad Griffin waltzed up to the desk and said, “Thought you ought to know. Communications are out.” Without waiting for a response, he headed toward the lounge and poured himself a hefty glass of wine.

“The pilot’s staying here tonight?” Frances said. “I can’t stand that guy. Look at him trying to horn in on Mr. Lennex and his harem. Those ladies don’t want him when they can have a movie star.”

Chad had pulled up a chair to the edge of the group and was trying to engage Rita in conversation.

“Of course.” Frances exuded disgust. “He’s making his moves on Mrs. Yazzie. She’s the only widow in the group.”

“She’s leaning away.”

“She’s a smart lady. He’s a freeloader and he thinks every woman in the place is impressed because he’s a war hero and a pilot.”

Surprised, Kellen asked, “Is he a war hero?”

“So he says. I don’t care. He’s old.” Frances couldn’t have made her disdain more obvious. “I’ve got better things to do, like find out if anyone knows what’s happening to our communications.”

“Call Mitch. He’s good with mechanics and electronics. Have you met him?”

“You bet.”

“He can’t fix anything outside tonight, but there might be something going on with the server.”

“Okay.” Frances wore the ghost of a grin. “I’ll call Mitch. Want him to check the generator while he’s at it?”

“How often does the power go out?”

“Not too often, but when it does, it’s nice if the generator is functional. Look out, here comes Sheri Jean and she looks like she’s on the warpath.”

Kellen swiveled on the balls of her feet. “Sheri Jean, I suggest you organize a movie night.”

“We’ve got no cable? No streaming?” Sheri Jean’s voice rose.

“We’ve got nothing but a bitch of a storm and a long, dark night ahead of us.” The rotating front door whirled suddenly. A gust of wind swept the lobby; it knocked petals off the flower arrangements and sent papers flying.

Kellen and Sheri Jean stared.

No one entered. Then Russell popped his head in. “Sorry! I did latch it, but somehow it came loose. Ghosts, I guess.”

“Priscilla,” Sheri Jean whispered. “She’s sending us a message.”

Startled, Kellen studied her white face. Sheri Jean really believed, and that seemed so unlike her. “What message would that be?”

Something—a branch—hit the big window facing the sea.

Everyone jumped and laughed.

Sheri Jean shivered. “Priscilla is not going to rest until her killer is brought to justice.”





13

The Lykke Estate

Greenleaf, Maine

The computer on the desk released a ding! and Sylvia Lykke woke from her light doze, leaped off her bed and scampered to the desk.

The computer was the only thing that roused her anymore, her only link to the real world. Erin said Sylvia was getting senile, that she suffered from dementia, and more and more she locked Sylvia in her room.

Sylvia got lonely. So lonely. When she looked out her window at the Atlantic Ocean, crashing and thrashing and blowing froth about, she felt as if she had spent her life at the edge of the continent without love, without friends, without companionship. But when the computer dinged, when there was a text or an email, Sylvia knew someone remembered her, even if it was only an offer of a penis extension.