Dead Roots Page 13

  “My mother didn’t talk much about her early years,” Marla said, “except that her dad passed away when she was three.”

  “That must have been traumatic. Ruth had to raise their eight children on her own afterward.”

  “She had the energy to manage the hotel at the same time. It’s too bad I don’t remember our grandmother.”

  “As the eldest, Polly would have helped her a great deal.” Cynthia gave Marla a sly glance. “Did our dear aunt spill any of her secrets? I know she talked to you. Like, did Andrew’s treasure really exist?”

  “Oh, so we’re back to his hoard of jewels? I think we have a better chance of finding a pirate lode than any stash of Grandfather’s.” Marla hesitated. “I wonder what happened to cause the rift between Ruth and her siblings after his death. Polly wanted me to find some letters that she said would explain everything.”

  “Look, there’s an osprey,” Wanda’s excited voice cried.

  Marla spotted the gray-backed bird with its white chest and purplish-brown head. It had a rounded beak and long, narrow wings. She thought its imperious eyes gave it a majestic appearance. Higher in a live oak branch draped with Spanish moss, she noticed a bald eagle while Wanda passed around her binoculars.

  A sea breeze brought a flutter of dead leaves from overhead. Gumbo limbo and shady shower trees vied for space with strangler figs. They passed a thorny paurotis palm and ducked through an archway of vines. Many of the plants bore labels, for which Marla was grateful. It would help her learn to identify the foliage. She recognized the hand-shaped fronds and toothy stems of a saw palmetto and some ubiquitous cabbage palms.

  “Birds love the sweet fruit of this hackberry tree,” Wanda stopped to lecture. “Its seed is covered with a datelike pulp. And here’s a Florida elm. Our moist, tropical hammocks have not been affected by the Dutch elm disease that killed American elms to the north.”

  Marla didn’t look at the stately tree trunk. Her attention diverted to several holes in the ground that she hoped didn’t harbor snakes. A sweet, spicy scent tickled her nostrils while her canvas shoes scraped over sand. The silence was broken only by rustling branches, bird calls, and distant ocean waves.

  Off the trail on a grassy swath, a stream of workmen trudged silently south. They wore uniforms emblazoned with the Nature Center logo, but Marla thought they looked remarkably similar to the construction crews.

  “What are they doing here?” she asked Wanda, catching up to their tour leader.

  “The park staff is working to eliminate those Australian pines and Brazilian peppers,” Wanda said, pointing them out. ‘These trees aren’t natural to the area, and they’re a threat to the native plant species and wildlife habitat.”

  “Is this property administered separately from the resort?”

  Cynthia’s husband replied. ‘The park belongs to the same parcel as the hotel. It’s the real treasure, wouldn’t you say?” Bruce stooped to avoid an overhanging areca branch as they continued along the guided path.

  Did Bruce mean a treasure in the ecological sense, or something truly valuable like underground oil? Nah, Andrew had acquired his wealth before he moved to Florida, not afterward.

  “Have you been searching for Andrew’s gem-stones?” Marla asked her cousins while Vail chatted with her other relatives.

  “Who can resist a treasure hunt?” Cynthia said. “We’ve been looking in Planter’s House, because that’s where Andrew and Ruth lived when they first came to the plantation. Lori and Joan divided up the main floor of the hotel. Julia is too busy getting her nails done today to bother. Your brother and Charlene said they’d search the old ruins.”

  “Do you really expect to find anything?”

  “Personally, I think Andrew’s secret is tied to his death.” Cynthia scratched her arm. “Rumor says the condemned wing is haunted by those two men who visited him the day he died. I think we should concentrate on locations that are supposed to be spooked.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right. Dalton and I will take the top tower floors.” Andrew’s stash might not exist, but Marla still hoped to find Polly’s letters and maybe a copy of her aunt’s will. Drifting toward Bruce, she meant to ask him about his real estate interests when her cell phone rang. With a twinge of guilt, she remembered her intention to call Nicole to make sure everything was all right at the salon, and to phone Tally to wish her friend a Happy Thanksgiving. She should check on Spooks in the kennel, too.

  Barry Gold’s cheerful voice greeted her. “Hey, Marla. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

  Marla gulped and glanced over her shoulder at Vail. She didn’t want him to catch her talking to the optometrist, who happened to be the highly eligible son of Anita’s boyfriend. “I’m great, thanks. How are things with you and your dad?” Barry had gone north to help settle the estate of his great aunt.

  “We should be back by next Wednesday. Any chance we can attend services together on Friday night?”

  Marla’s heart lurched as Vail turned in her direction. “I don’t think Dalton would like it if we went out together, even for religious reasons.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m back,” he persisted. “We’ll talk about it then. I picked up two more films for my John Wayne collection. You still have to come over and watch one with me.”

  “Have a safe flight,” she said before hanging up.

  “Who was that?” Vail said when he reached her side.

  “One of my friends. Did you learn anything new? I noticed you were working the crowd.”

  “Not a whole lot, unfortunately. You?”

  “Cynthia and my cousins divided up their search field. They’re looking for Andrew’s loot. I said we’d take the top floors in the tower.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I want to get back there today.”

  “Me too. We should have some time after lunch.”

  Wanda brought the group to a halt after they climbed to an elevated walkway overlooking a grassy marsh. Something slithered past in the water.

  “We have an interesting vista from this savannah,” their guide’s voice boomed. This grass is called hairy gramma. It’s a short midwestern prairie species, rarely grown in Florida. Look carefully and you might spot some alligators.”

  So? It’s not as though I haven’t seen them before. Marla glanced at her younger cousins’ scared faces and smirked. Be grateful it isn’t summer. You’d be eaten alive by the mosquitoes.

  Swarms of bugs flew close to the water, making her scurry ahead to the mangrove swamp, where tannin colored the shallow depths. Wanda halted the group to point out an anhinga sunning on a branch. Skirting an egret in her path, Marla approached Cynthia’s husband.

  “Hey, Bruce, you said this park is part of the same parcel as the hotel. What do think about the plans to turn the whole thing into a theme park?” she asked him with a playful note.

  His face reddened, and he glanced away. “My opinion doesn’t matter. It isn’t my decision.”

  “What if our family still had a stake in the resort’s ownership? Would you recommend selling the property, knowing the hotel would be torn down?”

  “If the living-history museum gets the green light, the outlying structures could be restored to their original appearance. The sugar mill, slave cabins.” He couldn’t conceal the zeal in his eyes. “Think in terms of Sturbridge Village, or the historical recreation in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”

  “What about the barn and the stable? They’ve already been converted into a theater and restaurant.” Marla tilted her head. “And don’t forget the conservatory, with its delightful tearoom overlooking the garden. Would you destroy those also? I thought you favored preservation. The old hotel, if properly restored, would showcase Florida in its 1920s heyday.”

  “You must have been talking to George Butler. He’s adamant about reconstruction. He has his repair crews working overtime just to put the place in a better light. It won’t sway the city council. Donna and the others have already voted in
favor of the property sale.”

  She grabbed his arm. “How do you know this?”

  “I, er, ran into her.” Scowling, he pulled back.

  “Just what is your interest in this place, Bruce? Have you been attending those council meetings?”

  “What if I have? They’re not closed-door sessions. Anyone can attend.”

  “Are you aware there might be stipulations about the terms of sale dating from when Ruth signed over the property? Have you examined the legal documents?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far—” He cut himself off, casting her an angry glare.

  “So you are one of the potential investors.”

  “If I am, that’s my business.”

  She planted a hand on her hip, aware the others in the group were crossing into the dune community while she hung back along with Bruce. A harsh bird cry filled the air, followed by an ominous snorting noise. Glancing down, she shifted her feet away from the edge of the boardwalk that ran from the mangrove swamp to the shore. No need to tempt the gators.

  “It may be my family’s business, too.” She met his gaze squarely. “This is one case where I support the resort staff. I think the hotel would be magnificent if it were restored, ghosts and all.”

  “You haven’t seen the condition of Oleander Hall. It’s deplorable. There have been too many accidents that show just how rundown the place is.”

  “You’ve been inside the condemned wing?”

  “Yep. It’s full of rotted beams, peeling paint, mold. There’s even garbage strewn across threadbare carpets that are a tripping hazard in themselves. Empty food wrappers, soda cans, you name it. The rats probably outnumber the dust mites in that hellhole.”

  Soda cans? Who’d left those, the work crews? To her knowledge, they weren’t allowed inside Oleander Hall until restorations were approved. External repairs were merely cosmetic in nature. She’d have to speak to Dr. Spector to see if his crew had been snacking on the job.

  So much for asking Bruce about Ruth’s legacy to their family. Either he wasn’t aware of any obstacles that might deter a sale, or he wasn’t letting on that he knew of any.

  Dismissing her, her cousin’s husband trudged off. Marla hurried to catch up to the group. She paused on the walkway that bridged shifting sand dunes. Sea oats, railroad vines, and dune sunflowers inhabited this fragile ecosystem. Marla spotted a great blue heron along with a roseate spoonbill, excitedly pointed out by Wanda Beake. Terns trotted along the beach while pelicans graced the skies.

  If only her thoughts were as dear as the blue sky overhead. Musing over her conversation with Bruce, she considered the implications of his involvement. If he had an interest in the proposed theme park, how far would he go to achieve his aims?

  “When do the police expect the autopsy report to be ready?” she asked Vail as they stood on a bluff overlooking the beach. She spoke in a low voice so no one could hear them. Her neck itched, and she ran a finger around the inside of her collar. She’d rather be lying out in a swimsuit than wearing a pants outfit in the rising heat.

  “It could take a few days. What did Bruce say? I saw you talking to him.”

  “I know this sounds terrible, but I’m wondering if he had a reason to want Aunt Polly out of the way.” She repeated the gist of their conversation.

  “No fair. He told you more than he told me,” Vail said with a teasing gleam in his eyes.

  She gave him an affectionate punch. “That’s because I’m less intimidating than you, even when you’re not officially on the job. Do you think Cynthia knows about his interest in developing the re-sort?”

  “She made the arrangements for this weekend.” Vail regarded Marla with a thoughtful expression. “It’s possible Bruce mentioned the city council meeting, but Polly is the one who selected this place.”

  “I think Cynthia would have said something before now if she knew. She’s likely to oppose him.”

  “And if Polly turns out to have met an unsavory end?” Vail asked.

  Shrugging, Marla tilted her head. “We still don’t know what Butler meant about my aunt having rights to the top floors. If legal terms were really in her favor, and Bruce knows about it, he’d have a motive to get rid of her.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Have you seen my floss?” Vail said later that morning, when they were back in their room. He shuffled through his toiletries in the lavatory. “I thought I put it next to the toothpaste.”

  “You can use mine.” After a refreshing shower, she’d donned a rust-colored short-sleeved sweater and a pair of khakis. Standing in front of the dresser mirror, she brushed her hair.

  Just after she put the brush down, the hotel room door burst open. Startled, she glanced up but saw no one in the doorway.

  “Who’s there?” Vail called.

  “I don’t see anyone.” Striding over, she peaked out. The corridor was empty. Strains of theme music from The Twilight Zone sifted through her mind. “I could have sworn I’d locked it when we came in,” she said, shutting the door.

  “Must be your spooks again,” Vail said in a jovial tone.

  “That’s not funny.” Had she left the door ajar, or did a breeze kick it open? “Look, what’s our plan?” she asked, disregarding the ethereal possibilities.

  He emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his neck. “I’ll talk to Butler. You can corner the groundskeeper. We’ll ask them both about the thirteenth floor, and if they know anything about the legal terms of sale. Butler may have a set of blueprints for the hotel. We’ll meet back here afterward to explore Andrew’s suite.”

  “We should see where the rest of the passages lead. Did you get your flashlight from the car?”

  “Right there.” He pointed to the dresser.

  “I want to find Harvey Lyle,” Marla said. “According to Wanda, the steward picked her up at the airport last night. I’d like to confirm her time of arrival. And I still haven’t finished asking Ma questions.”

  “Wouldn’t Anita tell you if she knew something important?”

  “She may need her memory refreshed. If I bring her to the twelfth floor, where she grew up, it might ring some bells. I have a feeling my family history is involved in whatever’s going on around here. For all we know, we might be sitting on a mountain of wealth, either through Andrew’s legacy or Ruth’s disposition of the property. Will you be able to check the town records today if city offices are open?”

  “For you, I’d do anything.” He gave her a slow, sexy grin. “It’s a long time until lunch. Wanna kill a few hours?”

  “Don’t get ideas,” she retorted, even while her body responded against her will. “If we get sidetracked, it’ll be dinnertime before we accomplish anything.”

  “Is that so bad?” He sauntered closer, his eyes gleaming.

  She held up a hand. “Whoa, boy. Save it for later.”

  After he left, Marla phoned her mother’s room. When no one responded, she decided to track down Anita later.

  Heading outside, she aimed toward the grounds-keeper’s cottage. A troop of laborers clomped by, carrying paint buckets, brushes, and other equipment. They all had a similar look, with their olive green overalls and swarthy complexions. She halted to watch them, wondering where they came from. No labor shortage here, even on holidays. When one man carrying a clipboard scowled at her, Marla hastened on her way.

  A seagull lent its plaintive cry to the wind as she avoided a gnarled root in her path, then nearly tripped on a trailing vine, causing a lizard to scamper under a nearby rock. A black crow flitted into her path as though daring her to trespass. Watching it take off with a flutter of wings, she skirted past a grayish-white trunk with lichen growing in green splotches on its surface. Sun-warmed frangi-pani spiced the air, filling her nose with fragrance. She passed a cluster of cycads whose fine-combed fronds stretched outward like multiple arms raised in supplication.

  Marla’s nape prickled as she approached the front door to Seto’s house and saw that the dra
pes were pulled tight. When she’d visited Mulch before, sunlight had streamed in through the windows.

  Knocking on the door brought forth no response, so she circled around to the back, which faced the woods. Seto’s house couldn’t be too far from the grand entrance to the resort. The drone of traffic reached her ears along with a gurgling sound. Following its source, she discovered a garden hose attached to a faucet on the side of the house. Water trickled from the hose’s mouth. So the precious liquid wouldn’t go to waste, Marla twisted the spigot. It turned easily, making her wonder why someone had not thoroughly shut off the valve.

  She followed the stream of water to the rear kitchen door. Putting her hand on the knob, Marla shouted a greeting. As the silence grew longer, she gazed down at the water flowing over a concrete slab and under the transom. Mulch must have had the painters here. The water had a faint pink tinge.

  Would the old man paint his house pink?

  Pushing the unlocked door open, she peered warily into the darkened kitchen while a strong odor of bleach slammed into her nostrils. Shadows danced on the walls. She fought an urge to retreat, but, calling Mulch’s name, she forced herself to search the house. The groundskeeper wasn’t there, and she noted a strange discoloration on his linoleum floor.

  Tearing out the back door, she raced toward the main hotel lobby and its bright, spacious interior. She located Champagne Glass in the social director’s office. The blonde gave her a confectionery smile so sweet it could displace chocolate on the dessert menu. “Hey, Marla, how come you’re not out enjoying this lovely day?”

  Marla spared a glance at the woman’s desk piled with papers. “I’m worried about Seto Mulch. He’s not in his house. His outdoor hose was leaking water into his kitchen, and it had a reddish tint.”

  “Really? That’s odd.” Various emotions flickered across Champagne’s expression before her brow smoothed. “Why, sugar, that could just be rust from the hard water.”