Murder in the Lighthouse (Beachcomber Mystery #4)

9

A rm in arm, Lucien and Brogan made their way to the front desk, hoping for some information about Florence Brown. The concierge, a young strawberry blonde with a warm smile, listened attentively to their story before excusing herself to get the manager.

After what felt like an eternity, another woman in her early forties returned with a concerned expression. “I’m sorry, but Laguna Marq doesn’t give out information about our guests. We have a strict policy about privacy here. Our clientele trusts us to guard it no matter the circumstances.”

“Fine. Let me tell you something about your guest, Florence Brown.” Lucien held up a photo for the manager to see. “She’s fifty-four, from New Zealand, specifically a town called Queenstown. Her daughter’s name is Indigo Brown, and she recently disputed charges on her mother’s credit card—that was Sunday—because she thought it was a mistake. She had no idea her mother had left New Zealand and flown to California. To continue her stay here, Ms. Brown would have needed to provide the hotel with another form of payment. She must have given you another bank card if she’s still on site.”

“The thing is,” Brogan interjected, “Florence is a recent widow who just lost her husband three months ago and may possibly be suffering from a mental breakdown. Her daughter wants us to locate her until she gets here. It’s a long flight until she comes to collect her mother. That’s twenty more hours plus travel time from the airport that the hotel staff has to deal with Florence’s erratic behavior.”

Lucien shifted his feet. “Without the resort’s cooperation, we’ll need to report Ms. Brown to the police as an endangered adult per her daughter’s concerns. The Santa Barbara PD will show up in uniform, walk into the lobby, knock on your door, and you’ll need to provide the information anyway to the patrol officer about what’s going on with your guest. I can give you the daughter’s contact information right now, and you can call her to verify everything I’ve told you.”

The manager, studying the photo, handed it back to Lucien. “Give me the daughter’s number.”

Lucien grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and scribbled Indigo’s contact information on the pad. “There.”

“I’ll be right back,” the woman promised.

Fifteen minutes later, the manager returned to the counter. “Florence Brown registered at our hotel five days ago. On Sunday, she provided an alternate bank card for payment. As I just explained to her daughter, Ms. Brown has been behaving, shall we say, oddly since her arrival.”

“How so?” Brogan asked.

“For one thing, she told us a story about being Mrs. Graeme Sutter, which we knew was not true.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because Mr. Sutter frequently comes into our restaurant from his home in Montecito. We’re familiar with his usual circle of friends. And we had never seen Ms. Brown before her arrival five days ago. She has been fabricating stories like that for the staff. Like I said before, she’s behaving oddly. But she is a paying guest. We have many guests who are, shall we say, eccentric during their stays.”

“Where is Florence now?”

“She’s in the main building, sitting in the bar. Currently, she’s insisting to the bartender that she’s Graeme Sutter’s ex-wife and that he should be paying for her tab.”

Lucien smiled. “I can assure you she was never married to Graeme or any other member of Indigo, for that matter.”

The manager’s face broke into a grin for the first time since the conversation began. “I’m certain of that, Mr. Sutter. If you can figure out a way to persuade Ms. Brown to leave permanently and not return to Laguna Marq, the resort will comp your bungalow for the night, or however long it takes to escort Ms. Brown off the premises. We’d rather she not make a scene anywhere on the property. We value our guests’ privacy.”

“Is there an available bungalow next to hers?”

“There is. We have avoided putting anyone nearby because of her unpredictable behavior. She’s in 201. I can book you into 203.”

Lucien took out his wallet and slid a credit card across the counter. “For incidentals. I won’t make any promises until the daughter arrives, but Brogan and I will do what we can to ensure Florence stays out of trouble.”

“If we’re lucky, maybe we can convince her to at least stop with the tall tales,” Brogan said.

“We don’t mind hearing tall tales or reacting to the typical strange behavior of some of our guests,” the manager said. “It’s claiming association with one of our gold members that’s troubling. You’re all checked in,” she said as she shoved a business card toward Lucien. “If things should escalate, I’d appreciate you keeping the police out of the lobby. Call me first. The name’s on the business card. Caroline Madigan.”

“Thanks for your help,” Brogan replied. “Which way to the bar?”

“Down the hallway to the left,” Caroline replied. “Order anything from the bar or the restaurant, and we’ll comp that, too. Your father has spent a lot of time here.”

“Sounds like it,” Lucien muttered as he ushered Brogan toward the watering hole dubbed Tequila Reef.

Feeling the urgency in dealing with Florence’s mental state, they glanced around the room before spotting a lone female matching the photo Indigo had sent. Florence sat at the end of the bar, the fingers on both hands laced around a highball glass. She was humming an Indigo tune from twenty years ago.

“We approach with caution,” Lucien whispered.

“Yeah, because we wouldn’t want to create a scene and upset Caroline,” Brogan replied, following him to the end of the bar.

Lucien cleared his throat before speaking. “Florence Brown?”

The woman turned on the barstool, her eyes wide in surprise. “Yes, that’s me. Do I know you?” An Aussie-tapped rhythm to her voice was unmistakable. She narrowed her eyes. “You look familiar.”

“I should. You have a picture of me on your social media, both of us,” Lucien corrected before taking a deep breath. He introduced himself and explained why they were there. “This is my wife, Brogan.

Florence’s face perked up, squaring her shoulders. “You are Rory’s daughter. You look just like him.”

“Thanks. And yours is worried sick about you. Indigo has been looking all over Queenstown. Why would you fly halfway around the world to be here?”

Florence swallowed hard, her expression alternating between fear and confusion. “My daughter overreacts to everything. I’m sure she thinks I’m as mad as a cut snake. But I’m not. I read somewhere that Graeme comes in here a lot. I was hoping to meet him. In person.”

“If that’s true, why threaten him with that poem you sent with the flowers?” Lucien asked. “I don’t think he’ll leave the house until we tell him you’ve seen a doctor and received a thorough checkup from head to toe.”

“Was he that upset? Goodness. Rock stars come with such flaming drama, don’t they? Would you like a drink?” She held up her glass, clinking together the ice, signaling to the bartender that she needed another. “I can verify they make a roaring good mojito. Definitely a five-star cocktail. The whole place is like that.”

“Maybe later. Right now, I’m concerned about Dad’s safety. I can say with certainty that he’s genuinely afraid of you,” Lucien explained.

Florence looked surprised. “I...I didn’t mean to hurt him. I wasn’t going to do anything drastic like ram a knife through his innards. I just wanted to get his attention.”

Annoyed now at the woman who seemed perfectly sane, Lucien moved closer to Florence. “How was he supposed to know that? How was he supposed to differentiate a threat from a crazed fan who wanted to carve him up?”

“I was quite drunk when I wrote that,” Florence confessed.

“You were in a florist shop right after they opened at eight-thirty when you wrote the card,” Brogan pointed out.

“That’s true, but it’s the time difference, jet lag or something. And I wasn’t driving. This place provides transportation wherever you want to go. You name a spot, and they take you there. No questions asked. They treat me like the bloody Queen here. Nobody’s done that since my Jessie died.”

A wistful look crossed Florence’s face. “I’ve made such a mess of things since losing my Jessie. I just wanted to relive our younger days, our courtship when we first fell in love. To feel like that again. Jessie and I went to a bloody lot of concerts when we were in our twenties. But Indigo was always our favorite band. We made love to that music so many times I lost count.”

Florence’s reflective mood vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a solemn reality. “How much trouble am I in? Are you here to arrest me or something?”

“We’re here to make sure you lose Graeme’s email address for good and put a stop to the threats,” Lucien declared. “Don’t communicate at all unless there’s something you want to get off your chest to a qualified psychiatrist.”

“We’re here to make sure you stay out of trouble until your daughter arrives,” Brogan admitted.

Florence bit her lip. Her eyes widened. She seemed to sober up. “What if there was something I wanted Graeme to know?”

“Oh, God,” Lucien murmured. “Please don’t tell me that Indigo is really Graeme’s biological daughter because you slept with him after a concert.”

A throaty laugh escaped Florence’s lips. “Heaven’s no. I never got close enough to go backstage. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

Tired of standing, Brogan slid onto the barstool next to Florence. “Then what do you want Graeme to know?”

“That his music meant so much to Jessie during his illness. He would sit for hours during his chemo treatments and listen to Indigo’s songs. Those soulful tunes kept him going right up until the end. I actually believe the band’s music helped prolong his life. That’s what I wanted Graeme Sutter to know. But I didn’t realize he was such an asshole that he wouldn’t reply to a single email I sent him. Did you know that? Your father is an asshole. So what if I got mad at him because of it? So what if I wanted to confront him about it? I’m over it now. I won’t send him anything else. I swear.” Florence swiveled toward Brogan. “I bet if Rory were still alive, he would’ve sent a reply. He was much nicer to his fans than Graeme.”

“How do you know that?” Brogan asked with a grin. “He could be a diva at times.”

“Like I said, Jessie and I followed the band’s success. Let’s face facts. The band isn’t the same since they lost Rory.”

Brogan eyed Lucien. “My father could be reclusive and distant when he was working in his studio and not want to be bothered. But overall, I know he appreciated the fans. He understood their importance. After three decades, he valued their role in giving him the success and longevity the band experienced.”

Lucien nodded and pulled up another barstool to anchor Florence on both sides. “Sometimes my dad can be cold. He’s not the type to show emotion. And when he does, it’s often little more than a forced grunt. But, over time, I’ve learned to deal with his aloofness. I understand you tried to compliment him, but a threat doesn’t help the situation.”

“That sounds to me like you’re saying a compliment is wasted on your dad, whatever it is,” Florence reasoned. “That’s okay. I’m done with Graeme Sutter.”

“How about if we buy you dinner?” Brogan offered. “While we’re waiting for the food, you should call your daughter and explain how you’re not crazy. And you’re on the next plane back to New Zealand tomorrow, so she doesn’t need to make the trip. Think of it this way. It will save your daughter thousands of dollars on the airplane fare”

Florence grinned. “Deal. I’m glad I came all this way to California, though. So what if I blew a wad of money on the trip? How else could I find the perfect place that pampers me like a celebrity? If not now, when else will I indulge myself?”

Lucien leaned toward Florence. “If you promise never to send another email to my father, I’ll make certain he covers the cost of your entire trip, including your stay at the resort. And if he’s ever on stage again, I’ll make him promise to give a shoutout to his two greatest fans in New Zealand—Florence and Jessie Brown—that Indigo has ever had. How does that sound?”

“Oh, that’s even better. I like that. Let’s have another cocktail on Graeme to seal the deal. He’s probably waiting for me to leave before setting foot in here again.”