Dead Roots Page 8

  The elevator door slid open. “My aunt didn’t show for our family dinner. Have you seen her today?”

  Harvey grew a puzzled look. “Miz Polly called and asked for a tray earlier. Said she wasn’t feelin’ well. Her voice sounded kinda raspy, so I figured she musta come down with something. Be a shame, with her settin’ up this reunion and all.”

  “What time did you deliver the tray?”

  “Just before noon. I set it outside and knocked like she told me to do.”

  “Did you pick it up yet? Is she still in her room? No one answered when I rang there.”

  “Been too busy. The boss has me hopping.”

  “Can you stop by her room after you drop that off?” She nodded at his tray. Since he was already in the Jasmine wing, it would make her feel better to have backup, especially if Polly was too ill to answer the telephone.

  “Sure enough. Sorry I didn’t get to it sooner. Ya won’t tell Mr. Butler I been slackin’ off, will ya?”

  “Of course not. You’re doing the job of several people today. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Her nose wrinkled at the musty scent that met her as she entered the carpeted hallway of the fourth floor. An eerie silence prickled the hairs on her arms as she strode forward. Most guests had dispersed to the different restaurants or activities; few would be still in their rooms on this beautiful afternoon.”

  Her senses unusually alert, Marla approached Polly’s door with caution. It was slightly ajar, making her wonder if a maid had left it open. But there weren’t any cleaning carts outside, and likely the housekeepers had the day free. What about the nurse’s aide from the night before? Had she returned this morning to help Polly get ready for the banquet?

  Marla poked at the door with her finger to pry it open wider. Wincing at the creaking hinges, she called Polly’s name. No answer. Venturing across the threshold, she sucked in a breath when she saw the limp feet at the foot of the bed. She advanced, heart pounding, while her gaze trailed from the feet up a pair of bony legs to a flimsy lime nightgown. When she saw her aunt’s face, eyes fixed at the ceiling, she knew.

  Her knees threatening to buckle, Marla steadied herself with a hand on the wall. Polly’s state of repose appeared peaceful. Almost too peaceful, she thought, noticing how neatly Polly’s thin gray hair was parted to the side. How long had she been like this, since the health care aide left? Otherwise, you’d think her hair would be mussed from sleep. It doesn ‘t matter. Get help, and don’t touch anything.

  Unable to resist, Marla scanned the area for clues. Harvey’s meal tray sat on the desk, uneaten food congealed like the blood in Polly’s veins. Someone must have brought it inside after Harvey left it by the door.

  Hearing a faint rustling sound, she whirled just in time to see a shadow dart from her vision.

  Sweat broke on her brow. The open door to the bathroom beckoned. Clicking on the light, she peered inside. A faint lilac scent lingered in the air. Pill bottles, cosmetics, and other personal items littered the counter.

  Backing away, she collided with a man’s torso. Two scrawny arms folded around her.

  “Shucks, Miz Shore, if ya want to play around, can’t ya wait till I’m off duty?” the steward said. His breath smelled like rum. He must have taken a quick swig on the way upstairs, making her wonder where he hid his booze.

  “Get off me, Harvey. My aunt is on the bed, not moving. I don’t think she’s breathing, either. We need to call someone.”

  Turning, she saw his face lose its color. “Oh my gawd. I’ll get the boss.” He took a few steps then faltered, gaping at Polly’s frail form. “Oh my gawd,” he repeated.

  “Is there a hotel phone near the elevator? It’s best if we don’t disturb things in her room, just in case.”

  “Too late for that.” Harvey pointed a shaking finger. “Looks like someone’s been poking through those drawers.”

  “You’re right.” Marla had taken the room in at a glance before, but now she saw Polly’s corsetlike undergarments spilled onto the floor. “A nurse’s aide showed up last evening to help my aunt get ready for bed. I don’t suppose you met her?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d better get help. Do ya mind stayin’ here by yerself?”

  Marla pulled her cell phone from her purse. “I’ll wait in front of her door.” She followed him into the hallway. After he disappeared around the corner, Marla phoned Vail.

  “I need you here. Something terrible has happened. Don’t say a word to anyone, okay?”

  “What’s wrong?” he said in a hushed tone.

  “It’s Aunt Polly. She…she’s gone. I think she might have died in her sleep.” Her eyes filled with moisture. “Please come right away. You can give my family some excuse.”

  Her relatives would find out soon enough. She could imagine her mother’s blood pressure rocketing. Why this of all weekends? My time has come, so it’s your responsibility now. Polly’s words from their earlier conversation tripped into her mind. Had her aunt felt a premonition?

  “I’m on my way.” Vail clicked off, leaving her standing in the corridor accompanied by an uneasy silence.

  Wondering if the shadow she’d sensed inside Polly’s room had meant anything or been a figment of her imagination, she muttered a quick prayer for her aunt’s soul. Perhaps she’d sensed Polly’s spirit as it departed to its rest. Or maybe someone had actually been in the room. Glancing up and down the hallway, she wrapped her arms around herself while waiting for company.

  Vail arrived on the heels of the manager.

  “I called the paramedics, and our resort doctor, too, after Lyle notified me,” Butler explained. He looked like an undertaker in his black pinstripe suit and slicked-back dark hair. He took a quick glance at the deceased before waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Poor thing, her heart must have given out.”

  Vail’s long stride brought him to the bedside. He bent forward, peering at Polly’s face with a frown on his own. “I think you’d better summon the police while you’re at it.”

  Marla gave him a shrewd look. “The door was unlocked when I got here, and it appears someone’s been rifling through my aunt’s drawers.”

  Straightening, Vail compressed his lips. “I see.”

  “Is there a problem?” boomed a loud voice from the hallway. A portly fellow toddled inside to join them.

  “This is Dr. Angus,” Butler said to Marla. “I’m sorry to say he’s been called upon to do his duty all too often. We get lots of retirees, you understand. Some of the old folks rent rooms for the entire winter. It isn’t unusual to find them…well, you can guess. I hope I didn’t drag you from your holiday dinner.”

  “No bother.” Dr. Angus huffed a few wheezy breaths. “Where’s the patient?”

  “In here.” Butler reached the nightstand and picked up the telephone before Vail could stop him. “I’ll call the cops, although it’ll be a waste of their time.”

  “Look at her eyes,” Vail said to the doctor.

  “Petechial hemorrhages can mean many things,” Dr. Angus commented after a brief examination of the body. “They often occur in natural diseases.” He indicated the prescription bottle on the bedside table. “It’s nearly empty. The lady must have been ill.”

  Startled, Marla stepped farther inside the chamber. “How is that possible? When I was here last night, the bottle was full. I didn’t even know Polly took medicine before then.”

  “You saw her last evening?” Dr. Angus replied. His jowls quivered as he bobbed his head. “Did she appear sickly?”

  “Aunt Polly hasn’t looked well lately,” Marla admitted, “and she’d lost weight. I’ve been helping with her affairs at home, but she hadn’t said one word about having a serious illness.”

  “Your aunt had something wrong if she had to take a morphine sulfate solution. This prescription label has a phone number. I can call the pharmacist to get more information, and perhaps the name of her personal physician. If she overdosed by mistake, that would have caused respiratory
depression. The elderly are especially vulnerable to changes in dosage.”

  Marla bit her lower lip. “You could ask the nurse’s aide who was here last night. She was a gift from someone in the family and came to help Aunt Polly get ready for bed. I’d like to know what time the woman left, and what state Polly was in.”

  It occurred to her that the aide might have been the one who tossed through the drawer contents, looking for money. Or could someone else have been here, searching for clues to Andrew’s supposed treasure? What about those letters Polly had exhorted her to find?

  “Will the police dust for fingerprints?” she asked Vail in a low tone. “When I first came in here, I thought I saw someone. It might have been my imagination. You know, like a moving shadow from the corner of my eye. Or else I’m just spooked by all these ghost stories.”

  Grasping her elbow, he steered her from the room. “I’ll speak to the officers. You should join your family. I can stay to make sure things get done properly.”

  She warmed to the concern in his eyes. “I’m not hungry, and I don’t want to ruin the dinner for everyone else. Not yet.” Hugging a hand to her stomach, she blinked moisture from her eyes. “Poor Polly. She has no children. I suppose my mother will want to make arrangements.”

  “She’ll have to wait until the coroner releases the body. There isn’t much else anyone can do right now. You’ll have time enough after we get home.”

  Marla drew in a tremulous breath. “I need a drink. This is too weird. That psychic’s prediction came true.”

  Vail gave her a brief hug and released her. ‘Just think: now Andrew’s ghost has company.”

  “Gee, thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Go downstairs. Find out which one of your relatives ordered the nurse’s aide. And have something to eat before you keel over. I asked the server to keep your plate warm.”

  “What would I do without you?” She stroked his cheek, already bristly after his recent shave.

  His eyes glinted like polished metal. “I need you more,” he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead.

  Marla turned away, wanting only to escape with her lover and forget what had happened. Unfortunately, duty propelled her to the ballroom, where her family was enjoying coffee and pumpkin pie.

  Anita jumped from her seat upon spotting Marla. “Where is Polly? Why isn’t Dalton here with you?”

  Marla halted, shifting her feet while she mustered her courage. She studied a spot on the wall when she spoke. “I have some bad news. Aunt Polly…She passed away in her sleep.”

  Anita clutched a hand to her heart. “What?”

  Moishe and William rose in unison. “You’re saying our sister is gone?” Uncle William said, his voice hoarse.

  Marla nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat.

  “I don’t believe it,” Anita cried. “We just spoke to her. She might have had memory lapses, but Polly didn’t say anything about ill health other than normal complaints.”

  “Maybe she felt this coming on, and that’s why she planned the reunion.”

  “You could be right,” Cynthia inserted. “She seemed adamant about coming to Sugar Crest.”

  “She wanted to die here,” Marla suggested, “to guard the family treasure with the other spirits. Which one of you hired the nurse’s aide to tend her last night?”

  Polly’s siblings exchanged puzzled glances. “Be clear, bubula,” Anita said. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was with Polly last night when a health care worker arrived. She said someone had sent her as a gift for the evening.” When no one admitted their generosity, Marla gave them all a scrutinizing glare. “If none of you paid for this woman, who did?”

  “Call the service that sent her, and they’ll tell you,” offered Rochelle in a small voice. She sat at the far end flanked by her young cousins.

  “Do you suspect this aide had something to do with Polly’s death?” Anita snapped.

  Shrugging, Marla pulled out her chair. “Who knows?” She sank down, grabbing her wineglass and draining the contents.

  A waitress in a black dress and white apron approached. “Ma’am, would you like your dinner now? I’ve been holding it for you.”

  “Yes, thank you.” It would be a while before their next meal, especially if their activities were cancelled.

  Her relatives plied her with questions to which she responded in monosyllables in between bites of turkey dinner. She wasn’t terribly hungry but forced herself to eat. Another glass of wine left her light-headed but calmer.

  Dr. Angus was probably right in assuming that Polly had died of natural causes. If her aunt had to take morphine, she must have been hiding a serious problem. Perhaps she’d merely hastened her own death by taking too much narcotic analgesic. But, then, who’d hired the aide, why were Polly’s undergarments strewn on the floor, and what had aroused Vail’s suspicions?

  Marla remembered her own evening purse had been displaced. She had unpacked it and put it in the nightstand. Somehow the beaded bag had moved on its own back to her suitcase. Person or poltergeist? Were there truly ghosts here, or human beings who aimed to perpetuate the legends?

  Watching her relatives chatting animatedly about the latest family fiasco, she wondered if one of them was lying about hiring the aide. It should be easy enough to discover if the woman had come from a service. Maybe she’d left a receipt in Polly’s room. I’ll have to get in there later, after things quiet down. Among other items, Marla needed to obtain Polly’s checkbook. Since her name was on the account, she’d have to pay any final bills. More importantly, she wanted to locate the letters her aunt had mentioned. Perhaps they gave a clue to Polly’s illness, but that made sense only if they were recent. No doubt about it, she needed access to Polly’s personal belongings.

  “If the police don’t pursue an investigation, I suppose someone will have to pack Polly’s things,” she addressed the assembly. “I’d like to help.”

  Anita’s expression showed relief. “You’re her closest niece. That makes sense. If you can handle those details, I’ll plan the memorial service. Moishe, what about you?”

  The older gent cleared his throat. “We’re flying home to Denver on Sunday. We’ve already paid our regards to Polly by being here for this reunion.”

  “I see,” Anita said coldly. “William?”

  “I can’t stay for the funeral. We have a flight to catch, too, and I have appointments next week. We’ll attend in spirit. You’ll have enough nieces and nephews to make a minyan if you allow women to participate in the prayer circle.”

  “I’m Reform these days,” Anita told them. She glanced at Marla, her scornful look telling her daughter what she thought about her siblings.

  “Hey, Marla,” called Joan. “Does this mean we’re calling off the treasure hunt?”

  A barrage of inquiries followed, and Marla felt compelled to explain the situation to those who hadn’t heard about it earlier. “Polly told me about a stash of gemstones that Andrew kept as his source of wealth. She seemed to believe some are still hidden on the resort grounds. I’m guessing Aunt Polly returned here every year in order to search for them.”

  “Oh, cool,” squealed one of the younger cousins. “Do you think that’s what those two strangers were after, the ones who met with Andrew the night he died?”

  “Could be.” She shoved her half-eaten plate of food aside. “You can look for the precious stones. I have better things to do.” Feeling a crushing need for privacy, she murmured farewells before exiting outdoors into the waning afternoon sun.

  Once alone, she inhaled a deep breath of warm ocean air. Being surrounded by relatives all weekend was beginning to take its toll, along with the tragedy of Polly’s death. She needed time by herself to filter through all that had happened.

  As she padded along the gravel path, she realized her steps were taking her in the direction of the old sugar mill. Had it been her imagination, or had she heard a bell tolling in the middle of
the night? She’d bolted upright in bed, but her foggy brain had processed the sound as a dream. Curious to revisit the site, she considered that haunted ruins would be a good place to hide an item of value. If she dug around, maybe she’d unearth Andrew’s wealth—or Polly’s letters, which could prove to be more valuable. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to look.

  As she approached the crumbled stone structures, her ears picked up an eerie whistling, as though the trees issued a warning. Dead leaves crunched underfoot while she skirted jagged chunks of coral embedded in the dirt. A rodent scampered up a nearby cabbage palm, and another small creature of some type slithered around a clump of crotons.

  Drifting on the breeze came a faint clanging. Marla twisted her neck to see if someone was ringing the bell outside the boiling bench, but the bell was not the source of the sound. Rather, it ebbed and flowed from the interior of the single standing structure, which housed vast pits.

  “Is anyone there?” Marla called, listening intently. Open windows gaped like mouths waiting to devour anyone who ventured inside. The stone building, dark and cool, beckoned to her.

  As she crossed the threshold, she thought she heard a girl’s voice humming a plaintive song. Her breath quickened. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here alone. But even as her pulse beat a rapid rhythm, she scoffed at the notion that the place harbored ghosts. She’d prove no one was here: neither a real person nor an ethereal body.

  Marla took a few steps toward one of the depressions in the floor. Lined with rock made from crushed marine shells, it was first in a row that stretched to a far archway. Smells of stale sweat mingled with sickly sweet molasses, and she pictured slaves laboring in the heat from the fires while sugarcane juice boiled and frothed in huge copper kettles. Their voices seemed to surround her, accompanied by the crack of a whip, then a scream…

  She screamed herself as a force shoved her from behind. For a moment, she was airborne, flailing her arms and legs. Then she was falling, falling, her shoulder hitting against a hard surface with a painful jolt before her head banged into a solid protrusion.