Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice Page 4

  “I don’t know!” Amber’s voice came out as a shriek. “I didn’t think about it! I just pulled the strip off, and her lips were blue, and she was dead!”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Matt said quietly and pulled at my arm.

  I waved my hand at him.

  Noelle pulled the microphone up to her mouth again. “Tell 911 we need the police too. I think Gina’s been murdered.”

  Matt pulled my arm again, and this time I let him. I felt nauseous as I stumbled after him. A murder? Here? At the spa? At the gorgeous historic hotel? Didn’t I get enough of those back in Cape Bay?

  I followed him blindly through the halls back up to the lobby. I was glad he was leading me because I wasn’t sure that I could have found the way on my own. Not with my mind reeling like it was.

  We got close to the lobby but couldn’t get in because it was packed full of the people who’d been enjoying their time at the spa until moments before. Hotel security was blocking the doors and only letting people out one by one as they took down their names and room numbers. The spa workers were milling around, alternately making weak efforts to calm down anxious spa-goers and hugging each other with tears pouring down their faces. Obviously, they’d already heard that the dead person was someone they knew.

  Since I’d made us wait to hear what had happened, Matt and I were at the back of the group of people trying to get out of the spa and had to wait what felt like an eternity to be allowed to leave. We were both in shock and didn’t have much to say while we waited, but Matt held tight to my hand like he was afraid to let me go.

  At some point, the police arrived. They must have come in through a back door because they just popped through a door behind me, and I didn’t even see them until they were halfway down the hall toward the treatment rooms. There was a whole troop of them, which I guessed made sense for a murder investigation—three or four officers in uniforms and another three in plain clothes.

  For a second, I was sure that one of the plainclothes officers was Mike, my friend and local detective from back home—the same Mike I thought I’d heard and whose wife I thought I’d seen. But I told myself I was being ridiculous. I was just used to seeing Mike at crime scenes. There was no reason for him to be here in the hotel. I didn’t even say anything about it to Matt, knowing that he’d tell me I was thinking too much about Cape Bay. And I was.

  Having all that time to stand still and do nothing while we waited to be let out had given my mind a chance to wander, and it wandered straight to Cape Bay. Even though I knew I’d left the café in good hands with Sammy, I worried about it. Worried that she wouldn’t have enough help, worried that she’d miss something in the supply order, worried that there would be some kind of disaster and the whole place would be flooded when I got back. Logically, I knew that everything would almost definitely be fine and there was almost definitely nothing to worry about, but that didn’t stop my mind from racing.

  I missed my dog too. What I wouldn’t give for a good snuggle with Latte about now.

  When we were finally allowed out of the spa (after agreeing not to leave the hotel without notifying the front desk and giving them a number where we could be reached), all I wanted to do was go back up to our room and forget about what had happened in the spa.

  But when we got to the lobby, Matt veered off suddenly. “I need a drink.”

  I needed a long, hot bath filled with good-smelling fizzy things, but he still had a firm hold on my hand, so I didn’t have much choice but to follow along. Of course, a drink didn’t sound too bad either.

  The lounge actually had people milling around it now, many of them in the white robes they’d left the spa in. I was glad I was dressed.

  Matt walked us over to the bar where Tommy was looking harried. His eyes were red, and he looked more disheveled than he had an hour ago. “Hey, guys, what can I get for you?” he asked, not making eye contact as he wiped the bar with a cloth.

  “Scotch. Straight,” Matt said.

  I looked at him in surprise. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him drink scotch, especially not straight. But I realized that, while I’d had the misfortune of being around a couple of dead bodies, this was his first. Even when his dad died, I was the one who found him, not Matt.

  “Scotch, straight,” Tommy repeated. He looked at me. “And you?”

  “Ummm…” I tried to glance covertly at the still-unattended coffee bar, but I must not have been very successful.

  “I got you,” Tommy said, giving me a weak smile.

  I realized then that he didn’t look disheveled from the sudden rush of customers but because he’d heard that there had been a death. And possibly that it was one of his coworkers. And maybe even that they suspected murder. I wondered if he’d known Gina.

  He poured Matt’s scotch and passed it across the bar. Matt tossed it back without flinching, and I wondered if this was a new skill or if he’d always been able to down liquor like that.

  He gave me a sideways smile. “My friends liked to go out drinking back in college.”

  His friends. Sure.

  “You want another one?” Tommy asked Matt.

  “A beer. Whatever you have on tap.”

  Tommy poured Matt’s beer and passed it over then looked at me and tilted his head in the direction of the coffee bar. I followed him over. “Same thing?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Just an espresso.”

  “That’s it? You want anything in it?” He gestured toward the bar.

  “No thanks.”

  “Really?” He looked skeptical, proving that he was a bartender, not a barista, at heart. “Not even some Irish cream?”

  I thought about that for a second and then nodded. It couldn’t hurt. It might even taste good.

  He grabbed the Irish cream from the bar while the espresso was brewing then poured it in and handed it over to me.

  I took a sip and nodded. He nodded with something that looked like an attempt at a smile on his face. I turned to walk back over to Matt but then realized that Tommy was still standing at the counter, watching me. I raised my eyebrows. He leaned in.

  “So, you were, uh, were you down there when they—when they found…?” His voice trailed off.

  I nodded.

  “Who—who was it?” His voice was tight, like he had to work to push it out of his throat.

  “They said her name was Gina.”

  His knees buckled, but he caught himself with his hands braced against the counter. I waited for him to regain his composure.

  “You knew her?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She’s a friend. We grew up together.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded again. “Thank you for telling me.” His voice had gone from tight to hoarse. He glanced over at the bar, where a white-robed man was impatiently drumming his fingers. “Better get back to work.”

  I watched as he dealt calmly with the irritated customer and felt bad for him. He’d just found out that a friend of his was dead, and he still had to deal with people who were annoyed that they were inconvenienced by their spa visit ending early. It didn’t seem fair.

  I walked back over to Matt and drank my spiked espresso while he finished his beer.

  “You ready to go upstairs?” he asked after he left some bills for Tommy.

  “More than ready.” Nothing sounded better than to go to the room and sink down into a hot bath. Then maybe take a nap or sit on the balcony and admire the scenery. Or maybe both. Whatever it took to get my mind off the dead girl in the spa and her friend’s sad face.

  Chapter Six

  I couldn’t settle down. I couldn’t relax. I tried sitting on the balcony, but I was too restless. I tried watching TV, but I couldn’t focus. I tried taking a nap, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look on Amber’s face in the spa as she stumbled out of the treatment room. Matt didn’t have that problem apparently. He flopped down on the bed as soon as we walked in the door, turned the TV to ESPN, and pa
ssed out cold.

  I wandered into the bathroom. Maybe a bath in that giant, luxurious bathtub would do the trick. But as I stood there looking at it, I knew I wouldn’t appreciate it. I would use up those high-end products and probably spend five minutes in it before I got too fidgety and had to get out.

  I wandered back into the bedroom and looked at Matt snoring away on the big soft bed with its fluffy pillows and blankets. He looked so peaceful lying there. Peaceful was the last thing I was.

  I went over to the desk and pulled out one of the sheets of writing paper they had in the drawer. I ran my fingers across the cross-hatched surface of the paper. Even the stationery in this place was high-end. I grabbed one of the pens—just a basic ballpoint—and scribbled out a note to Matt then double-checked that I had my key and slipped out the door.

  As I passed the bakery, I was happy to see that someone was actually working at the counter now. There were several people waiting, one of them still inexplicably in a white robe even though they must have had a good hour by then to change, so I kept walking. At least I knew now that someone did work there occasionally and there was a chance I could catch her again before I left.

  The crowd that had evacuated the spa had mostly cleared out of the lounge by the time I wandered back in. There were a few people scattered around the spacious room, all of whom were, thankfully, wearing real clothes. I headed for the bar. The coffee bar was somehow still unattended, but I knew that Tommy would take care of me no matter what I wanted.

  Halfway across the room, I stopped in my tracks. I’d let my gaze drift over to the wall of windows and out to the mountains. That wasn’t what startled me though. What startled me was the man sitting in one of the chairs out on the balcony. All I could see was the back of his head, but it looked just like the back of Mike Stanton’s head. Why I thought that from just a glimpse of a high and tight haircut, I don’t know, but for a second, I was sure it was Mike. And then I told myself that I was being ridiculous. Lots of men had that hairstyle. Whatever was making me keep thinking I saw Mike or his wife, I needed to let it go.

  I walked over to the bar and slid onto a barstool. Tommy walked up and put a coaster and a cocktail napkin down in front of me. “Back again already?”

  “Yup,” I sighed.

  “Forgot your man this time.”

  I laughed softly. Something about him calling Matt my “man” struck me as funny. “He’s taking a nap in our room.”

  “But you’re not?”

  I shook my head. “No. I just kept thinking about—” I waved my hand in the general direction of the courtyard and the spa entrance.

  “Yeah, me too,” he said, his voice soft and a little raspy. He looked away at something at the far end of the bar.

  “She was a friend?” I asked quietly.

  He nodded, still looking away.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” he said and wiped absently at the bar with a cloth. He took a deep breath and finally looked back at me with glassy eyes. “What can I get you?”

  I ignored the question. “Can you go take a break? Have you even had a minute to yourself since you found out?”

  He shook his head and gestured toward the empty coffee bar. “No one to cover for me.”

  I wished I could tell him to just go sit down in the back for a minute, but I wasn’t his boss. “Where is he anyway? Did he just not show up for his shift?”

  Tommy shrugged. “He’s here somewhere. I saw him earlier. Might be down in the spa or something.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Carrick doesn’t care much about fair.”

  “And he gets away with it?”

  “So far.” He nodded at someone behind me, another customer getting ready to leave, I guessed. He took another deep breath and gave me something like a smile. “Now I know you didn’t come down here to talk about all that. What can I get for you?”

  I stared at the menu and racked my brain. I didn’t want anything too strong, but I didn’t want to just ask for a glass of water either.

  “Need some help?”

  I nodded. I could pick out a coffee drink any day of the week for any time or occasion, but cocktails weren’t my strong suit.

  He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, studying my face for a minute. “You look like a…”

  For a second, I was afraid he was going to blurt out some unexpected insult about having dark circles under my eyes. Thank goodness, he didn’t.

  “…rosé spritzer kind of girl.”

  I wasn’t—club soda wasn’t my thing—but I agreed anyway. And I was glad that I did. The drink he made me wasn’t the mix of wine and club soda I expected. Instead, he dropped a couple of lemon slices in a glass, topped them with a couple dashes of bitters, a liqueur, and ice, then poured a sparkling rosé over it. He put the glass on my coaster and waited for me to try it.

  I took a tentative sip. To my surprise, I loved it.

  I didn’t even have to say anything. Tommy saw my reaction and smiled. “Told you you were a sparkling rosé girl. Just let me know if you need anything else, Fran.” He patted the bar and walked off to help someone else.

  “Francesca?”

  I froze. That was not Mike, I told myself. Mike is not here. But whoever it was apparently knew me. I turned around slowly.

  Mike sighed. “I was afraid that was you.”

  “Good to see you, too, Mike.” I took a casual sip of my rosé spritzer.

  He gestured at the barstool next to me, and I nodded. He swung his leg over the stool and sat down. “So, what are you doing here?”

  “Matt and I thought we’d get away for a romantic weekend before tourist season got started. What about you?”

  Tommy walked up to ask Mike what he wanted. I waited until he had his beer and then asked again. “What about you?”

  Mike looked at me out of the corner of his eye and didn’t say anything.

  I looked around in case he was trying to be discreet, but aside from Tommy and a solitary man at the other end of the bar, we were the only people in earshot. “Michael?”

  He looked into his beer and muttered something.

  “What was that?” I asked, leaning in.

  His word came out as a growl. “Same.”

  I stared at him in shocked silence. “With… Sandra?” I finally managed to choke out. Mike and his wife, Sandra, had been separated for a few months now, but I knew Mike was hoping they’d be able to work things out. And I was hoping that if he was there for a romantic weekend, it was with her. I was rooting for them.

  He looked at me with an expression of pure indignation. “Yes, with Sandra. Who else would I be here with?”

  “Well, I was hoping it was her, but…” I shrugged.

  He rolled his eyes and went back to his beer.

  I was taking another sip of my spritzer when I remembered that I thought I saw him down in the spa while we were waiting to be let out.

  “Hey, you weren’t down in the spa earlier, were you? With the police?”

  “Yes,” he growled.

  “But this isn’t your jurisdiction.”

  “Nope.”

  I looked at him and waited, eyebrows raised.

  He sighed. “Sandra and I were in the spa café when they found the body. I’ve been to enough crime scenes to know that the last thing people are concerned about is preserving evidence. Most of them are just interested in getting an eyeful.”

  I cringed at the crassness of it but knew it was probably true.

  “I showed my badge at the desk and secured the scene. Local guys looped me in when they got here.”

  “You took your badge to the spa with you?” For some reason, that was the strangest part of the story for me.

  “Of course.” He looked at me like it was ridiculous that I would think he didn’t.

  “Do you have it on you now?”

  In less than a blink of an eye, he reached back, pulled his wallet out, and flipped it open for me to see
his badge. I was afraid of what he would do if I asked if he had his gun on him too.

  He put his wallet away, took another swallow from his beer glass, and shifted uncomfortably on his barstool, then cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, Franny, I’m glad you’re here.”

  I thought it was probably the first time he’d ever said he was happy to see me.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure. What do you need?” I thought he probably wanted me to pick out which spa treatment he should book for Sandra or which treat he should get her from the French bakery.

  “I need you to find out who killed that girl.”

  Chapter Seven

  I stared at Mike in shocked silence. There was no way he’d really just asked me to investigate a murder. Not after he’d spent the last year or so telling me to mind my own business when I’d somehow managed to get myself involved in one murder case after another.

  “You can’t be serious. How many beers have you had exactly?” I leaned over to sniff him, but he swatted me away before I could catch a whiff of anything other than a faint hint of soap.

  Mike rubbed his hand back and forth across his forehead. “Look, Fran, I know I usually tell you to let the police do their jobs, but this is different.”

  “Why? Because it’s not your case?”

  He shrugged. “Partly. But also because I need this to get wrapped up quickly, and as much as it annoys me, you’re good at this stuff.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered reflexively. It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement, but it was high praise coming from Mike. High praise that momentarily distracted me from the first part of his sentence. “Wait, why do you need it wrapped up quickly?”

  He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.

  I wondered if the pain in it was caused by me or something else—or maybe someone else.

  “Sandra—” he started then stopped to rub his neck some more. “This weekend was supposed to be kind of a fresh start for us—” His eyes went from the bar top to the bottles of liquor on the wall across from us to the ceiling. Anywhere but to me. “We have a couples massage booked—”