Murder on the Riviera Page 3

  “The mahi mahi is brilliant,” he praised. “And so is the coconut flambé with vanilla bean ice cream. What a contrast in textures and temperatures! The other entrées are superb. Just make sure you write down all the ingredients on some recipe cards for me.” He opened a drawer, then handed us two ball point pens and a stack of index cards.

  “You got it,” Charles said cheerfully. “Thanks Martin.”

  “Thank you,” the chef emphasized. “Maybe with these recipes, tonight won’t be so bad after all.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked blankly.

  “Well, you did hear about the dead woman on the beach, didn’t you? It’s put a cloud over this whole hotel,” Martin said gloomily.

  “Oh yeah, we heard about it alright. We’re the ones who found her,” I said darkly as the chef’s eyes bulged.

  “You’re kidding!” He exclaimed.

  “I wish we were,” Charles interjected.

  “You poor kids. I heard through the grapevine that this is your honeymoon. And here you are finding bodies and working when you should be sunbathing! Go on, get out of here,” Chef Martin grinned and swatted us away with a towel.

  Once he was out of earshot, I said, “He acted a little odd, don’t you think?”

  “Odd? What are you talking about? He was awesome. I wish the chefs at our hotel had his personality!”

  “Sure, he was friendly, but he acted so careless about the woman who died. It almost seemed like a joke to him,” I criticized.

  “Well he didn’t know the lady,” Charles defended. “And he probably heard how she was older, so maybe he didn’t see it as a huge tragedy.”

  I shook my head willfully. “No, he was too lighthearted.” In my mind, everyone was a suspect, even a toothy grinned chef who had no apparent connection to the victim. No apparent connection.

  Chapter 5

  Later that afternoon, when Charles settled in for a nap, I seized the opportunity to engage in another round of investigating. As soon as the inevitable snoring rocket launched, I slipped out of our room and headed down to the pool area. To my surprise, I saw two red headed woman splashing about in skirted bathing suits. They looked like they were having a rollicking good time. I moved in closer to the scene and gasped, recognizing the pair as the loud lunch ladies.

  What were they still doing at the hotel? And why were they enjoying themselves not even 24 hours after their friend and traveling companion died? Granted, they weren’t related to the woman by blood, but they were still close enough to her to vacation together. Peeling off my cotton sundress, I revealed a halter bikini and sauntered towards the pool.

  “I’m so sorry about your friend,” I consoled as the redheads looked at me appraisingly.

  “Thank you,” one of them murmured cautiously, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “My husband and I found her, unfortunately,” I said quietly as both women visibly stiffened.

  “I’m Yvonne and this is my sister Yvette,” one of the carrot tops said.

  Politely, I introduced myself. “My name is Chelsea. I’m sorry to meet you like this.”

  Awkward silence floated across the pool as I ventured to speak again. “That’s sweet how two pairs of sisters were traveling together.”

  “Two pairs of sisters?” Yvette echoed. “Oh yes, that’s right.”

  I itched to interrogate the sisters but refrained from asking the more invasive questions running through my head, like why are you still here? Why haven’t you cut your vacation short and started planning a memorial service for your friend?

  Yvonne exchanged a mysterious look with Yvette and they simultaneously hurled themselves out of the pool. A tidal wave of chlorinated water soaked me as the chubby women flailed their way back to solid ground. The deceased woman didn’t seem to be carrying any extra weight and it struck me as improbable that she was the one who subsisted on artery-clogging foods. These overweight women seemed much more likely to indulge in a poor diet. Daring to follow the women, I glided out of the pool and wrapped a towel around my waist.

  “Ladies, again I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered false sympathy, doing anything I could to stall for time.

  “Thank you,” Yvette lowered her eyes.

  “If she hadn’t eaten so many bacon and egg breakfasts over the years, she might still be with us,” Yvonne sighed.

  How did these women know what their friend ate for breakfast every day? “I guess you vacationed together a lot to know what her usual breakfast was,” I surmised, instinctively feeling there was a deeper explanation.

  “No, we all live together in Arizona. Share a big house…” Yvette began as Yvonne cast her a diabolical look.

  “We have to be going now,” Yvonne said tightly. “We’re going back to Arizona tonight to make funeral preparations with Bertha.”

  “Who?” I asked as the women fell silent and wobbled towards the hotel like a couple of beached whales.

  Who was Bertha? Yet another friend? The bellboy Jackson had mentioned a woman named Bertha. I felt more confused from speaking with the fire tressed sisters than I had before. I also felt more convicted that a murder plot was unfolding in front of my eyes. Checking the time on my cell phone, I estimated that Charles might sleep for another 45 minutes or so, giving me just enough time to take a taxi to the police station and discuss the matter with the pros. As I was winding around to the hotel’s front entrance, I stopped cold as a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  Chapter 6

  Chills attacked me as I felt strong fingers dig into my upper back. Had I poked my nose where it didn’t belong? Of course I had, but had it gotten me in serious trouble? I began to hyperventilate until a Pacific breeze picked up a familiar fragrance of citrus and cedar wood.

  “Charles?” I whirled around and faced my impish husband.

  “Did I scare you, honey?” He teased.

  “Yes! I thought you were taking a nap,” I shoved him in the chest like he was a taunting older brother.

  “I was. And now I’m wide awake. Ready for some dinner?”

  How could I explain to him that I was on my way to the police station without making him angry? Quite simply, I couldn’t. The errand would have to wait until the next time my husband decided on a daytime snore fest. Until then, he and I were joined at the hip. I suddenly had a new appreciation for the phrase “bound in holy matrimony.”

  Charles intertwined our fingers and led me westward in the direction of the Oyster Palace. As I looked at him knowingly, he grinned and said, “Don’t you want to see how old Marty made out with our recipes?”

  “I suppose,” I replied without enthusiasm. My stomach, on the other hand, was a grumbling mass of gusto and growled conspicuously as we edged closer to the restaurant.

  Choosing a table on the romantic veranda, Charles and I started our meal with a champagne toast and raw oyster appetizers. We feasted on our own coconut delights that were featured on the Specials menu, stamping our approval on Chef Martin’s spin on the dishes by gobbling up every bite. Skipping dessert, we ordered two cappuccinos and lingered on the veranda, relishing the salt water spray from the ocean and the blazing sunset across the violet horizon.

  Infused with energy from the cappuccinos, Charles suggested that we take a walk to the hotel’s Calypso bar and dance the night away. Feeling giddy, I let him sweep me into his arms, not caring who gawked at us. “We’re on our honeymoon,” I explained dreamily to a fuddy duddy bald man who gave us a judgmental scowl.

  “Come on babe, let’s ditch this crowd,” Charles charmed me with a crooked grin.

  Feeling like a teenager in love for the first time, I laughed as Charles grabbed my hand and ran out of the restaurant with me. We certainly weren’t acting like distinguished employees and I didn’t care at all. Besides, who would we have to answer to back in Seattle? Our managers? We were the catering managers! Only the general manager of the hotel was considered our direct superior. Emboldened, I laughed a little louder and clung to Ch
arles.

  “You’re still a little tipsy from that champagne,” he winked.

  “No, the cappuccino canceled out all the alcohol,” I assured. “I’m drunk on us!”

  Charles and I laughed together as a piercing cackle tore through the air. My laughter halted immediately as I watched the three “bereaved” women filing towards Oyster Palace. Was this their idea of making a low-key departure? I wondered if the redheads had lied to me and they had no intention of leaving at all. Then again, the fancy seafood supper at Oyster Palace could be a grand send-off before they trekked back to Arizona. My gut felt highly suspicious of the women, but my logic told me that they wouldn’t be acting so bawdy if they had anything to do with the murder. If any one of them were guilty, then gathering undue attention would be a worse idea than setting off into the Mojave Desert without a canteen of water. These women were behaving like they didn’t have a care in the world. Certainly if one of them had been involved in a homicide plot, they wouldn’t be so cocky. They would have hightailed it back to Mesa already.

  “Those are the women from the other day, right?” Charles asked me discreetly as I nodded. “Man they’re acting suspicious!” he commented, putting my logic to bed and reawakening all my unreasonable but irrepressible gut feelings.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I spoke a disturbing truth. “You’re right. One of them is the murderer. I’m certain of it.”

  Chapter 7

  Charles gave me a wary look as though he were afraid to encourage me and open the flood gates. “You know I really didn’t want to get involved in this mess, but my conscience is starting to nag me,” he said with trepidation.

  My eyes widened with hope. Did I just convert a partner in crime solving? “So then you’re with me on this? You realize that it’s our duty to report our observations to the police and try to help?”

  Sighing deeply, Charles relented. “Yes. I think the police should be notified that these women are still on their little California holiday rather than planning a respectful memorial service.”

  All my lightheartedness lost for the time being, I linked my arm with Charles’ and walked solemnly with him to the front entrance of the hotel where taxis were queued up. Climbing into a cab, I instructed the driver to take us to the nearest police station.

  “We’ll go dancing tomorrow night, I promise,” Charles whispered in my ear.

  “What’s the rush? We have the rest of our lives,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  We huddled close together and held hands for the duration of the taxi ride. Arriving at the police station, I mentally prepared what I was going to say to the cops, then decided to wing it and be completely honest about the strange goings-on at the hotel.

  “Oh boy,” I muttered under my breath, recognizing the short, stocky form of Lieutenant Forrest in a glass enclosed office.

  “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality, was he?” Charles joked. “But it’s okay. He was the officer on the scene, so he’s probably handling the case. Better to go through him than someone who’s not involved and doesn’t have a clue.”

  We had to maneuver our way through two dispatchers before they agreed to let us sit down with Lieutenant Forrest. Apparently, the police had believed Gardenia’s story that her sister suffered from elevated cholesterol and had expired of natural causes. There were no plans to conduct an autopsy and the woman’s body would be returned to Arizona come morning.

  Finally, after long minutes of wrangling and persuading, we got our face to face meeting with the lieutenant. He regarded me with disinterest as he asked, “What details do you have to offer regarding Gardenia Lewis?”

  “Excuse me?!” I blurted out in astonishment. Gardenia Lewis was the surviving sister…wasn’t she? “I’m sorry, but are you saying that the victim’s name is Gardenia Lewis?”

  “Yes ma’am, that’s what I just said,” the lieutenant seemed utterly bored.

  “But I met a woman today at the pool who introduced herself to me as Gardenia Lewis,” I revealed, at last piquing the cop’s interest.

  “Is that right?” He leaned across his desk.

  “Yes, Lieutenant Forrest! She resembled the woman who my husband and I found on the beach, so at first I thought I was seeing a ghost…”

  “Yes, there was a strong resemblance, indeed. The women were sisters,” Lieutenant Forrest said.

  “Right, I know and the two redheads that they were traveling with, their friends…”

  Lieutenant Forrest interrupted me once again and presented another damning detail. “You mean Yvonne and Yvette Stimp? No, they were Gardenia’s sisters too. All four women were sisters,” he underscored as my jaw dropped.

  “Then they all lied to us. The fourth sister…what is her name anyway?”

  “Bertha Stimp,” the cop revealed.

  Bertha. Just like Jackson the bellboy had said. “Yes, Bertha lied and said her name was Gardenia Lewis. Yvonne and Yvette told me they were just friends of the other ladies. And they all made a point of emphasizing the victim’s terrible diet, claiming that she overindulged in high fat foods.”

  “Something is wrong here,” Charles spoke up. “Clearly you can see that, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes I can,” the cop said with conviction.

  “Why do the three living sisters all have the last name Stimp and the victim has the last name Lewis?” I queried as the cop shook his head.

  “I don’t know. We haven’t investigated these women, but we’re sure as heck going to investigate them now.” He rose from his chair and flashed an index finger at us, indicating for us to wait until he came back.

  “Now I really want to get into the guest records system and see what name these floozies registered under,” I said eagerly.

  Charles laughed, “Floozies? Honey, you’re hilarious.”

  Gravely, I protested, “No, this isn’t funny. Those women conspired to kill their sister. I know it. I just don’t know how or why, but I will.”

  Chapter 8

  Lieutenant Forrest finally returned after about 20 minutes with a team of police officers behind him. “Do you two mind assisting with the investigation?” He asked.

  “Not at all,” I practically jumped out of my skin. Now there was no turning back. Charles was on my side and so was the police. This investigation was real now. “My husband and I have access to the guest records at the hotel, so you won’t need to subpoena them. Maybe we could start there.”

  Lieutenant Forrest looked amused. “Your wife’s a spark plug.”

  “You have no idea,” Charles laughed.

  “Okay, my crew and I will meet you at the hotel and we’ll get started on those records,” Lieutenant Forrest said as I overeagerly leapt out of my seat.

  The police arrived at the hotel a few minutes before our taxi cab. We all met in the lobby and proceeded to the front office where the computer system waited with its sordid secrets. In my nervousness, I entered the wrong employee password twice. One more time and I would have been locked out of the system. But I conquered my nerves and correctly entered the password, albeit with shuddering hands.

  The first name I entered into the system was Gardenia Lewis. “Room 503,” I murmured, clicking on the record to view the other guests in the room.

  Looking over my shoulder, Lieutenant Forrest said, “There’s Yvonne and Yvette.”

  “And Bertha. I wonder why none of them checked in under false names,” I mused.

  “Not all criminals are intelligent,” Lieutenant Forrest quipped. “Have they checked out yet?”

  Clicking on the status frame of the record, I noted, “Yes, their check out is time stamped at 12:34 pm today.”

  “They’re slipping through our fingers,” Lieutenant Forrest said with frustration. “I should have interviewed those broads some more!”

  Taken aback to hear the lieutenant admit a mistake, I became more brazen in my role as rookie investigator. “Maybe we need to go to Mesa, Arizona.”

  “There’s no doubt that we
need to go to Arizona,” Lieutenant Forrest said decisively, stepping away from the computer.

  “We as in all of us?” Charles asked with dread.

  “No sir, of course you don’t need to come. You’ve both been very helpful already,” Lieutenant Forrest said as my husband seemed immensely relieved.

  The police officers left us in the office where I kept my eyes fixed on the computer screen. “Well, we did our part, babe,” Charles said proudly as I copied and pasted the address from the credit card that had been used to check in.

  “The name on this card is Gardenia Lewis,” I said meaningfully, ignoring my husband’s comment.

  “Honey, let the cops take over now. We did what we needed to do. We helped.”

  “Hang on a minute,” I urged, entranced by the information I was uncovering. “Bertha claimed that she was the one with all the money and her sister didn’t have much.” Smacking my forehead, I realized, “And the name on that luxury real estate catalogue was Gardenia Lewis, so it did belong to her. I forgot to tell the police that part!”

  Surrendering to my nosiness, Charles sat down next to me in a swivel chair and gestured towards the Arizona address. “Anything significant about the address?”

  “Let me scroll down,” I murmured, before revealing several real estate web sites including Zillow and Trulia that listed the house as For Sale.

  Stunned, I silently read one of the lavish descriptions of the house.

  Spectacular Desert Oasis. 5 bedroom, 4 bathroom home, all new stainless steel appliances, freshly painted, in-ground swimming pool, Jacuzzi, granite countertops, wraparound porch, patio. This one won’t last! Open House scheduled for Sunday, May 12th from 12 pm to 4 pm. Must see! Asking $749,000.

  “Did you read that, Charles? There’s an open house scheduled for May 12th. That’s next Sunday!”