Dead Roots Read online

  Marla’s eyes bulged. Polly had been married?

  Of course. It would explain her wedding dress and the ivory silk nightgown in her upstairs bedchamber. But, then, why had Anita never mentioned this important event in her sister’s past? She supposed her mother might have been too young at the time to remember Polly’s wedding, but Uncles Moishe and William must have met the guy. Had their marriage been so brief that her family considered it inconsequential? Or had Anita in fact mentioned it before, but Marla hadn’t paid attention?

  Evidently, Polly and Vincent had never reconciled, because Polly had reverted to her maiden name. According to her letters, though, she’d never given up her infatuation for the man.

  Marla’s cell phone rang, breaking her reverie. She reached inside her beach bag, hoping it was Vail so she could share this information with him.

  “Marla?” Joanne Cater’s squeaky voice said.

  “Is everything all right at the salon?” Marla’s pulse accelerated. Their shampoo assistant hardly ever called.

  “It’s fine. Nicole said I should call you directly. I know this is bad timing, and I’m sorry to bother you during your vacation, but I got this job and it starts on Monday.”

  “Wait a minute.” Leaning forward, she clutched the device to her ear. “You’re going to work for another salon?”

  “No, for an accounting firm. You know I’ve only been doing this temporarily until I could find a position.”

  Joanne had recently graduated from Nova Southeastern University, but Marla had hoped a permanent job might still permit her to work weekends.

  She swallowed. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

  “I may still be able to come on Saturdays,” Joanne said in an apologetic tone, “at least until you find someone else.”

  “That’s okay. You can let me know next week. We’ll miss you.”

  “Me too. Hey, keep me in mind if you want someone to take over your bookkeeping. I know it takes a big chunk out of your time now, but if you ever decide to add spa services like you’ve talked about, you may need extra help.”

  “Sure, you’d be the first one I’d call. How does your sister feel about it?” Jennifer was one of her stylists.

  “My sister loves working with you, but she knows the salon isn’t the place for me.”

  “Well, good luck with the new job. We don’t even have time to give you a going-away party.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Marla heard mumbling in the background. Then Joanne said, “Nicole wants to know if you’re having fun?”

  “Oh joy. Tell her Aunt Polly is dead, someone pushed me into a rock-lined pit, a ghost is guarding a haunted tower, and people are mysteriously disappearing. The resort is overrun with paranormal groupies looking for spooks, and I don’t mean my dog. My relatives are searching for a trove of hidden jewels, while I’m uncovering family secrets buried for decades. I’d rather be at work.”

  She hung up with a smile on her lips. Sunlight glanced off a nearby window, making her blink. Beyond a cluster of scarlet crotons rose the conservatory, its domed roof dominating the 1920s structure with multipaned windows and white paint in need of a fresh coat. A figure moved inside behind one of the ceiling-high panes. A nature lover, she surmised. The greenhouse was open to the public, although she had yet to explore the interior. Too many other things to do.

  Wondering where Vail had gone, she dialed his number.

  “I’m in the arboretum by the cycad garden,” he stated curtly. “Are you done with your cousin?”

  “Sorry I left you so abruptly.” She repeated the gist of her conversation with Lori. “Did you get anything else out of Jeff?”

  “He was eager to skedaddle. I don’t have a good feeling about him. He’s up to something, if you ask me.”

  “I agree. What are you doing back in the Nature Center? Did we leave there too soon this morning? I know how you like to look at trees—”

  “Marla, it’s not that. Meet me here on the trail. Take your first right by the hackberry tree. Be careful where the path edges a sinkhole. You’ll come to a yellow birdhouse on a post. Cross over on the grass, and you’ll see me by a fresh pile of compost.”

  “I’m in my swimsuit. Can you wait until I get changed? The insects will have a feast on me otherwise.”

  “The insects have something else to nibble on. I think I’ve found Seto Mulch.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marla’s stomach heaved when she saw limp fingers sticking from the pile of compost in the arboretum. She glanced at Vail, who stood sweating in the afternoon sun, his T-shirt stained with perspiration. Dirt splattered his swim trunks and blackened his hands.

  “How did you know?” she said in a raspy voice.

  “I remembered passing by here earlier. This heap looked fresh. Thought I’d take a look. Then there were the wheelbarrow marks and stains on the shovel at the work shed behind Mulch’s house.” He noticed the expression on her face. “You don’t have to stay. I might be here a while.”

  “Maybe this time the cops will take things seriously.”

  “I’ve already called it in. The local boys should be here any time now.”

  “Who’s going to tell the staff?”

  “Nothing is confirmed until they dig him out. I don’t think you’ll want to be here.”

  She clutched her midsection. “What an awful weekend.”

  He stepped closer, lifting her chin with a finger. “I’ll have to admit, things are never boring when you’re around.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She avoided his probing gaze. “What happens next?”

  His hand rested on her shoulder. “The staff will be questioned. And some guests. It’s apt to get tense around here, and we’ll need to stick close by. An early departure is out of our hands.”

  “I got a chance to glance at Polly’s letters. She was married to a man named Vincent. Her ramblings weren’t so far off base after all.”

  His smoky eyes sparked with interest. “Your spinster aunt, married? I don’t believe it. Wait, where did you say you found those letters?”

  “At the bottom of a dress bag in her closet on the twelfth floor.”

  His brows drew together. “You went there without me? Not a smart move, hon. Don’t go snooping by yourself again.”

  “I just went to take a quick look before we met for lunch. I’d been with Spector in Oleander Hall and noticed the fireplace in the parlor was similar to the one in Polly’s room. I got to thinking that it might open to the secret passages. I felt directed to go to her former suite, and I met Jeffrey on his way out.” She said that all in one breath, so now she paused to inhale some humus-scented air.

  “’Whoa, slow down.” Footsteps crunched in their direction. “Dammit, I want to hear more about this.” His mouth tightened in a grim line when he spied a uniformed officer marching their way.

  “Detective Vail?” the burly fellow asked.

  “You got that right.” They shook hands. ‘This is Marla Shore, my fiancée.”

  “I’m Sergeant Hamilton. Crime-scene unit is on the way. I understand you been seeing some action this weekend. Where’s the stiff?”

  Marla winced. Perhaps it was time for her to depart.

  When Vail pointed, the officer took out his notepad and pen. “Oh, I’m supposed to tell you that the preliminary autopsy report has come in on the old lady. We don’t have the toxicology findings yet, but the presumed cause of death at this point is asphyxiation.”

  “What?” Marla said, feeling her heart skip a beat. “Aunt Polly didn’t die from heart failure or an overdose of morphine?”

  The sergeant turned his sharp gaze on her. “No ma’am.”

  “I thought she had the telltale signs,” Vail said smugly. At Marla’s shocked look, he added, “Well, it would’ve been easy to put a pillow over her face if she was zonked out on the drug. At first glance, it would appear to be simple respiratory failure.”

  “I’ve been given that case as well as this one,” Hamilton sa
id. “And I understand there’s some question about a painter who fell off his ladder?”

  “Thank God they’ve assigned someone competent,” Vail mumbled. “If you don’t mind my input, I have a few observations I’d like to share.”

  Sergeant Hamilton glanced over his shoulder. “Here come my techs. You can stay and watch if you want, but the lady might prefer to wait for us elsewhere. This will be a messy affair, from the looks of it.”

  Marla realized she’d lost Vail to the forensics team. So much for their plan to explore the secret passages. She’d just have to proceed on her own. “Where can we meet?” she asked him. “Oh gosh, wait until I tell my cousins about this.”

  “Don’t say anything yet,” he ordered, his steely gaze capturing hers, then softening. “Why don’t you find your mother and ask her about this Vincent character?”

  “Good idea.” She purposefully didn’t say when she might get around to it. Finding someplace quiet where she could read more of Polly’s letters took priority.

  “Rochelle is supposed to keep an eye out for Butler. Give me a call when he’s returned,” Vail said.

  Oh, like the teenager had nothing better to do than watch for the manager? “Of course. What if I run into Champagne? She knows we were looking for Seto.” She remembered something else. “I saw Donna Albright earlier. She told me that Mulch had a message for her regarding the hotel property. He never showed up for their meeting at eleven o’clock.”

  “My guess is the old guy was killed sometime between when you saw him yesterday and this morning,” Vail replied, “but we’ll know more later.”

  Her muddled brain couldn’t think of anything else relevant to tell him right at that moment, so she left. She heard him conferring with the specialists as she stumbled back onto the guided path. A flash of white near a spreading banyan tree caught her eye, but when she turned her head, nothing was there. Her neck prickled with the sensation that she was being watched.

  Bolstering her nerves, she hastened toward the main hotel. Wait. Who had told her that Mulch liked to hang out at the sugar mill ruins? Was something there that attracted his interest?

  Remembering what had befallen her the last time she’d explored the crumbling stones on her own, she resolved to keep strictly to her route.

  Exiting from the arboretum, she faced the hotel. On her far right stretched the seashore. Straight ahead, water glistened in the pool, with the Grand Terrace beyond. The westward wings of the hotel jutted past the conservatory on her left. Making a quick decision, she swung by the condemned hall. If an outside entry offered a route into the secret passage, it would most likely be there.

  Strolling along a paved walkway parallel to Oleander Hall’s beach frontage, she watched for any signs of a passage, but the crumbling exterior made it difficult to detect irregularities. She’d have to search for the portal from inside. When she changed direction, her glance fell on the shoreline over a rise of dunes.

  Hmm, interesting idea. People could come by boat via the coastline, breach the hotel by means of the secret entrance, and make their way to the presumed speakeasy on the thirteenth floor. Was that how it had worked? Wondering if Polly’s letters alluded to the Prohibition era, Marla hastened through a side entrance toward Hibiscus Hall. She needed some time alone to sort through Polly’s missives.

  Preferring comfort to security, she headed for her room, where she washed and changed into a navy slacks set before hopping on the bed with Polly’s packet. Hoping she wouldn’t be disturbed, Marla opened the next envelope in the pile.

  My Dearest Husband,

  I don’t know if you will receive my letters because you never left a forwarding address. I am hoping my attorney will locate you. My dear friend, Sato Mulch, whom you may remember, as our chief of maintenance, has offered to deliver these in the event you are found. I’m sure we’ve had a simple misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up. Let me share with you my perception of events. If this doesn’t agree with yours, then we’ll meet to talk things out. Love such as ours shouldn’t be tossed away over a mere disagreement.

  Suppose we start with my father’s confession since that seemed to upset you so much. I don’t know why, when I was proud of what he did. I will say that I was as shocked as my sister and brothers when Papa told us the truth about his origins.

  Born in 1900, Papa was a descendant of ground Duke Mihail Nikolaevich, youngest son of Emparor Nikolai 1st of Russia. Papa said his real name was Andrey Mihaloona.

  Marla looked up. Andrew’s real name? Moishe had said it was Andrzej Markowski, and he was from Poland. Could this be possible?

  Heart rate soaring, her eyes devoured the ensuing words with growing amazement:

  As one of the Emperor’s great-grandchildren and a member of the Russian royal house of Romanov, Andrey ‘s life was threatened by the revolution in 1917. He escaped by stealing the identity papers of a Polish Jew, Andrzei Markowski, killed in an accident while driving a cart on the family estate.

  Omigosh. Andrew had never been born in Poland. He’d stolen another man’s identity. That meant everything she knew about her grandfather had been false. It also meant she and her mother’s family were related to Russian royalty. What about Andrew’s marriage to Ruth?

  Under his assumed name, Ardrey applied as a student to the University of Warraw where he studied architecture. In 1921 he emigrated to the United States where he changed his name to Andrew Marks. Two years later, he met and married Ruth.

  Okay, so they got married. That meant things were legitimate, right? Or did the fact that he entered the country under a false name invalidate their marriage certificate? Holy highlights, then she and all her cousins would be illegitimate offspring. Folding her legs Indian-style on the bed, Marla switched to the next sheet of brown-edged stationery.

  Before she could read the continuing saga, the phone rang. Cursing, Marla debated letting it go, but the possibility that it might be Vail made her snatch the receiver.

  “Miss Shore? This is Dr. Angus, the resort doctor. I have some information for you regarding your aunt. Would you be able to come to my office?”

  She winced. “Is this something you can tell me over the telephone?”

  “I’d rather not. It’s mighty delicate, you see. We’ll have to discuss who else you should tell.” His gruff voice seemed to have an edge to it as though he also had something else to say.

  “All right.” She sighed and lifted a hand to her hair. Yuck, it felt sticky. She needed a good shampoo-and-conditioner treatment. Glancing at her watch, she calculated how much time she had left before she needed to get ready for the evening’s poolside luau. Or would the event be canceled once the staff learned of Mulch’s death?

  “Where can I find you?” she asked the doctor.

  “I’m over at the fitness complex. Good place to be, ha ha, in case a guest works out too vigorously on the sports equipment.”

  “See you there in fifteen minutes.” Hitting the flash button, she dialed Vail’s cell phone. “Are you still in the nature center?” she said when he answered. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Angus. He has some news for me.”

  “I’ll be wrapping it up here shortly,” he said, his deep voice causing her nerve endings to thrum.

  “Anything you can share?”

  “Mulch’s head impacted with a blunt instrument. Likely his body has been here since yesterday. Hamilton will be rounding up the hotel staff for questioning. Has Butler returned? The sergeant called his house, but no one answered.”

  “I haven’t seen him, but I’ve been in our room. Dalton, you won’t believe what—”

  She heard mumbling in the background. “Later,” he cut in. “I’ve got to go.”

  “What about the events we have planned? Shouldn’t the hotel be closed down, considering all that’s been happening?” Now that Mulch had been murdered and Polly’s death shown to be due to other than natural causes, maybe they’d look into the laborers’ mishaps also. But Marla didn’t want to leave. No
t when she was just learning about her family history.

  “We’ll see. Let’s meet back in the room at six.”

  “But what about the passage? We were supposed to explore it today.”

  “I don’t know how that matters anymore. These two homicides take priority.”

  “It’s not your case, Dalton.”

  “Gotta go, hon.” Click.

  Marla slammed down the receiver. Some vacation. Next time, they’d better fly to a tropical island where nothing could interfere. Thinking of the travel brochures on her desk at home, she gave a cynical laugh. Forget Bora Bora and Hawaii. She’d be lucky to get to Key West.

  Outside, the thunk of balls hitting rackets accompanied by shouts and laughter met her ears as she strolled past the tennis courts toward the spa building beyond. Activities seemed to be proceeding normally, as evidenced by the happy chatter coming from the beach and from couples sauntering by holding hands. It was a perfect afternoon, blue sky with sun shining overhead, jasmine scenting the air, waves rolling ashore. A perfect afternoon marred by death.

  A blur materialized and collided into her shoulder, sending her stumbling forward. It was her sensitive shoulder, too. Now her arm ached all over again. Ready to lash into the idiot who hadn’t watched where they were going, she whirled to face one of Spector’s teammates, a young lady with a long braid down her back.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the woman in a contrite tone. Her eyes bright with excitement, she carried a digital camera in her hand and had a bulging backpack strapped to her torso.

  “What’s the hurry?” Marla demanded.

  “I just caught a vortex on film. I’ve got to show Dr. Spector.”

  Her curiosity perked. “What’s a vortex?”

  “A swirling vertical column. Look.” She showed Marla the replay of her last digital photo, taken at the old sugar mill. Marla recognized the chimney stack along with the crumbling stone edifices. Sure enough, a twisting spiral of white light rose directly from the gap in its base.