Mystic Mischief Page 3

  "Mon Dieu!" Harry exclaimed.

  "Bloody hell!" Fabrizio choked.

  I couldn't speak for a moment, struck dumb by the awful stench that assaulted us from inside the house. I waited in the foyer as Harry and Fabrizio went in, disappearing into this room then that one off the main hallway.

  The odor was rotten, the most horrible thing I'd ever experienced. "God, I said. What is that?" Dirty socks? Rancid garbage? Whatever it was— "It smells like something curled up and died."

  Harry stood framed in the open door at the end of the hallway, his back to me. His voice shook. "Not something. Someone."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Harry grabbed onto the doorjamb and sagged, I rushed in and took his arm, propping him up. With one shaking hand, he pointed me in the direction of his prized claw-foot tub. A man lay propped up against it. I'd watched enough CSI to know that the odd angle of the neck and the smear of blood behind the head indicated a violent death for this person—whoever he was.

  "What's going…" Fabrizio walked up behind us and peered over my shoulder. "My word…who is that?"

  "You don't know?" I asked.

  Both men shook their heads. None of us could seem to look away from the awful sight of the poor man's mottled skin, gaping mouth, and claw-stiff fingers.

  "The front door was open," I said. "This could be someone who broke into your house."

  "I need to sit down," Harry said, turning away from the horrific sight.

  I turned with him, noticing as I did that a towel bar had been pulled from the wall and that the voluminous shower curtain had been partially yanked off the overhead rod. The dead man still clutched one corner of it in his hand.

  "Let's go outside and wait for the sheriff," I said. "We can't even breathe in here."

  As we made our way down the hall, it was impossible not to notice the state of things in the house—open drawers with the contents spilling out, chair and sofa cushions pulled off onto the floor, artwork askew on the walls.

  "That chap broke in here and went looking for something." Fabrizio stated the obvious. "What could it be?"

  "I certainly don't know," Harry said. This was obviously hitting him hard. And why wouldn't it? Someone having died in his home? It would have hit me hard. "What do you think happened to that poor soul?"

  Fabrizio said. "From what I saw, he came to a bit of a sticky end."

  Every once in a while, the drama from Fabrizio's days on British stages caught up with him.

  I gave him a knock-it-off look then said, "I'm calling Jack." And I did, telling Jack what had happened and that I was sending Ralph over in the cart to pick him up at the front entrance—all the while I was speaking to him, I wondered whether he was with Sydney Baxter.

  Jealousy is an ugly toxic beast that was living and thriving in my heart just then. So when Jack hopped out of Ralph's golf cart and rushed to put his comforting arms around me, all I could do was stiffen up and avoid looking at him. Jack obviously felt my discomfort and didn't prolong the hug. "Are you up to showing it to me?" he asked, speaking to no one specifically.

  Neither Harry nor Fabrizio would meet his eyes, making it obvious they didn't want to go back into the house. Looked like it was up to me.

  "Follow me." I motioned Jack inside and went halfway up the hall, my hand covering my nose. I found I was unable to go all the way back to the bathroom and stopped dead in the middle of the hall. Jack went the rest of the way by himself, stopping just outside the doorway and leaning in, his back to me.

  His shoulders sagged, and his head drooped.

  Under his breath, he said, "I managed the Kramer Central Park for five years without a single dead body on my watch. What is it about this place?"

  I had to wonder the same thing as I escaped back out to the front porch where Harry and Fabrizio sat side by side on a wooden porch swing. Their hands were clasped together, stress evident in their knitted brows and concerned eyes.

  Chief Deputy Quincy Boudreaux, the movie star handsome and slightly mad in that wild-eyed Cajun way representative of Jefferson Parrish Sheriff's Department and my best friend's fiancé, arrived within ten minutes of Jack, chauffeured by Sergeant Pam Mackelroy, also of the sheriff's office.

  By that time both Harry and Fabrizio had worked themselves into such a state they could hardly function, but between the four of us, we managed to field Quincy and Sergeant Mackelroy's questions.

  Where had Harry and Fabrizio been the last week, as well as Jack and I, for that matter? Florida. All of us, but not together.

  And when had we all arrived back at Mystic Isle? Jack and I last night. Harry and Fabrizio just a couple of hours ago.

  Was anyone expected at la petite maison—serviceman, painter, cleaner? No one except maid service, the usual resort staff, all female.

  And considering that the house had been tossed, what were they looking for? There was no answer to that one, none that we knew anyway.

  The forensics team arrived maybe a half hour after Quincy, about the same time as Ralph made another delivery with the golf cart. This time it was Cat, who was done with her schedule for the day and had come to lend moral support. She stepped up onto the porch and took me in her arms. "Oh my goodness, girl. This is just getting to be too much. We need to ask the cosmos to give us here at Mystic Isle a break from all the dead bodies piling up lately."

  I didn't know what time it was exactly, but the sun was setting, so I figured sixish. The pillar and landscape lighting switched on automatically. The air was definitely cooler. I shivered and rubbed my arms, and Jack, who'd read my mood and been smart enough to keep his distance until then, came up behind me and began to shrug out of his sport coat.

  I held up a hand. "No thank you, Jack. You keep it. I'm fine."

  "Mel, don't." His voice pleaded as hurt rose in his amber eyes, tightening his lips.

  I hadn't meant to hurt him, but I obviously had. My heart squeezed. "Aw, Jack, let's get this all straightened out. Send Sydney home."

  He looked over to where Harry and Fabrizio stood looking worried and upset. "I'm trying," Jack said softly then, "I will."

  I didn't understand, but this wasn't the time or place to dig any deeper. I laid my hand on his arm before turning away.

  Quincy and Pam Mackelroy came back out of the house with one of the forensics techs. His eyes warming when he caught sight of Cat, Quincy announced, "This appears to be an accidental death." He walked over to Harry and showed him a man's wallet, flipping it open to a photo ID. I couldn't see it from where I stood, but I thought it might have been a driver's license. "The man was Elroy Villars," Quincy said.

  Harry's intake of breath was audible. "Villars? Sir, how's that possible?"

  Quincy shrugged. "You're asking me?"

  Harry just sat there blinking. "Chief Deputy, I never heard of someone in the Villars family named Elroy."

  "Looks to me like he might be related, Mr. Villars," Quincy said, closing the wallet then dropping it into an evidence bag that Sergeant Mackelroy had opened for him. "I called it in, and there's already a BOLO out on him. He's been missing since Thursday. The family is being notified. It seems they're guests right here at Mystic Isle."

  "Now we know why," Sergeant Mackelroy said.

  "Time of death looks like maybe Thursday night. At first glance, the ME figures our victim in there got turned around and confused in the dark and hit his fool head on the tub. So it seems like he might have been having himself a look around la petite maison, you know, maybe see what he can find to carry off while his relative is out of town. Doesn't look like that was such a good plan for him now, does it?"

  Sergeant Pam Mackelroy snorted unattractively. Twit! Cat and I both knew too well that Mackelroy carried an Olympic-sized torch for Quincy and not only laughed at practically everything he said, whether it was funny or not, but she also backed him a hundred percent, right or wrong. Consequently, Cat always kept a sharp eye on the good sergeant to make sure she kept things strictly professional w
ith the dashing chief deputy.

  At Mackelroy's snorting, Quincy's dark eyes skewed a quick glance in her direction before turning back to Harry. "I think we're gonna wait for the ME to make a final call on this, and I won't be running a homicide investigation right away. We're saying accidental death for now, but the house, she's still a crime scene until we know for sure."

  Harry stood. "No problem, Chief Deputy. Our bags are still packed. We'll just catch us a ride back to the resort and take a room there, just 'til things settle down a might, mind you."

  Fabrizio waved a hand in front of his nose. "And until someone comes to fumigate the place."

  "The Presidential Suite is vacant for the time being," Jack said. "I'll have your bags taken over."

  Because there were so many of us who needed to head back to the resort, Jack called for one of the shuttle buses to come and pick us all up.

  Cat sat with me in the lavishly decorated shuttle with Jack just across the aisle. We pulled away from la petite maison, leaving the sheriff's office detail working to remove the poor man's body and document the scene.

  Quincy looked up to watch us leave, his handsome features shaded by the hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Cat pressed her lips up against the window, leaving a red imprint. Quincy grinned and blew a kiss back then tapped his heart with one fist. Behind him Sergeant Mackelroy crossed her arms, looking grumpy.

  "It must be so sad for her," I whispered in Cat's ear. "I mean that man's stone-cold gone for you, and little Pammie doesn't even stand half a chance."

  "Mel." Jack's voice pulled my attention away, and I turned to look at him.

  Cap'n Jack—it was how I'd thought of my devilishly handsome boss from day one. When he first came to Mystic Isle after weathering a disaster of biblical proportions in the Big Apple, namely having mistakenly bedded the sexy young wife of the hotel chain's CEO, I'd had such a crush on him I fell apart whenever he came around me. Imagine my extreme happiness when I'd discovered this tall, well-built man with eyes like warm brandy felt the same way about me. The mutual admiration society had turned into real affection and then, I could hardly believe it, love. Jack had even wanted to take me to meet his parents.

  That was when the trouble began.

  Wasn't he supposed to be my dashing buccaneer swinging from the yardarm to snatch me from the jaws of danger—and a spiteful mother? My Cap'n Jack. It made me sad that something had come between us, something as immovable as a mother—and I wasn't using that term figuratively.

  The thought must have reflected on my face because he asked, "Are you okay?"

  I nodded, just wanting everything to go back to the way things were before we went to Florida, before his mother hurt my feelings, before his old girlfriend came around trying to wiggle her way back into his heart.

  "I'm fine." Your nose is gonna grow, girl. "I think I'm going to give you some space to deal with"—I tried to think of a way to express things without having to say her stupid name—"our problem. I'll be leaving the cottage. A few days anyway. You can keep me posted on how things are going."

  He looked at me a long time. "I wish you wouldn't do this, but I understand. At least I think I do. I'm so sorry this is happening."

  I just nodded my acknowledgement.

  Cat had been facing the window, pretending not to hear us. Without looking away from the glass, she picked up my hand and held it.

  It was suddenly really quiet on the shuttle, the only sound the growl of the motor.

  We rode that way for a minute before Jack cleared his throat and began. "Did you hear what Quincy said about the dead man being Elroy Villars?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Isn't that one of the names we heard on the plane, on that newscast?"

  Cat turned from the window. "Elroy and Percy Villars." She joined the conversation. "The names of the twins who claim to be descended from Jean Lafitte and Belle Villars. They're a part of the treasure hunters looking for the document. In fact, the Villars twins are the main reason all those other folks are here. But the Villars twins had a leg up on the others. They have a journal from their ancestor that actually details the location of where the document was hidden on the plantation."

  "Twins," Jack said slowly. "So the deceased has a brother."

  Cat nodded. "Staying at the resort. There's a sister. I heard that she's here too."

  "How do you know all this?" I asked, pretending to be so involved in the death that nothing else mattered. Not true.

  "Because when his twin brother up and disappeared, Percy booked a reading with me. Told me all about everything." She shook her head. "I couldn't help him, of course. And now it doesn't look like anyone can help. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and I feel sorry for his loss. It's times like this I'd like to be a real fortune teller, not just one of Harry's cast members. Maybe there was something I could have done to prevent this."

  I gave her a sympathetic look, understanding what she meant. But I had to acknowledge, at least to myself, there were times Cat was so intuitive I wondered if she wasn't the real deal after all.

  When we arrived back at the front of the main resort building and got off the shuttle, who stood waiting on the veranda but that dang interloper, Sydney Baxter.

  She ran up to Jack and took hold of his arms. "Oh, sweetheart, baby—"

  I bristled and fisted my hands. Sweetheart? Baby? He's my Cap'n Jack, bitch, back off.

  She went on, words oozing thick as molasses from her Strawberries 'n' Cream Pink glossed lips. "I missed you while you were gone." She cast me a shrewd—no, not shrewd—evil glance. "What delicious thing do you have planned for us tonight?"

  "Is that her?" Cat whispered.

  "Oh, yes," I whispered back, well, more a hiss really.

  "She looks like Shirley Temple, f'sure," Cat said softly. "You don't have anything to worry 'bout, ma chère souer. You are everything, and she…she's…"—a pause as she seemed to be thinking—"she's blonde."

  Jack removed Sydney's hands from him and stood back from her. "I'm not available to entertain you tonight, Syd. You're on your own. But there's plenty here at the resort to keep you occupied." It looked to me like he actually did try to walk away from her, or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. Whatever Jack intended, Sydney seemed unfazed and ran inside after him, latching right back onto him like some creepy old swamp leech or something.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I didn't have any appointments for the rest of the day, so I went up the grand winding staircase with Harry and Fabrizio to see if they needed any help settling in and if not, then just for moral support.

  The Presidential Suite, while like nothing so grand as might be found in a larger hotel, was still lovely. It consisted of a large parlor, dining area with a tiny bar and staging kitchen, and a separate bathroom. The balcony of the large and graceful bedroom looked out over the resort's front lawn area and beyond to the murky, mossy waters of the lazy and lovely Louisiana bayou where the Spanish moss cascaded from live oak trees like waterfalls and the knees of the cypress trees bulged at the waterline.

  I opened the French doors, walked out there, and watched as a couple of cranes maneuvered the lily pads on the surface of the pond. Fabrizio came up beside me.

  "The raw beauty of this place never fails to impress me," he said. "When I lived in England and thought of swampland, it was never quite as amazing as this."

  "Mmm."

  He was right. It was magnificent in a unique way.

  "Melanie," he began tentatively, and I figured he was about to ask something of me, so I turned from the incredible view to face him. "Harry's upset about the body in the bathroom."

  No great revelation there. "Perfectly understandable," I said. "I'm upset about it, and it isn't even my bathroom."

  "It would mean a lot to him if you would by chance consider postponing your leave of absence until things have quieted down a bit. I hate to ask."

  I didn't answer right away but turned around and looked inside the suite's bedroom room whe
re Harry was unpacking one of their suitcases. His slumped and defeated posture bespoke his disheartened feelings without words. As Harry moved between the suitcase on the bed and the bureau, he shook his head, sighing. When he turned back around, the unhappiness in his eyes, the worry and stress etched on his face tugged at my heart. This sad and worried man wasn't the joyful, free-spirited Harry I'd come to know. It was a rare occasion to see this man without a smile. He'd removed the jacket from his three-piece suit and had hung it on the clothes tree. His signature Panama hat topped the tree, making it look like a headless man.

  Harry Villars was a throwback to a different time. His manners were flawless. His style, impeccable. His character, unimpeachable. As an employee of the resort, I hadn't known him all that well until I came to see his goodness through the loving eyes of my friend, Fabrizio, Harry's significant other.

  Fabrizio and I had shared a bond from the day he came to The Mansion at Mystic Isle and had been hired to portray the resort's medium. Fabrizio reminded me so much of my Granddaddy Joe, the strong male presence in my life when I was growing up. I missed my Granddaddy Joe every day. He'd "moved on," as he'd put it, when I was eighteen, and a day never went by without my thinking about him. He'd promised to always be with me, and there were definitely times I knew he was. His voice would come to me at times when I needed advice or help, and I always listened. I'd have been a fool not to.

  But my Granddaddy Joe was also with me in Fabrizio—well, sort of. He was there in Fabrizio's laugh, his gentle smile, his love of art and music (and in Fabrizio's case, the dramatic arts). My granddaddy was there in the way Fabrizio was so, so present when listening to something that bothered me or something that pleased me. My Granddaddy Joe was the reason I'd bonded with Fabrizio to begin with, but the gentleness and generous spirit of the British actor were what kept us that way.

  Because Harry made Fabrizio happy, he loomed large in my heart as well.

  "Why does Harry want me to postpone taking some time away from the resort?" I asked.