Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(66)

“Dinner to go?” Kellen asked.

“That would be much appreciated,” Sheriff Kwinault conceded.

“I’ll set her up,” Max said and took Sheriff Kwinault to the elevator and the lobby.

While he was gone, Kellen texted Mr. Gilfilen the news of Lloyd Magnuson’s death and ended with a plea that he cease his operation.

His text came back. Acknowledged.

By which he meant he had received her news, and he would continue to do what he thought right.

When Max came back, Kellen was staring out the big window, where the everlasting gray clouds churned and threatened. “I gave Frances instructions to give Kateri anything she wanted as a to-go meal.”

“Thank you.”

“I called Annie and Leo to tell them about Lloyd Magnuson.”

“Thank you again.” She hadn’t even thought to do that. “I informed Mr. Gilfilen… You do know about Mr. Gilfilen?”

“Leo told me. I think it’s a stupid idea, but Vince Gilfilen is a force to be reckoned with.” Max watched her watch the sky and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Somehow, that was worse than I expected.” Kellen found she was sitting ramrod straight, her fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t want to think of Lloyd being tempted by a devil. It’s cruel and callous, and whoever it is, whatever it is, is here at the resort.”

“At your refuge.”

“Yes.”

“And whoever did this could be your friend.”

“Yes.” The word was no more than a sigh.

He came around the desk and knelt beside her chair, and made his offer with every evidence of sincerity. “It’s dangerous here. If you’d like to go away, I can assume control.”

Shocked, she looked him square in the face. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’ll talk to Annie. I’m capable of being resort assistant manager. You can go on vacation, take a leave of absence. No one would think the worst of you. This situation is dangerous and—”

She pushed her chair away from him. “I can’t leave. Run away? The resort is my responsibility. The people here are my responsibility. If one of my friends is guilty of these heinous acts—well, I recommended them to Annie and Leo. What kind of person would I be if I ran away?” She would be Cecilia, running away from her own cousin’s death.

“I thought—”

“Stop thinking. You’re security until Mr. Gilfilen returns to his regular duties, that’s all. I’m in charge of the resort. I’ll stay in charge of the resort.” She stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make rounds, talk to the guests and employees, assure them everything is being handled to the best of our abilities and their safety is our first concern. I suggest you do the same thing—go meet your security team, and after that, see if you can talk Mr. Gilfilen in before he gets killed, too.”

*

Max watched Kellen stride out of the office.

This was not going at all like he expected.





30

Kellen arrived in the guest lounge in time to see the Shivering Sherlocks off to their last evening with Carson Lennex in his suite. Tonight, they assured her, they would discover who was guilty of…whatever silly mystery murder had occurred.

Kellen scolded herself. Guests had the right to come to Yearning Sands Resort and enact whatever frivolous drama they wished. These women deserved their vacation. They never expected to arrive when real murders and real terrors abounded. But Kellen did know she didn’t have the patience, not tonight, to serve appetizers and drinks, and so she commissioned Sheri Jean. Then Kellen toured the rest of the resort: the kitchens, the spa, the housekeeping services. She did not visit the maintenance building. She knew she should show herself, but she feared her friends. She feared what she would have to do if one of them was guilty.

Instead, she went to her cottage, walked in, shut the door behind her and took a moment to breathe. In. And out. In. And out.

Xander would be proud.

She needed a moment alone in a place of her own, no guests, no staff, no noise. Just a meal eaten in peace without the constant yammer and the faces and the fear and the drama. She owed that to herself. She wandered through the kitchen, looking in cupboards. She had everything to put together Ni?oise salad. That sounded good and easy, and—

Who did this Max think he was? Suggesting she flake out in the middle of multiple murders and a smuggling investigation?

She put water on to boil, assembled olive oil, vinegar, garlic and Dijon mustard for the dressing.

She was not that person. That was not her. Not since… Not since she woke up…

Cecilia woke in a panic of terror.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t remember how she got here.

But someone wanted to kill her.

She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear that whatever had trapped her was watching, waiting for a hint of life to pounce and slash and destroy.

Blindly, she tried to take survey of her surroundings.

The air around her was cool, fresh. So…she was inside a building. Her fingers twitched, feeling…a sheet below and a sheet above. She rested on a bed, her head slightly elevated on a firm mattress. Everything smelled clean. Music played, soothing music, meditation music.

Other than that…silence. No voices.