River City Dead Read online

  “We may not know until the autopsy.” Rick shook his head. “She’s young. Pretty. Lots of crazies out there. I think it looks suspicious enough that Patrol will call Evidence.”

  “I think so too. EMS is coming in through the back. The manager is worried his hotel could be ruined for Fiesta Week.”

  The Patrol Sergeant stepped off the elevator with three officers. He and Rick identified themselves, and Rick caught them up to speed. Patrol Sergeant Spears stationed Officer Valerie Garrett at the elevator door to stop anyone unofficial from entering or leaving the floor and maintain an entry log of persons coming and going. He instructed the other officers to take statements from the maid and Manager Harry Haddock.

  Rick turned to Sam. “Don’t you need to meet somebody?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Rick. I’ll be back.” When the elevator opened, the EMS crew clattered off rolling their stretcher. He pointed them to the scene, spoke to Officer Valerie Garrett and stepped inside. EMS would do everything they could to revive the girl, but he thought it was too late.

  Just before he pushed the button, he had an idea. He went back to the penthouse lounge and peered in. Officers were writing reports and Haddock was standing to leave.

  He spoke to one of the officers. “If you’re finished, I need to talk to Mr. Haddock.”

  “Sure. I’m done.”

  Sam drew close to Harry Haddock. “You should check the phone log for calls coming in and out of the victim’s room.” Harry nodded. “Detective Montaya will probably remind you.” He talked to the manager a while longer in low tones, headed for the elevator, stepped inside and pushed the button to the lobby.

  Whatever else was happening in his life, as a law officer, crime tracked him like an insidious nasty aroma. After two years dealing with Aggie’s dogged determination to “help” him investigate, and his constant attempts to keep her out of trouble, he was finally meeting her at this hotel. Despite conflicts, they admitted they loved one another. He understood her motivation to solve crimes. He shared it. They planned this romantic rendezvous for months. No doubts. No fear. No crime.

  Now this. She probably had her hair done, shopped for Fiesta clothes and packed every bright outfit she owned. She’d be miserably disappointed. After she got over the shock, she’d want to help him. Since the crime occurred in the suite they were supposed to have, she’d probably be more determined than ever to find the person who hurt this girl. He had to make sure Aggie didn’t land in danger investigating without making her feel like he was brushing her off.

  Three

  Albatross and I approached the entrance to the hotel’s underground parking garage. A sign said the garage was full. Once my eyes adjusted to the dugout’s dark interior, I recognized the top of an EMS van. What was going on? Was Sam in trouble? Injured?

  Swallowing my fear, I eased my car up to the main entrance and asked the valet to park my car. Not knowing what to expect, I asked the bellboy to put my luggage by the registration desk. Neither man looked rattled by some catastrophic event, but they looked down their noses at Albatross. I hadn’t owned many cars, so I named them. Albatross was my long-time companion.

  I entered the lobby in my hot-pink tank top and swishy skirt and looked around. My espadrilles, multi-colored canvas with rope wedges, were a Fiesta staple. My toes, painted to match my tank top, peeped out. A nice touch. Where the tile met a rug, I stumbled. The heels on the espadrilles were pretty high. I recovered and straightened my shoulders.

  At the other end of the lobby, past the restaurant and bar, I saw a garden-like setting with palm trees and a blue sky beyond, the hotel’s entrance to the River Walk. The tinkle of happy chatter tickled my ears. I could hardly wait to get out there. I knew Sam had some sort of problem, but I was too excited about Fiesta Week to believe it could be anything insurmountable.

  I sashayed toward the check-in desk drawn by the fragrance of gardenias.

  Miniature trees on either side of the desk, protected by clear plastic shields so nobody could touch the petals, were strategically placed to intoxicate guests.

  A large sign to the left of registration read, “Welcome Fabulous Femmes!” I smiled. Off to the sides of the main traffic area, in offshoots from the lobby, police officers spoke with two women. One was slim and chic, dressed in beige linen. The Hermès scarf that wrapped around her neck and flew down her back must have cost a fortune. The splash of silk in bright Fiesta colors was the perfect accessory. What wouldn’t I give to be tall, slim and chic? I could exercise and eat tofu until hell froze over and it wouldn’t happen.

  The other woman wore a striped sheath in multi-colored neon as intense as the first woman’s attire was subdued. Her smile was even brighter. Maybe they were two of the Fabulous Femmes the hotel welcomed on the sign. I wondered why police were talking to them. Maybe officers were allowed to flirt during Fiesta Week.

  Sam would be in civilian clothes. I looked around, didn’t see him and approached the check-in desk where the bellboy had placed my luggage. “I’m checking in later, but could you store this luggage for me?” The clerk asked my name, came outside the desk to tag my suitcase and handed me a claim ticket.

  “I’m looking for—”

  “Aggie. Over here.”

  Sam stepped off the elevator. He wore a shirt with sleeves that stopped just above muscular arms. His collar lay open with curly chest hair peeping out above a very flat stomach. I blinked away images of the kilt and the cowboy and opened my eyes to see Sam’s brown ones looking into mine through his horn-rimmed glasses. An unruly shock of hair flipped crazily over his forehead, but his face was serious. He took my arm and led me toward a sitting area. “I’m afraid things have drastically changed.”

  I looked him up and down. He didn’t appear injured, but his expression was unusually serious. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “A crime was committed in the penthouse suite reserved for us.”

  “What kind of crime?”

  “A young woman is dead. It looks suspicious. It’s possible she was murdered.”

  My knees started to buckle. He took my arm to steady me and eased me into a chair.

  “She’s dead in our room?”

  “I’m afraid so.” His features softened. “I didn’t expect to get a penthouse suite, but the assistant manager called me early this morning, said the occupant was scheduled to vacate, and the suite would be ready this afternoon. The maid found her about half an hour ago.” He studied my reaction. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. Blood must have been returning to my head.

  “Why don’t you sit here a few minutes. I need to get back up there. I’ll know more when I come down.”

  “Okay.” As he headed for the elevator, I sank back into the chair. What were the odds somebody would die in our hotel during Fiesta Week? That some poor woman would lose her life? In our room?

  Sam would be preoccupied with this crime. Our rendezvous had been kicked to the back burner. Another room nearby would be hard to find during Fiesta Week. After he returned to relay the details, I might as well go home. I could watch the parades on television and keep in touch with him by phone. I sighed.

  Despite our differences, Sam and I had grown steadily closer. He still grew apoplectic when I helped investigate a crime and landed in danger.

  He’d explained his reticence to marry and never mentioned it again. But I knew he loved me. We were here. Finally. We deserved this long weekend. He was the right man. Whatever we had to face, we could face it together.

  I stood, squared my shoulders, walked to the elevator, stepped inside and pushed the button to the penthouse.

  When the door opened, a female SAPD officer stood there with a set jaw, a determined face and a clipboard. Shiny auburn hair framed her striking face. Even clothed in the ill-fitting police uniform, she curved in the right places.

  “Can I help you, miss?” She
emphasized “miss.” With her eyes darting around under thick lashes, she appraised me like a livestock judge.

  She blocked my entrance to the corridor. I planted my feet.

  “I’m with Detective Sam Vanderhoven. Our room is up here. He said there’s a problem and for me to come up.”

  Her eyebrows peaked. “Sam wouldn’t say that. This is a suspicious death. Civilians aren’t allowed.”

  “Why don’t you ask Detective Vanderhoven?” I moved to step around her.

  She blocked me and raised her voice. “I don’t have to ask anybody.”

  Sam must have heard her. He stepped from a room down the hall and strode toward us. “What’s the problem, Valerie?”

  “This woman says she’s with you and you told her to come up here.”

  “I see.” He looked at me over his spectacles. “This is Officer Valerie Garrett, Aggie. One of SAPD’s finest. Valerie, this is Agatha Mundeen, a private investigator I sometimes consult.”

  “Hmmp.” Officer Garrett stepped aside with a look on her face that could curdle cream.

  I gave her my sweetest smile. There should be a law against police departments hiring attractive women. These men worked such long hours. Away from their families. If they had families. I touched the bare finger of my left hand.

  Sam took my elbow and steered me down the hotel corridor swarming with police. He spoke quietly. “They told guests the hotel cordoned off the penthouse to resolve a maintenance problem. Valerie, Officer Garrett, is instructed not to admit anyone to the floor.”

  “I see.”

  He dropped the professional expression. “You shouldn’t be up here, Aggie. I asked you to wait in the lobby.”

  “I wanted to be with you. I can at least see the suite we were supposed to have.”

  He stopped. “There’s a body in there. We’re handling it as a crime scene. You can’t enter the room.”

  At one end of the hall, police talked to a well-dressed, middle-aged couple. Near the other end, officers walked in and out of the last suite where yellow and black crime scene tape dangled from the door. Left of the suite, at the other end of the hall, a double door looked like the entrance to a lounge. When I glanced back, Valerie Garrett was watching. I took a step toward the suite with the dangling yellow tape. “I could just peek in.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before he opened them, I made it almost to the door. Before I got there, Sam caught up and clinched my arm. “It’s a young woman. Much too young to die. Are you sure you want to see this?”

  “Yes.”

  We reached the threshold. I peered inside and jerked in a breath. In the center of a beige, ultra-suede sofa, a beautiful young woman lay draped with her head on a bright pillow. She held another pillow to her chest. The life had drained out of her. I knew her.

  Four

  I stared at her and swallowed the bile in my throat.

  “You recognize her,” Sam said.

  “I’m afraid it’s Grace’s daughter-in-law, Monica Peters. The three of us had lunch together last week.”

  “I’m sorry, Aggie. The manager told me her name, but I didn’t make the connection with Grace.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl, so vibrant only a week before. Small-boned and delicate, she looked childlike in death. With light accentuating her pretty features, she looked like an angel with makeup. I’d been with her only once, and her face was partially turned away, but I was almost certain it was Monica. Soft rays streaming through a skylight spotlighted her as though Heaven had opened to shine notice that this young woman should not have died.

  The EMS team had pronounced her dead and were packing up their gear.

  “That’s Detective Montaya.” Sam pointed to a plainclothes officer. “He’ll take the lead on this case.”

  Officers who must be SAPD’s evidence team swarmed the room. I had to look fast before Sam decided to sweep me away from the scene.

  In the suite that would have been ours, pieces of stout Mexican furniture stood at focal points on the periphery. Airy glass-topped tables seemed to float near upholstered pieces. Delicate pastel colors of ecru, white, and teal decorated furniture and drapes. Tall vases of heavy Mexican hammered silver, strategically placed, held bursts of paper flowers in fuchsia, yellow, purple and orange, providing stark contrast to the pastels. Eclectic décor echoed the city of contrasts. Sofa pillows were fuchsia and orange. The hotel probably rotated pillows and flowers in the soft-toned room to suit the seasons, reserving the brightest colors for Fiesta.

  When the evidence photographer used a flash, I saw metal shining on the table and on the front of her dress.

  I squinted. “Are those pins?”

  “Fiesta medals. Organizations make them and people collect them every year to pin on their clothes.” A police officer picked up the medals with a gloved hand and bagged them for evidence.

  To the right side of the suite’s living room, a door opened to the bedroom we would have shared. A pale beige comforter ribboned in white lay over a massive four-poster king bed. Creme, tan and white petals splashed across the center of the comforter. Plush pillow covers, soft beige trimmed with white, leaned against the headboard. Purple, fuchsia, and orange accent pillows lay tossed in front.

  The suite must have cost a fortune during Fiesta Week. My eyes filled. Sam gripped my arm and steered me farther down the hall. “Not exactly what we planned, is it?” He piloted me toward the penthouse lounge. “Let’s go sit in there.”

  I glanced back and saw Officer Valerie Garrett interviewing an attractive couple at the other end of the corridor. Another officer midway down the hall talked with a young woman in a maid’s uniform. “Did you tell the other officers why I’m here?”

  “That’s not their concern. They have a suspicious death to worry about.”

  He led me into the lounge, guided me to the nearest sofa, handed me a glass of water and sat beside me. We had the room to ourselves.

  “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “Not yet. There’s no blood, no obvious signs of struggle and no signs of forced entry. The maid, Sara Giles, came to check the room and found the body. We got the victim’s ID from her purse. Headquarters is running a check on her.”

  “Did you find a murder weapon?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think she was murdered?”

  “She’s young. Dead of no apparent cause. Could be an undetected medical problem or drug overdose, but we haven’t found any signs of it. The autopsy will verify the cause and manner of death.”

  They were always performed with unexplained deaths. I shuddered imagining it. He was back in detective mode. Efficient. Matter-of-fact. “From her driver’s license, Headquarters will verify her identity and notify her next of kin. I’m sorry, Aggie.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Grace getting the news. When a tear squeezed out, he pressed my hand. His phone rang. He jumped up, flipped it open and walked to the far edge of the room to answer. He listened intently, hung up and stood still a few minutes. Then he turned and walked toward me with a rigid face.

  “They confirmed her identity.” I stared at him. “The girl is Monica Peters. We have to notify Grace. There’s an officer on the way to her house.”

  I’d been trying to process how some monster could murder Monica. Now pain closed around my heart and squeezed like I knew it would squeeze Grace’s heart.

  “I need to see her.” When I stood, my legs wobbled and I sank back to the sofa.

  “Sit here a minute. I’ll check the crime scene and radio the officer going to Grace’s. I’ll tell him who you are and that you’re on your way over. You can tell me later what you know about Monica. It may help us find her killer.”

  I felt numb.

  He stopped at the door and turned back. “Aggie, it’s possible guests will leave because
of the murder, and another penthouse suite will become available. I talked to the manager about it. If that doesn’t happen, he has a couple of small utility bedrooms staff members use when they have to stay overnight or become ill. They’re more like cubbyholes than rooms. They’re on two separate floors. He says we can use those.” He waited.

  I didn’t respond.

  “I know you’re not thinking about this now, but I wanted you to know.” He walked out of the lounge.

  To comfort Grace, I had to regain control. She was nearly sixty-one and had lost three husbands. How much more could she stand?

  I would send the valet for my car and drive to her house. I might claim my luggage from the front desk, go home to my bungalow next door to Grace’s house and stay there. Sam was trying to comfort me about another room, but surely murder squelched his romantic inclinations. I was too worried about Grace to feel much of anything. It was doubtful we’d get a penthouse suite anyway.

  In the corridor, I found him talking with Valerie.

  “All but one couple in the penthouse has been cleared,” she said, pointing to the couple at the end of the hall. “I’m just about finished with them. We advised them not to leave the hotel and asked them to stay in the lobby or restaurant. I’ll go there when we’re through.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “I’ll come down later and you can fill me in.” Valerie gave me a smug look and walked toward the couple.

  He turned to me. “We’re bringing staff up here individually to get information for more thorough background checks, and to determine who was seen in the penthouse or has access. We have to make sure the hotel is safe for those who stay.”

  I sensed his mind was clicking through plans.

  “We’ll check entries, exits, fire escapes, windows and roof access. We’ll contact local pharmacies and hospitals to see if drugs were stolen lately. Evidence took her purse. Any pills in the suite or her purse can lead us to her physician.”