Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(46)

“So what’s the problem?”

Leo looked grimly at Max. “Yesterday they found the first assistant manager.”

Max leaped to the inevitable conclusion. “Dead?”

“Murdered. Kel… The assistant manager called and told me last night, but last night I didn’t care. Today I care. Priscilla, that poor, stupid girl, dead. At our resort. Who would do such a thing?”

Max asked the next logical question. “What does Mr. Gilfilen say?”

“He’s sort of on vacation.”

“Sort of? While you’re gone?” Had Leo and Annie gone senile?

“We’re having security problems at the resort.”

Nope, obviously not senile. “Murder and…?”

“Smuggling.” Leo filled Max in on the details of what Mr. Gilfilen suspected.

“Probably connected, then.” Max straightened his shoulders. “So while you’re here, you—or rather, your new assistant manager—needs someone with security experience on-site. In this situation, you have to have someone who you trust, and you know I’ve got the experience that you need.” He stood. “I’ll go.”

Leo straightened his shoulders right back. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the Di Luca Christmas. You have other responsibilities.”

“Rae will understand.” Max lifted his hand to stop any further objections. “We already had our private Christmas on December twenty-fifth, and when she’s here in the midst of the family, I hardly see her. I’ll explain it to her, and you know her—she has a generous spirit. She will understand.”

Leo stood and faced off with Max. “You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is.” Max was used to being right, and to getting his way. “I’ll leave today.”

“First come and see Annie. She has things to say to you about the new assistant manager.”

“So there is something wrong with her.”

“Max! Stop jumping to conclusions! It’s not her. It’s you.”

Max took a step back. Leo was always loud—he was slightly deaf—but never so emphatic. “Leo, what’s wrong?”

Leo opened the door to Annie’s room.

Annie’s happy voice floated out, “Max, dear! So good to see you!”

Leo stepped in. “Max wants to go to handle security at the resort.”

“That’s a good idea! Except…” Annie’s voice lost its euphoria. “Oh, dear.”

Max could not imagine what was wrong with Leo and Annie. Of course, he didn’t have much of an imagination. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s no way you could.” Leo gestured him in. “Go, sit down with Annie and listen.”





20

Kellen hurried down to the kitchens, where the chefs were getting along admirably—the calm before the storm?—gathered the two waiting cardboard boxes and walked to the elevator that led to Carson Lennex’s penthouse.

Each penthouse had its own elevator. She stepped in and took the direct trip from the lobby to the eighth floor. The elevator doors opened and Kellen stepped out into a small entry. She walked through the open double doors into the penthouse entry, where a curvaceous staircase led to the bedroom level, then went into the luxurious living room. The furniture was minimalistic: leather, steel and stone. Splashes of color lit the paintings on the wall, and on the fireplace mantel, bizarre clay art forms writhed. Shelves with well-read books and illuminated glass art lined one wall. Interesting. Kellen would have never suspected Annie would decorate the penthouses so eccentrically.

Carson Lennex stood behind the bar pouring wine and mixing drinks.

The Shivering Sherlocks were in costume, clustered around him, laughing and talking.

One of them was stretched out flat on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Kellen hurried over and knelt beside her. Patty. It was Patty dressed as Hercule Poirot. “Are you all right?”

Patty opened one eye. “I was just poisoned. Now they have to figure out who did it.”

“Oh.” Kellen settled back on her heels. “Oh. While you’re dead, would you care for an appetizer?”

Patty opened both eyes. “What have you got?”

Kellen peeked inside the first box and read the labels. “Wine-marinated frozen grapes, smoked salmon with capers on pumpernickel, rainbow fruit kabobs with yogurt fruit dip and, oh jeez, toast swords tipped with hummus-cide.” She looked seriously at Patty. “The hummus-cide is made from beets. It’s red.” And a little gruesome, considering the events of the past days, but this was a murder mystery weekend and she supposed the chef was allowed a bit of whimsy.

Certainly Patty laughed. “I’ll have one of each.”

“Let me set up and I’ll be back to you right away.”

Patty caught her wrist. “Me first. I’m dead, and once those piranhas descend, I’ll never get my share.”

Mr. Lennex knelt on the other side of Patty and slid two couch pillows under her head. “She’s right,” he said to Kellen. “Better feed her now.”

“I can always order up more,” Kellen pointed out.

“Then you can feed me later, too.” Patty rubbed her naturally expansive padding.