Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(72)

As people came and went, Max made himself useful, carrying bags, helping Frances and Sheri Jean contact the other resorts, reassuring the guests. More than that, he was the security manager, he was clearly packing a firearm and he was visible. His size alone, packaged nicely in that dark suit, seemed to reassure everyone and keep terror at bay.

Kellen personally arranged transportation for those headed to the airstrip and organized the farewell appetizers and beverages in the lobby for every departing guest. Finding the necessary staff to handle the workload proved the real challenge; most of the spa staff called in sick or scared, some of the maids and desk staff simply didn’t come to work and the security center was unmanned. Chef Reinhart and Chef Norbert arrived separately, both bearing well-sharpened butcher knives in their belts; the sous chef for each was a no-show. That created a great kerfuffle in the kitchen as they shouted commands at each other, until Gabriella got tired of listening and made them chop for her.

Birdie drove the first group to the airstrip to catch Chad Griffin’s plane to Seattle, but when Kellen tried to locate Temo for the second shift, he was unreachable, and she wanted to find him, shake him, make him be the Temo she believed him to be.

The last group out the door was the Shivering Sherlocks; they were scheduled to check out today anyway, but Kellen gave them a voucher for one night free on their next visit and got into the driver’s seat to take them to the airstrip. Mitch came along to serve the food and drink, and to charm the women with his good looks and flattery.

That was fine with Kellen. Her focus kept wandering, running through the suspects in her mind. To pick up a gun and shoot someone required a cold purpose—or a hot temper. But to deliberately attempt to strangle a man, to watch him kick and struggle, then when he was subdued, to take a sharp blade and try to sever his hand…that was cold. That was vicious.

Mr. Gilfilen had lived, but what had he done to his attacker to escape? He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone. He was unconscious, recovering from surgery, fighting for his life. She would figure this out, and she would get her revenge. For Mr. Gilfilen, and for all of the victims who had died for this deadly game of smuggling. She would get revenge for herself, too. She’d come back to the United States determined to work hard, play hard, be strong, be brave for all the days that were left to her. Not to witness more pain. Not to fight an unseen foe who lived for blood and cruelty.

Who was it?

She glanced at Mitch, half-turned toward the back, asking the Shivering Sherlocks about their mystery weekend, asking what they would remember when they got home.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll remember.” Candy sat directly behind the driver’s seat, and she leaned forward and spoke right in Kellen’s ear. “The guest bath in Carson Lennex’s penthouse was busy, so I hustled upstairs to his suite to use the potty up there. Guess what I found?”

“Tell me you didn’t dig through his nightstand and find his porn,” Rita said.

“Not porn.” In the rearview mirror, Kellen saw Candy frown. “I don’t think. It certainly wasn’t hidden away.”

Nancy leaned forward out of the very back seat. “What was it?”

Candy said, “He had these stone statues on glass shelves with lights under each one, and I’m telling you, girls—”

Kellen found herself breathing slowly, steadily, listening intently.

“—if we ever met a man with a package like that,” Candy continued, “we’d run for the hills.”

“What was it?” Tammy asked.

“Some kind of fertility god, I suppose. Gross, this little guy holding this penis twice his size.” Candy must have made a gesture, because the women whooped with laughter.

Abruptly, Mitch turned around and faced front.

Because the Shivering Sherlocks were giving him the very information he needed? Or because he was embarrassed by a group of elderly women hooting about a man’s genitals?

“Sounds like an Inuit fertility god,” Rita suggested.

“Exactly.” Candy sounded pleased with the idea. “There was a female statue, too, all fat and pregnant, an exaggeration of fertility. Carson Lennex collects some pretty weird stuff.”

“Probably he didn’t think anyone would see it,” Patty said.

“He wasn’t too worried about it. There was backlighting.” Candy sounded as if she had settled back against the seat. “Those things were the grossest statues I ever saw. Art! Heaven preserve me.”

“Come on. Don’t you remember the toilet paper cover my grandmother crocheted? The one with the Barbie doll standing in the middle of the cardboard tube, and the crocheted part hung over the toilet paper and looked like a skirt?”

Kellen glanced in the rearview mirror.

Candy waggled her head. “You’re right—that was worse. But only because it was so tacky. I’m pretty sure this was art.”

Mitch was frowning, his cheeks flushed, his elbow on the window ledge, his hand over his mouth.

Kellen had to get these ladies out of here and to safety.

A charter plane waited for the Shivering Sherlocks. Kellen and Mitch loaded them and their luggage and waved them goodbye, then piled into the van. Kellen got behind the wheel and they headed for the resort. “Mitch, what are you thinking?”

He pulled a wad of dollar bills out of his pocket. “I’m thinking that, for as much trouble as they were, those old ladies didn’t tip very well.”