Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)(11)

“So,” I said. “My name is Tres Navarre. I, uh—”

“You a cop?” the redheaded college kid asked.

“No.”

“Then why the hell are you in charge?”

“Nobody said I was in charge.”

“Because he’s a private investigator,” Alex offered.

“Was a private investigator,” I corrected.

“And he knows a lot more than any of us about what to do when there’s a murder.”

The storm kept sawing into the timbers.

The cook raised his hand. “Señor, it was for sure, then, homicidio?”

His accent was borderland Spanish—Laredo, maybe, or Juárez.

“You’re Jose?” I asked. “The one who moved the body?”

He glanced at the maid, then nodded. Something about the way the two of them sat together, leaning toward each other as if for protection, told me they were married. As mad as I was about Jose moving the body, I decided I’d better not berate him too badly in front of his wife.

“All right, Jose,” I said. “You noticed the gunshot wound in Mr. Longoria’s chest?”

“Claro, señor.”

“Did you happen to find a gun when you were in the room?”

“No, señor.”

“Then we can be pretty sure it was murder. A person who commits suicide doesn’t normally hide the weapon after he shoots himself. Besides, Longoria was a U.S. Marshal. He’d rented a room with two beds. There was a pair of cut handcuffs on one bed.”

“A prisoner?” the blond lady asked. “You think he was escorting a prisoner?”

Her tone surprised me. I expected hysterics, but she sounded calm and alert.

“That’s possible,” I admitted.

“But…” She looked around, like she was afraid to say more. “That can’t be it.”

“The young lady is right,” Mr. Lindy said. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would a marshal escort a prisoner here? Rebel Island isn’t on the way to anywhere.”

“I’d like to understand that, too,” I said. “Did any of you see the marshal when he arrived? Was he with anyone?”

No one answered.

Jose and the maid shook their heads.

The redheaded college kid cleared his throat. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling us there’s, like, an escaped fugitive on the island.”

Alex was silently pleading with me to tone it down, to avoid further panic in his hotel.

“That,” I said, “is a distinct possibility. At any rate, whoever shot Longoria is stuck on this island until the storm passes, and we have no way to contact the mainland.”

“That’s whacked,” declared the college kid, which I thought covered the situation pretty well.

“Has anyone seen Chris?” I asked. “Chris—What’s his last name?”

“Stowall,” Alex answered miserably. “Chris Stowall.”

“The manager?” Mr. Lindy asked.

“Yeah,” the college guy said. “That freak who told us to turn down our music.”

“We need to find him,” I said. “He checked Longoria in. He may have some answers. Who saw him last?”

The blond lady developed a sudden interest in her pillowcase.

“We’ll find him,” the college guy said. “Beats sitting here.”

“Don’t go anywhere alone,” I said. “And don’t try to go outside.”

“Yes, mother.” The guy nodded to his friends and they headed off. The shaggy-haired Latino kid looked a little nervous about it, but the big bald dude put a hand on his back and kept him moving.

Mr. Lindy spread his arms across the couch. “So, Mr. Navarre. What do you suggest we do now?”

“Stay in here, together, as much as possible. If anyone has to go somewhere, go with someone else.”

“Hell, little bro, we don’t need bathroom buddies,” Garrett grumbled. “We’re grown-ups.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard my brother claim to be a grown-up, which in itself was pretty disturbing.

“The killer has no place to go,” I told him. “At least not until the storm passes. Cornered people tend to be desperate.”

The maid raised her hand. “Señor, where could this man hide? It is a big house, but—”

“We could search it,” Alex suggested, a glimmer of new hope in his eyes. “Me and the staff. I bet we won’t find anybody. Then we can all rest easier.”

I thought about that. I didn’t like the idea of more people roaming around the hotel. Then again, I didn’t like the idea of spending the night in the parlor, either.

“All right,” I told Alex. “Why don’t you and your staff, Jose and—”

“Imelda,” the maid provided.

“Imelda,” I said. “Why don’t the three of you search. Alex, you have any kind of weapon?”

“Here,” Lindy said, and offered his .45.

Alex didn’t look too happy about it, but he took the gun.

“You know how to use that, son?” Lindy asked.

Alex nodded. “I was in the army, but…”