The Stardust Readers Retreat #4
Red and blue lights filtered through the windows less than half an hour later, their reflections cutting through the lingering candlelight like an accusation.
The music had stopped. The crowd was silent, other than the occasional murmur. Resort security blocked the doors, radios crackling, faces drawn. Eleanor moved through the room with clipped efficiency, directing staff and murmuring reassurances that no one seemed inclined to believe.
Jo sat on the edge of her chair, Aspen leaning up against her. She reached out to pet Aspen, calming herself as much as she calmed her dog. Eric stood next to her, a steady presence she hadn’t realized she’d been leaning on until she straightened and swayed.
Two uniformed police officers entered the room, followed by a woman in a dark coat who looked like she had never wasted a step in her life. She scanned the room once.
“I’m Detective Ruiz,” she said, her voice easily carrying across the room. “Is anyone injured?”
Starla reclined on a chaise lounge. A medic crouched next to her, checking her vitals. Her mascara was smudged, but her posture when she sat up was perfectly composed.
“No,” Eleanor responded. “Only Victor.”
Detective Ruiz nodded. “I need everyone to remain here. This is now an active investigation.”
Unease rippled through the crowd.
“I’ll make sure everyone has a room here for the night. No one will be asked to leave.” Eleanor made a note as she talked.
Ruiz glanced over. “Thank you.”
She took a step forward to address the crowd.
“In case it wasn’t clear, no one’s leaving the resort tonight.
I need everyone to return to your rooms. My officers will direct you.
I will be questioning everyone. I ask that you don’t discuss what happened with anyone and please stay out of the restricted areas. ”
Her eyes stopped when she saw Jo, Eric and Aspen. There wasn’t suspicion, just curiosity.
“You two found the body?” she asked.
Eric nodded. “Aspen did.”
Ruiz raised her eyebrow.
“My dog.” Jo clarified.
Ruiz’s mouth twitched despite the severity of the situation. “Smart dog.”
Aspen’s tail thumped against Jo’s ankle.
“I’m going to need to get your statement after we’re done processing the scene. Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.” Ruiz said.
As she walked away, Eric leaned towards Jo. “This just got interesting.”
Jo swallowed. “I feel like everyone here had . . . Feelings about Victor.”
Layers of whispered voices filled the room. Despite the detective’s instructions, everyone was talking about Victor LaRue.
Jo raised her hand to knock on Eric’s door, but hesitated. Second-guessing whether or not she should really be here. If he would want to talk with her.
“What am I doing?” She asked Aspen. “I should go back to our room and try to sleep.”
She couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing Victor’s body lying on the ground not moving, too still, so very final. A chill made its way up her spine, so sharp and unpleasant she shuddered.
Aspen whimpered.
Jo turned back to their room. “You’re right. I should try. If I don’t, I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow.”
She glanced over her shoulder one last time.
The door swung open. Eric stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, wearing gray sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt that would have been funny, if someone hadn’t just been murdered.
“Oh, hi there,” he said. “I was . . .”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she blurted.
“. . . Coming to talk. If you wanted to.” He finished before taking a step back to clear a path into his room.
She stood there for a moment. Aspen did not, she tugged on her leash, pulling Jo through the doorway into Eric’s room.
Laid out on the table were slices of sourdough, butter, cheese, and jam.
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”
“You.” He smiled before gesturing to an empty chair. “I was coming to see if you were awake.”
“You did all this for me?” She took a seat.
He shook his head. “I did it for Aspen.”
Gray clouds filled the sky the next morning, a reflection of the somber mood that blanketed the retreat. Jo snuggled further into the bed, not wanting to leave the cozy warmth of the covers.
She’d stayed in Eric’s room for hours talking about Victor. They discussed the arguments they’d overheard, wondered about the champagne distributor, and why Victor had kept pressing Starla. Eric had even mentioned Lola. Victor had managed her social media presence. Control masquerading as help.
There was a soft knock on the door and the whisper of paper sliding against hardwood. Aspen barked. Jo groaned and climbed out of bed. A note lay on the floor. Detective Ruiz wanted her in the ballroom in half an hour.
She scrambled to get ready, throwing her hair up in a messy bun after settling on jeans and a bookish hoodie. No reason to put on her author persona for the police. She stepped outside, Aspen by her side, right as Eric left his room.
“I see you were summoned to the ballroom.” Eric nodded towards the paper in her hand.
She nodded. “Do you think it’s to take our statement about last night or something more?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. Shall we find out together?” He held out his hand.
She took it, lacing her fingers between his. The connection calmed the flip-flopping of her stomach, steadying her in a morning full of more questions than answers.
They entered the ballroom together. The room was still decorated for the ball the night before with round tables arranged with precision, maximizing the space to allow for dancing and foot traffic.
Detective Ruiz stood in the center, her eyes cataloging each person as they walked into the room and took a seat.
When Ruiz’s eyes landed on Jo, it felt like the detective was already measuring her for an orange jumpsuit. She tried to shrug it off; it didn’t work.
Aspen padded along at her side, ears twitching, tail low. She wasn’t her normal picture-loving self this morning. Her mood read more like, ‘I found a dead man last night, and I have opinions.’
Eric squeezed Jo’s fingers before letting go. They both moved to an empty table along the edge of the room. Not at the center, not in the spotlight. Jo sighed with relief and appreciation.
The ballroom filled in slow, uneasy waves.
Authors in hoodies or cardigans instead of their signing attire.
Readers holding coffee cups instead of champagne flutes.
Staff members darting around the room like they were trying to right a sinking ship with good manners and tense customer service smiles.
Then there was Eleanor Finch, standing near a wall, clutching her clipboard like it was her own personal life vest. She’d pulled her hair back in a severe chignon, probably to overcompensate for her lack of sleep.
She spoke to a staff member with quiet intensity, pointed once toward the doors, then toward a table.
The staff member nodded and hurried off.
Jo couldn’t stop watching the event organizer, which is why she noticed the moment Eleanor’s gaze landed on her and Eric, and saw the woman’s expression change. It almost looked like relief tinged with something else … something more calculating.
Starla Fontaine swept into the room, sunglasses on despite the lack of sun both outside and in the ballroom.
She still carried herself like a showgirl, even while wearing jeans, probably designer, and a cashmere sweater.
Lola Vega trailed in behind her, phone in hand but lacking the ever-present ring light.
The influencer almost seemed naked without her practical accessory.
Bennett Crowe arrived last, strolling in as if they were sitting down to brunch, not a murder investigation. He scanned the room, found Ruiz. He flashed her a smile that probably melted the hearts of women and men. Ruiz did not look impressed.
Detective Ruiz raised a hand. The room quieted.
“Good morning,” she said, as if they were all here for a panel titled How to Behave When Someone Dies at Your Event. “I’m Detective Ruiz for anyone who missed it in the chaos of last night. These are Officers Patel and Greene.”
She gestured to two uniformed officers who stood near the ballroom doors.
A third officer was not introduced. He stood near the service corridor, straight-backed and watchful.
A security guard hovered nearby, fiddling with a set of keys.
It was clear that the hotel security was unprepared for the severity of this situation.
Ruiz continued, her voice calm enough to be reassuring and sharp enough to be a warning.
“As I said last night, no one is permitted to leave the Stardust Readers’ Retreat property.” A murmur rose. Ruiz held up her hand again, the murmur died like it had been disciplined. “That includes driving out, hiking out, or calling someone to pick you up at the gate.”
Nervous laughter made its way around the room almost like the wave at a baseball game.
“You all should have been assigned rooms last night. After you’re interviewed, you will be escorted back to your room.” Her eyes swept over the crowd. “I also need everyone to understand this: this is not optional. This is not a suggestion. This is an active murder investigation.”
Laughter turned to a collective gasp followed by hushed whispers.
Lola’s hand shot up.
“Yes?” Ruiz nodded towards the influencer.
Lola’s smile was tense. “Are we allowed to post about what’s happening? Because my followers are, like, already asking questions.”
Ruiz didn’t blink. “No.”
Lola blinked. “No . . . as in—”
“No, as in no.” Ruiz continued, her tone controlled, authoritative. “Do not post. Do not livestream. Do not speculate publicly. If you’ve recorded anything that might be relevant—videos, photos, audio—you will show it to my officers.”
Lola’s mouth puckered with distaste. “This is . . . deeply inconvenient.”
Ruiz’s expression suggested she did not care.