Page 24 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“A good detective never overlooks the small details.”

—Robert Crais, The Last Detective

The hike back down the mountain went much faster, and the four of us parted by the waterfall in the lodge. Brie said, “See

you later at the beach party, Mia?”

“I’ll be there,” I said. I didn’t really have a choice since all the restaurants were closed for the weekly Caribbean luau.

It was late afternoon, and the resort was surprisingly quiet. Staff was setting up for the party on the beach side of the

pool deck, a couple of people I didn’t recognize sat in the Blue Dahlia (Jason still wasn’t behind the bar), and two families

with kids ate together in the restaurant.

I wanted to find out what Trina, the woman who ran the gift shop, knew about the origin of my book. How had it ended up on

the free beach reads table? Did housekeeping find it in her room? Was it left on the beach or in one of the bars? I would

imagine if the killer knew it existed, he would have destroyed it as possible evidence.

Someone tore a page from the book. That person could have killed Diana and then taken the evidence.

I walked into the gift shop and froze. Amber Jones was talking to Trina in a raised voice.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

I bristled at the tone. The four years I was in college, I’d worked at a local bookstore and detested entitled, bitchy customers who talked down to me or anyone else on staff. When had general politeness disappeared from our culture?

“Housekeeping said they bring books left behind to you .” She waved her finger in Trina’s face to punctuate you .

Trina cleared her throat. “Ms. Jones, yes, books that have been left by guests are put on that table.” She gestured toward

the Beach Reads! sign. “But we don’t inventory them, and I don’t know where—”

“That’s unacceptable. I spoke to the head of housekeeping and they don’t keep records either! This resort is a complete mess .”

“I can contact Mr. Dubois. I’m sure he can help—”

“ No one has been able to help.”

Amber turned around and almost walked right into me as she left. No apology. She looked at me as if it was my fault she wasn’t

looking where she was going.

Trina smiled at me, but her eyes were teary. “May I help you, Ms. Crawford?”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

I glanced at where Amber had gone. She strode down the wide tiled corridor heading south, toward the road that led to the

dock. Then she stopped and pulled out her phone and appeared to be texting someone.

I rethought my plan. Was Amber looking for Diana’s book? Did she know that Diana had been writing in it? If Amber knew about

the book and understood its value, then she must have known about Diana’s blackmail schemes.

Why hadn’t I thought of that connection this morning? If Diana Harden was blackmailing people on the island, and Amber was

her girlfriend as Brie surmised, it made sense that Amber would know what Diana was up to.

Did that make Amber an accomplice? Was she, too, in danger? And where did Parker Briggs fit into their scheme?

“Do you need something?” Trina said.

“Yes, sorry, I just came back from a hike. I’m a bit ditzy.” I smiled, hoping it looked natural as I began to piece together

small details. “I wanted to buy presents for my assistant and my grandmother, but I might not have room in my luggage. Do

you ship?”

“Yes, we package up anything you want here, and it goes out the next day. Are you still looking, or do you know what you’d

like?”

“Looking,” I said. I wanted to buy gifts, but it wasn’t the primary thing on my mind right now. I was keeping one eye on Amber

and trying to figure out how to get information out of Trina.

Be bold , I told myself. Channel Elle Woods.

“Have you heard anything about what happened to Diana Harden?” I asked as I casually flipped through a colorful book about

the history of St. Claire. At the surprised look on her face, I quickly said, “I know she was killed, and, well, I guess I’m

a little scared.” I put a hint of worry in my voice, hoping that disguised my excitement. “I saw her on the beach. I talked

to Tristan and he was very nice, but didn’t have anything new to share. Trust me, my imagination is probably far wilder than

what really happened.”

Trina glanced behind me, then to the side, then leaned forward until her face was only inches from mine. “She was strangled,”

she whispered. “And she was wearing the same dress she left the island in. So they think she was killed on St. John.”

“And floated here? That seems like a long way.” I didn’t buy it. Common sense said she was killed on the island or near the

shore.

“My roommate who is in housekeeping? Well, she heard from the ferry captain that Ms. Harden told him not to come get her,

that she’d take a water taxi back because she didn’t know how long she’d be. The police talked to the water taxi drivers.

No one brought her back, but there are private boats, too. So we think that Ms. Harden hired someone and got herself killed.”

“But why would someone kill a guest if they were complete strangers?” I thought of several reasons. A serial killer. A rapist. An accident that was covered up.

Trina whispered, “I know she’s dead, and I feel bad about that, but she was rude. Extremely demanding and treated staff like

we were servants. I mean,” she added quickly, “we are happy to serve all the guests here, whatever you need.”

“I know what you mean. I used to work retail.”

She bit her lip and looked worried. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Amber stuff her phone into her pocket and practically

storm out of the lodge and down the gravel path that bordered the road. “It’s okay, I won’t say anything. Everyone here has

been more than hospitable. I should shower and dress before dinner. I’ll be back to buy presents later.”

I followed the path Amber had taken, vaguely hearing Trina call after me that my room was in the other direction. I waved

to acknowledge that I heard her, but continued following Amber, her bright blue sundress and white hat easy to spot. With

her red hair, she looked like a walking American flag.

Suddenly, Gino Garmon stepped in her path. I froze, then quickly hid behind a large plant, hoping I was too far away for either

of them to see me, but wishing I was closer to hear what they said.

I peered through the large banana leaves. They appeared to be in a heated conversation. Gino wore sunglasses, his mouth in

a firm line, and Amber stood with her hands on her hips, as if lecturing him. Then he stepped forward and said something.

She didn’t step back. She didn’t look intimidated, and poked his chest while speaking emphatically, then brushed past him

and continued down the path toward the docks.

He watched her go, then punched a golf cart with his fist, leaving a clear indention. He shook out his hand, wincing in pain.

What was that about?

I wanted to follow Amber, but Gino would see me. By the time Gino went back into the security office, Amber was gone, and I didn’t see which path she took.

My cell phone rang as I was walking back to my cottage. I answered the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Crawford?” a female voice asked.

“Yes?”

“This is Anita from the spa. You had a 4:00 p.m. massage with Ginger. Will you still be making the appointment?”

I’d completely forgotten that I’d made the appointment last night before going to the lagoon. It was five after four, but

I said, “Yes! I’m sorry, I was on a hike.” I immediately turned down the path toward the spa.

“No trouble at all. I’ll tell Ginger to expect you shortly.”

After hearing staff talk about how Diana had made Ginger cry, I had made the appointment in the hopes that I could get her

to talk about Diana.

I stepped into the waiting room with its relaxing color palette in subdued greens and grays. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked

out at a well-tended flower garden. A gentle stream of water cascaded down one wall, and faint nature music played from hidden

speakers. I spotted a discreet camera mounted behind a hanging fern.

A moment after I stepped in, a door opened, and a petite Asian woman said, “I’m Anita. Please follow me.”

We walked down a wide hall with sliding bamboo doors.

Faintly scented oils and lotions tickled my nose.

Anita opened one of the only doors that had an actual knob.

We stepped into a room with comfortable chairs, a drink center with iced water and a chilling bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and another waterfall flush against the wall.

“Through that door—” she motioned to the left “—is the changing area. Leave your clothes in one of the lockers and use one of the robes hanging on the wall. Through that door—” she motioned straight ahead “—is a restroom and private shower stalls. Feel free to refresh yourself. When you’re ready, Ginger’s parlor is right across the hall in room 4. She’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I poured a glass of lemon water and drank heavily, then stepped into the bathroom. It was a full bath, with two rainfall showers

separated by a clouded glass block wall for privacy. Plants grew everywhere, and the skylight provided enough natural light

that I didn’t need to flip on the light switch.

I took a quick shower because I felt sticky, then used one of the huge bath sheets to dry off. I stepped into the changing

area and almost screamed.

Sherry Morrison was there dressing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

She gave me a half smile that felt fake.

“I just had a massage,” she said.

“How was it?” I asked conversationally. I was trying to be polite, though I couldn’t help but think about Diana’s negative

comments that I suspected were about Sherry.

“Amazing. I was here my first day, and it was to die for, and I’m coming back on Friday for a full makeover.” She looked me

up and down, head to toe. I felt super awkward wrapped in a towel.