Chapter 65
When the phone rang, Shannon snapped instantly awake, sitting up and grabbing it. Working in hospitals for nearly two decades—morning shifts, night shifts, doubles—had wrecked her circadian rhythm. Combine that with raising a teenaged girl by herself, and she hadn’t really had a sound night of sleep since bringing Livvy home from the hospital.
She glanced at the caller ID. It was Traci. And it was also 3:00 A.M.
“Shannon?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t panic, okay? Promise me you won’t panic.”
“What’s wrong, dammit? Nobody calls in the middle of the night with good news.”
“You’re right,” Traci said. “First, Livvy is okay. She’s gonna be fine.”
“Traci Eddings, if you don’t tell me what’s happened to my kid, right now, I will—”
“There was a fire at the dorm. Felice woke up, smelled smoke, and got Livvy out safely.”
“Why didn’t Livvy wake up and get herself out?”
Traci hadn’t been expecting that question. Shannon could almost hear the wheels turning in her old friend’s head.
“They were drugged. Both of them, but Felice apparently didn’t drink as much as Livvy.”
“Jesus H!” Shannon leapt out of bed and began pulling on clothes. “Where’s Livvy? Who drugged them?”
“They’re both on their way to Bonaventure Memorial. I got to the dorm just as the EMTs were about to load them into the ambulance. From what I could see, Livvy just had some cuts on her feet from where Felice broke Livvy’s window to get her out. They were giving her oxygen for smoke inhalation, but otherwise—”
“Who did this to them?” Shannon cut in.
“It looks like the other two guys who lived in the dorm. I’m on my way to the ER now.”
“Me too,” Shannon said, searching for her shoes. “I’ll meet you there.”
Traci was at a standoff with the emergency room admitting clerk.
“I need to see Felice Bonpierre,” she said.
The clerk tapped some keys on her computer and looked up. “Nobody gets back there unless they’re next of kin.”
“I’m her mother,” Traci said without hesitation.
The clerk didn’t blink. “I saw them bring that girl in here a little while ago. If you’re her mama, my mama is Beyoncé.”
“Her father is Black.”
“I bet he is. Anyway, there’s a sheriff’s deputy talking to her right now, so even if you were her mama, which you’re not, I couldn’t let you see her.”
“Just tell me if she’s okay,” Traci pleaded.
“Looks like it to me. The doctor dressed her cuts and burns. She ain’t on oxygen.”
“Thank God,” Traci murmured.
The sliding doors from the ambulance bay whooshed open and Shannon rushed inside, planting herself in front of the clerk.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Myrna, do not fuck with me,” Shannon said, her voice low and lethal. “My daughter Olivia was brought in here by ambulance. Now let me back there or I’ll—”
“No point. She’s still out of it. Dr. Ochoa saw her. She’s in good hands. Now, why don’t you just set over there in the waiting room and I’ll let the nurse know you’re out here.”
“Let me see my baby girl,” Shannon said with a hiss. “Right now.”
The clerk shrugged, pushed a button, and a pair of automatic doors opened.
Shannon rushed through them and Traci followed close behind.
“Hey! You can’t go back there—”
The doors closed, cutting off the clerk’s objection. A nurses’ station was directly in front of them, but was currently unmanned. Beyond that were four curtained-off examining rooms.
Shannon moved quickly ahead of her, pulling aside curtains until she reached the last cubicle. She peeked inside. “Here she is.”
Traci heard her talking in low tones to a man, presumably Dr. Ochoa.
In the cubicle right next door she heard another man’s voice, and then a young woman’s voice, hoarse, but unmistakably her chef, Felice.
After a moment of hesitation, she stuck her head inside the curtain. “Felice?”
Felice was lying on a hospital bed. Her face was dotted with some kind of ointment and her hands, lying atop a sheet stretched up to her chin, were heavily bandaged. Sitting on a rolling stool beside the bed was a uniformed sheriff’s deputy.
He had a graying crew cut and didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at the interruption.
“Who are you? And how did you get back here?”
“It’s okay,” Felice told him. “This is Mrs. Eddings. My boss. At the Saint. She owns the dorm those guys tried to burn down.”
The deputy paged back in his notebook. “That’d be KJ Parkhurst and Garrett Wycoff? They’re your employees?”
“Formerly,” Traci said. “As of right now.” She gazed down at Felice, her fierce chef who looked so unexpectedly diminished and vulnerable in that hospital bed.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Better. I think the drugs are wearing off.” She held up her hands, which were swathed in gauze bandages. “But I don’t think I’ll be back in the kitchen for a few days.”
“Never mind that. All I want is for you and Livvy to get better.”
Traci glanced at the deputy. His name badge said he was Detective G. W. Shapley. “And I want you to arrest the men who did this to them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shapley said. “We actually have Parkhurst in custody. He didn’t even make it off the island. We found him hiding out in the carriage house at his granddad’s house.”
“What about Garrett?” Felice rasped. “This was his idea. Him and Charlie Burroughs.”
“Who’s he?” the deputy asked, his pen poised above a small spiral-bound notebook.
“He’s the general manager at the Saint,” Traci said. She looked down at Felice. “But what do you know about Charlie’s involvement?”
Shapley glared at her. “Ma’am? I’m asking the questions here.”
He pointed at Felice. “What do you know about Burroughs’s involvement in this matter?”
Felice shot her boss a sheepish look. “Livvy and me, we were friends with Parrish. So we decided we’d figure out who killed her, and why.”
“And why would a couple of girls decide to play detective?” Shapley asked. “Talk about stupid. And dangerous. The two of you nearly got yourselves killed.”
“Hey!” Felice croaked. “I don’t appreciate being called stupid, or a girl.”
“How?” Traci asked, ignoring the deputy. “What made you think Charlie was involved with what happened to Parrish?”
“Livvy found Parrish’s notebook,” Felice said. “She kept notes of all the complaints people had. She called it her bitch book.” She shot the deputy a withering look. “We found it, hidden in her room, in her pillowcase, after the sheriff’s office searched it.”
“The blue notebook Livvy mentioned,” Traci said.
Felice nodded. “She wrote about stuff she was suspicious about, at the hotel. There was funny business with mattresses and the televisions. And in the restaurant, they were switching cheap well-brand booze and wine for call brands. Garrett was involved. Burroughs too. One of Garrett’s girlfriends, Chelsea Shalanian, told us all about it. She used to work at the Verandah, until Garrett got her fired.”
She stopped speaking and fumbled for the cup of water on the tray next to the bed. Traci picked up the cup and held it so that Felice could sip.
“Thanks,” the chef whispered.
“And when the two of you started sniffing around, that’s when Charlie decided to try to get you fired,” Traci said. She tapped the deputy on the shoulder. “Your people need to arrest Charlie Burroughs immediately.”
“Back up,” Shapley said. “We can’t arrest someone just on your say-so.”
“Bring him in for questioning then,” Traci said. “Or does this young lady here have to continue to do your job for you?”
The deputy turned a page in his notebook. “What’s his name again?”
“Charlie Burroughs. He lives here in town. On Blue Heron.”
“Okay, we’ll check it out.”
“Felice,” Traci said, “I’m so sorry you got mixed up in all this. I feel responsible. Is there someone in your family that I should notify that you’ve been hurt?”
“No! It’s just an aunt down in Miami, but I don’t want her to get upset. I’ll be okay, Mrs. E.” She held up her hands again. “Working in restaurants practically my whole life, I’ve had worse burns than this. My main thing is, when can I get back to work?”
“You want to come back? After what’s just happened?” Traci shook her head. “Of course I want you back, more than anything.”
“Okay, cool,” Felice rasped.
“But we need to make sure you’re healed properly,” Traci added. “I have to say, right now, it hurts me to even look at you.”
“Can you find out what’s happened to all my stuff? In the fire? Everything I owned was in my room. My laptop with all my recipes. My knives, all my clothes. My whole life, really.”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Traci said. “The hotel is insured for any kind of loss you’ve incurred. And again, I don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified that you and Olivia decided to try to solve Parrish’s murder.”
“Parrish was cool. What happened to her wasn’t right. It was Livvy’s idea to try to figure it out. Because she’s really into all this true-crime stuff. At first, it was kind of like a little game we were playing. But then, after Burroughs tried to get us fired, we wanted to get back at him. Prove he was involved. Garrett too.”
Just then, Detective Shapley pushed the examining room curtain aside.
“We sent an officer over to Burroughs’s residence. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Traci said blankly. “It’s four thirty in the morning.”
“He’s in the wind,” Shapley said. “And it looks like he left in a hurry. There’s a couple expensive cars in his garage, a new Mercedes SEL and a brand-new Ford F-150, still got the dealer stickers on the windows.”
“Livvy was right,” Felice said.
The deputy just shook his head. “We’ve issued a lookout for Burroughs. And this Garrett kid. Ma’am,” he said, addressing Traci, “any idea where Burroughs might head if he’s on the run?”
She was still stunned that they were talking about the trusted GM who’d worked by her side these past four years. “Not really. He kept his private life private. Charlie actually gave me my first job at the Saint. Turns out I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”
She twisted the engagement band on her left hand. “He was a workaholic. Never talked much about his personal life. Except…”
The detective pounced. “Except what?”
“There was a cousin who used to come down here on her vacation in the spring. She’d stay at the hotel. Lorissa something. I don’t remember her last name.”
“That gives us a start,” Shapley said. “Anything either of you can tell us about Garrett Wycoff?”
“He’d worked for us since high school. He was a favorite with our members and guests. And me,” Traci said bitterly. “In May, when it looked like he might go work at another resort, I gave him a raise and promotion and promised him he could live in the new dorm.”
“He’d been planning this,” Felice said, staring down at her hands.
“How do you know?” the deputy asked.
“We, uh, kind of broke into their rooms, earlier tonight, I mean, last night. They’d basically packed up most of their crap. Even their gaming console. That’s when we knew something was up. I think Garrett realized we were on to them.”
Felice’s face contorted and she suddenly started to weep. “We lived with these guys for a month. Ate pizza and drank beer and hung out with them. And they meant to kill us.”
Felice was full-on sobbing now. She fumbled helplessly for the tissue box on the stand next to the bed with her thickly bandaged hands. Traci plucked some tissues and held one up to Felice’s nose. “Blow,” she commanded.
Felice did. Traci gently dabbed at the tears on the girl’s face with another tissue.
“Thank you,” Felice whispered.
“I was supposed to be the lookout at the front door—in case the guys came back. We didn’t want to get caught snooping.”
“What happened after that?” Shapley asked.
Felice sniffled. “We went to the kitchen. I got my jug of kombucha from the fridge. But then Liv’s phone rang and she knocked over the whole jug. It spilled all over the counter and I figured maybe she was drunk, because she’d finished off the bottle of wine in the fridge. But really, I guess the roofies had already kicked in on her. Because she barely made it to bed. She couldn’t even hardly walk.”
Traci reached over and pressed the tissue to Felice’s nose and she blew hard, then nodded to signal that she was done.
“I feel so guilty. About being pissed at her for knocking over my kombucha. She always made fun of me and called me a hippie and asked me how I could drink such nasty stuff.”
Felice turned baleful eyes to Traci. “But her spilling most of it—so I only got to drink a little of it? Probably saved my life.”
“But you risked your own life, to save hers,” Traci pointed out. “So I think, when Livvy is herself again, she’ll say it’s all good.”
“Maybe.” Felice looked around the cubicle, at Shapley, who was assiduously scribbling notes. “When can I get out of here? I hate hospitals.”
Her face sagged. “Except—I don’t have any place to go to, and everything I own was in my room.” She looked down at the hospital gown she was wearing. “I don’t have anything at all, not even a pair of jeans.”
“You can go home with me,” Traci said firmly. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”