Mystic Mayhem Page 15

  We went inside the boathouse where we found Odeo standing in the midst of a half dozen outboard motors, hands on his hips, shaking his head, his clothes covered in grease.

  "Odeo," I said. "What's going on here?"

  He took his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. "Oh, lordy, Miss Melanie," he lamented. "I'm afeared what happened out dere on the lake last night wasn't no accident. Nary a drop of gas in any of these here motors."

  I knew it. Cat grabbed hold of my hand in excitement. Someone was still wreaking havoc at The Mansion on Mystic Isle, and I was willing to bet it was the same someone who stole Mrs. Elway's money and then killed her. Maybe there was still a chance to save Fabrizio after all.

  We left Odeo to his motors, still shaking his head, at a loss as to how someone could be so cruel as to launch an attack against such fine pieces of mechanical engineering as his boat motors.

  It was about nine-thirty, and the sun was higher in the sky than before. The humidity was dense and moist, sticky. If a breeze didn't come up, it would be nearly unbearable later on in the day. I was almost glad I had a full day in the air-conditioned comfort of Dragons and Deities, except it would impede any further investigation until I fulfilled my scheduled appointments.

  "One thing I don't get," Cat said as we crossed the lush green lawn to the front door.

  "Just one thing?"

  "So someone drained all the boat motors of gasoline, thinking when Rosalyn took one she'd be adrift, which meant she might end up floating face down in the swamp."

  "Mmm," I said. "I think that pretty much sums it up."

  "Okay," she went on a bit hesitantly, "how did that someone know Rosalyn, who couldn't swim and would normally stay as far away from water as possible, would head straight for one of those boats?"

  I stopped walking and looked at her. Well, duh. How was it I hadn't thought of that? Maybe I was just too close to it, or maybe knocking boots with Quincy was starting to rub off on her. "That's an excellent question, Cat, and the answer to it just might be the key that unlocks the door to Fabrizio's jail cell."

  * * *

  I still couldn't figure out why someone would come all the way out to Mystic Isle to get a tattoo of a calico kitty, a waste of my creativity if you asked me, and in the end I was able to persuade him to move the tat to his back, where it would at least swell when he flexed.

  I worked through my schedule, and a few minutes after four, Cat showed up at my doorway, looking tired.

  I was anxious to get back to our sleuthing, but she begged off for an hour.

  "I'm scheduled for a massage," she said tiredly. "A free massage, and no way I'm going to pass it up. I really need it."

  Cat never ever had to pay for one of the delicious massages at the Hidden Passage Spa. One of the masseuses there was sweet on her. But then, wasn't everyone? And since she'd probably spent most of yesterday and last night doing horizontal calisthenics with Quincy, she most likely wasn't kidding when she said she really needed it.

  She stretched her arms over her head and bent at the waist, first to one side then the other. "Mmm, and afterward I'll be all slippery and loosened up and ready to help you…"

  Warm and slippery, loose and ready, and slick with lotion—

  "Jiminy Christmas!"

  She jumped. "What? What is it?"

  "Hurry," I said. "Go, go now, and get back to me as fast you can."

  I took hold of her shoulders and turned her around to face down the hall toward the hidden passage that opened into Hidden Passage Spa.

  Several things had occurred to me all at once. And they all had to do with Cat and her hot stone massage at the Hidden Passage Spa. One—I suddenly knew where Rosalyn's "ghost" had been hanging out and why it smelled so sweet. Two—I also knew it wasn't really otherworldly. And three—the concealed doorway to the Hidden Passage Spa wasn't the only secret corridor in the resort.

  Oh, boy. "Cat, hurry," I repeated. Now that all this new information was whirling around in my brain, it seemed urgent to put it to good use.

  * * *

  Cat was true to her word. She found me in the Presto-Change-o Room waiting for Jack. I was anxious to tell him what I'd figured out.

  She came to me exactly as she'd predicted, warm and slippery, loose and ready.

  Harry Villars had the lotion they used at the Hidden Passage Spa shipped in from a hot mineral springs spa in Baden-Baden, Germany, where aristocrats had been soaking their loins for over three hundred years. The massage lotion, rich and creamy, a sesame oil base with a warm, nutty undertone of almonds was part of a basket every recipient of a spa package received to take with them. And it was exactly what lingered in the air after our ghoul's vanishing act the night before.

  Rosalyn's haint and Cat smelled yummy just like that lotion, which led me to believe the visitor tormenting Rosalyn Elway Whitlock was no more from the other side than I was.

  But there was yet one other piece of the puzzle involving Rosalyn we had to figure out, and Cat was quick to hone in on it.

  "But what would someone—anyone—have to gain from scaring Rosalyn like that?"

  "Good question." Jack had walked up behind Cat. He walked around the table, leaned down, and gave me a peck on the cheek like it was something he'd been doing for years. I nearly fell out of the chair.

  Cat's eyes bugged out.

  He turned a chair and straddled it, his hands folded across the back, chin resting on them. "So, what's the answer?"

  Cat and I took turns explaining about the boat motors, the "haunting," the lotion. He listened without interrupting, but when we finished, he repeated the original questions. "So, what would someone gain from scaring Rosalyn that way, and how did the person who drained the gas from the boat motors know she'd be going out there after one?"

  I thought about it and tried to remember what we knew so far about Rosalyn, about the murder and theft, about everything. "Evidently, Rosalyn has a history of mental instability, and she's in line after Cecile Elway to take over as executor of the estate and administrator of the family trust. If she were to be declared incompetent for some reason, such as seeing ghosts running around in her hotel room at night, then it stands to reason any other person named as administrator would benefit."

  "Funny we should be talking about this right now," Jack said, "because I just came from speaking with Harry Villars. The private detective he hired to look into the background and finances of these people has come up with yet another interesting tidbit about the Elways."

  Cat and I both leaned in to better hear over the band running their sound check.

  "When Cecile first took over, she went to the family attorney and reorganized the line of succession in the trust, naming Penelope Devere to take over as administrator in the event Rosalyn was unable to perform her duties."

  "Why would Cecile do that? Name her psychic?" Cat asked. "That doesn't make sense."

  "Well," I said, "there obviously wasn't any love lost between Cecile and her stepdaughter, and who knows, maybe once Rosalyn started ranting and raving about her having killed Theodore, she really did think Rosalyn was nuts and wouldn't be able to serve the estate."

  Cat narrowed her eyes. "It kind of scares me, but I think it's all beginning to make some sense. If Penny stands to take over the lucrative job of doling out the Elway money, it would be pretty handy to have Rosalyn institutionalized for running around screaming there are ghosts chasing her all over the place."

  I reached out and touched each of them on the hand. "Holy moly, y'all. When I spoke to Penny on Thursday, she went straight from me to a massage at the spa. You guys, she would have received the lotion in the gift basket."

  Jack nodded slowly. "Yes, and it even makes sense that in case you can't make someone look crazy, maybe you just drown them."

  I shook my head, not wanting to disagree with Cap'n Jack and possibly hurt his feelings, but…"There's still the matter of the boat thing. I mean, come on. How could anyone possibly know someone wi
th a deep-seated fear of water would run out and jump in a boat?"

  I looked at Cat. She shrugged.

  I looked at Jack. He shook his head. He didn't know either, but he pushed off the chair and stood. "I can think of the perfect person to ask about that," he said.

  He grinned down at me. Ah, Jack, so cute.

  "Rosalyn," he said. "We should ask Rosalyn."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We came up empty-handed in our search for Rosalyn until we stopped Lurch and asked him if he'd seen her.

  "I do believe I caught a glimpse of her out by the pool," he said, his voice so James Earl Jones, I expected to hear Star Wars dialogue.

  And he was right.

  Rosalyn had taken over one of the patio tables and spread her playing cards across the top. No less than four empty Collins glasses with The Mansion's signature plastic mini-buccaneer swords lying at the bottom of the glasses. She'd been drinking Captain Hooks—spiced rum, sugar, and 7UP—deceptively sweet coma-inducing libations. And from the slackness of her face and lack of focus in her eyes, she might have indulged in even more than the four empties on the table.

  She looked up as we approached her table, swaying, lifting her hand to wave, as limp as a rag doll. "Excellent, Melanie, my one and only ally in this godforsaken mudhole."

  Beside me, Jack sucked in his breath but didn't counter.

  "Rosalyn," I said, "may we sit down?"

  "Of coursh, let me just…" she slurred, sweeping the table clear with one arm. Cards flew, and plastic "pool" glasses clattered to the pool deck.

  Jack flinched and motioned to one of the cabana boys, who was Johnny-on-the-spot, picking everything up off the deck. Rosalyn watched through bleary eyes, reaching out to pat the young man on the rear as he bent over picking up the mess she'd made.

  Cat and I looked at each other, amused. Jack's jaw hung open.

  Guess those Captain Hooks loosened her up a little.

  "Rosalyn" I had to snap my fingers a couple of times to get her attention, "we have a couple of questions for you. Do you mind?"

  She seemed to notice Jack for the first time and leaned over, flirting, chin on hand, until her elbow slid out from under her, that is.

  We all winced as her chin hit the table, but she just smiled and propped herself back up. "Whassup, Mr. Hotel Manager?"

  Jack shook his head and covered his face with his hands.

  "Last night, Rosalyn," I began, noticing how her expression darkened, "there's something really important I have to tell you about last night."

  She reached across the table and grabbed Jack's hand, staring desperately into his eyes. "This city is headed for a dish-aster of biblical pro-por-portions. Will you save me?"

  Jack looked at me and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

  "That wasn't Cecile's ghost in your room last night."

  That got her attention. She dropped Jack's hand and turned toward me.

  "In fact, Rosalyn, I don't think it was anybody's ghost. Séances and haunted houses? There aren't as many of them around as you might think. They're few and far between. And I'm pretty sure the spirits hanging around don't spend their spare time in the Hidden Passage Spa getting the house lotion rubbed all over them."

  Rosalyn just sat there a minute, staring at me then she blinked several times. "That's what that smell was? I never smelled it before, so I thought it was, you know, the way ghosts smell."

  Cat had been hanging back, standing off to the side letting Jack and me take the lead. I motioned her over. She came and stood next to Rosalyn, whose nostrils flared. "Oh, sweet Jehoshaphat." She took hold of Cat's hand, dragged it to her nose, and took a good deep whiff. "That is it, isn't it?"

  I nodded.

  "The house lotion, you say?" she asked.

  "It's imported special for the spa here, and as far as we know, it's not used anywhere else." I looked at Jack. "At least nowhere else around here."

  Rosalyn took a minute to put it all together in her rum-soaked brain. "So whoever's been trying to drive me crazy is as mortal as I am?"

  Again, I nodded.

  "Well, I'll be." She looked stunned. "And who do you think it was?"

  I shrugged. "We know Penny has the lotion, and Terrence."

  Rosalyn frowned. "Terrence? That no-good, lying womanizer."

  "You think Terrence might be up to trying to make you believe Cecile's ghost was coming after you?"

  "Are you kidding?" She rang the words together, and her tongue tangled up around them. "He might even be the one who actually killed my stepmother."

  I don't know about Cat and Jack, but I was afraid to speak or even move, afraid that in her state of inebriation, the poor girl might just lose her train of thought.

  But she didn't. She wrapped it all up and handed it to us. "Cecile was Terrence's sugar mama. Under the guise of his Alien caterpillars, he took money from her—from us. But when she found out there was no such thing as a conservancy for the nasty little buggers, she was about to cut him off. Isn't it convenient?" It came out covenant. "She died before she could do it. And, isn't it just too interesting," it came out interfering, "I told him the night Cecile died that I'd be following her wishes and cutting him and the blasted caterpillar off at the dick."

  Beside me, I thought I heard Jack gasp as he put a protective hand near his crotch.

  He cleared his throat. His voice cracked at first, but he went on. "I have a question, Mrs. Whitlock."

  She turned to him.

  "We were told you can't swim."

  "That's true," she said, batting her eyes. "I can't, which makes you my hero, Jack. If there's anything I can do to repay you for saving me…"

  Well, she certainly didn't have any trouble saying that.

  "We were wondering about the boat—about why a person who can't swim would get in a boat and head out to the middle of pond far too deep to stand up in."

  Rosalyn blinked her red-rimmed eyes and looked up at the cabana boy arriving with a tray and yet another Captain Hook cocktail. She took a long drag through the straw. "That's easy, Mishter Stockton. There was a ghost chasing me, and everyone knows, ghosts won't go out on water. They hate the stuff."

  Cat and I looked at each other and said in unison, "Who told you that?"

  "Penny, of course."

  Oh, of course. "She oughta know. She is psychic, after all."

  * * *

  We sat with Rosalyn another fifteen minutes or so while she finished off her last drink. Jack asked one of the pool girls to go walk her up to her room so she could sleep it off.

  Jack had hotel business to take care of, leaving Cat and me to find Billy Whitlock even though Catalina assured me, since she'd been telling his fortune and reading his cards, she was positive he wasn't a killer. There were still a couple of things we needed to know, about Penny Devere specifically.

  "Shouldn't be all that hard," Cat said, her voice drier than the Kalahari. "He's always in one of three places—the House of Cards paying for reading but the whole time just bugging me for a date, the Presto-Change-o Room soaking up hurricanes, or the Hidden Passage Spa harassing Tina while she's trying to give him a professional massage."

  "Could that possibly make him our sweet-smelling haint?"

  "No way," she said. "I feel it in my bones. The boy couldn't kill a fly, unless he annoyed it to death."

  Sometimes I believe Cat is a legitimate fortune-teller.

  Billy was facedown on the massage table, having a thorough going over by Tina, our gorgeous Asian masseuse with size D cups.

  He rolled over at the sound of Cat's voice, and we couldn't help but notice his nether regions rise to the occasion as Tina covered him with the sheet.

  Cat rolled her eyes and made it a point to stay back out of his reach.

  "Billy," she said. "Mel and I need to ask you a few things."

  "What's in it for me?" He was positively leering.

  "If you help us out, I might not call my boyfriend and ask him to take out a restraining order
against you."

  "Oh," I said, nodding. "And I've heard Deputy Quincy Boudreaux has a very special way of serving those restraining orders."

  "He does," Cat said. "You don't happen to have a bulletproof vest, do you, Billy?"

  He smiled tightly, obviously aware we were making fun of him. "What questions?"

  "What do you think of Penny Devere?"

  "She's not my type."

  "No, Billy. What do you know about her relationship with Cecile, and with your mother too?"

  "Oh." He narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger. "What do you ladies have on your gorgeous minds?"

  We waited.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. "Penny was my grandfather's longtime psychic adviser. He used to call her up if the market went down or if he was in the middle of some merger or other business deal. He relied on her—a lot. There were times she was stuck to him like Velcro.

  "After my grandfather died, Penny started hanging around Cecile more and more. Cecile finally started paying Penny to be her psychic adviser. They were both on the board of the International Paranormal Society. Cecile was the president—you know, the grand pooh-bah of the whole shebang. She got Penny nominated as vice-president and suckered her into doing all the work. I think Penny got her nose out of joint about it. Heard them having a pretty good go-around about it one time when they didn't know I was nearby. This club thing was real important to them, to both of them, but maybe more important to Penny than to Cecile. She didn't really have anything else going for her. You know? She ain't that great to look at, and if you ask me, she's about as psychic as a boloney sandwich."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My cell phone went off, Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper." I snatched it up as the air whooshed from my lungs. It was the Jefferson Parish jail with a call from Fabrizio.

  "Melanie, my dear?"

  "Yes, Fabrizio, what's wrong?" I breathed.

  "Nothing's wrong, my dear. Well, that isn't entirely true, is it? But on the whole, I'm in reasonably good shape. Catalina's man, Deputy Boudreaux, has been hospitable, all things considered."