Paint the Town Dead Page 9

  Rory grew angrier and angrier. Before she said something she regretted, she shouldered her way through the group and walked around the building, trying to vent her frustration at not being able to get the protesters to take responsibility for the damage to her property and others. Before long, she found herself at the loading dock where two giant metal beasts stood side by side, lids closed, a faint stench emanating from each one.

  She stared at the dumpsters and wondered if her theory was correct and the person who had pulled the alarm had thrown the coveralls in the trash. By the time the police got around to looking into it, the garbage would probably have been hauled away. Maybe if she found them herself, there would be some evidence on the clothing that would point to a specific person, someone who could tell the police the name of the individual who had thrown the rock through her window.

  Chapter 12

  Rory peered around the area to make sure no one was nearby to prevent her from rummaging through the trash. The roll-up door on the loading dock was closed and the place appeared to be deserted. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure, not looking forward to the task at hand. She dug her cell and keys out of the pocket of her jeans and tucked them inside her tote bag, hiding it in a corner behind some empty boxes.

  She approached the first dumpster and opened one side of the lid, then the other. A thin layer of half-eaten food, soiled diapers, and miscellaneous trash covered its bottom. One glance inside and she knew the container held nothing of interest.

  When she lifted the lid on the second one, the smell of rotting garbage assaulted her nostrils. Flies flew out of the dumpster and buzzed around her head. Rory brushed off the ones that touched down on her hair then, with both hands flailing in the air, batted the rest of them out of the way before looking inside. The dumpster appeared half full, a mixture of discarded food, packaging materials, and various other items thrown out by their owners. At the top of the heap was a pair of new-looking tennis shoes, but no coveralls or anything that resembled a janitor’s uniform lay in sight.

  Rory leaned over the edge and reached inside, moving the topmost layer around, trying to see what was below it. She winced in pain as her arm scraped against something rough. When she pulled it out, she discovered a three-inch long scratch on her forearm. Not wanting to injure herself further, she walked around the area looking for a pole or something similar to use in her search. Finding an old broom handle leaning against a wall, she used it to move the contents of the dumpster around.

  When nothing interesting came to light, she ditched the broom handle, dragged a wooden crate she found nearby to the side of the metal container, climbed up on the crate and leaned over. She dug around, getting excited when she saw a bit of gray cloth near the bottom. She stretched her arm as far as it would go, tottering on the edge of the metal beast, bracing herself with her other hand. Just as her reaching hand closed around the gray material in triumph, she heard footsteps behind her. When she turned her head, all she saw was a plank of wood, coming straight at her. Before she could raise her hand to defend herself or cry out, it slammed into her head and she plunged headfirst into the dumpster. Somebody pushed her face into the trash so she couldn’t see. She struggled to breathe as her assailant rummaged around in the garbage beside her. Then, suddenly, her head was released and she gasped for air.

  Before she could lift herself up, the dumpster’s lid slammed shut, imprisoning her in darkness. Moments later, she heard the squeaking of wheels and felt the metal container moving. She pushed herself to the top and peeked out from under one half of the lid only to find herself rolling down the incline toward the street below, straight into the path of a garbage truck.

  Rory scrambled to get out of the trash container but, as the dumpster gained momentum, she was thrown back into the garbage. Finally giving up, she crouched down in a corner, and in approved airline fashion, buried her head in her knees, covered the back of her neck with her hands and braced for impact. Moments later, the container crashed into something solid, shuddered and came to a stop.

  Once she was sure the dumpster was no longer moving, she slowly stood up. As she flung back the lid and emerged from the container like the Loch Ness monster rising from the deep, she came face-to-face with a garbage collector. Their eyes locked for a moment, then the man emitted a string of words in Spanish. Rory didn’t know much of the language, but she guessed some of what he said would not be acceptable to utter in polite company.

  Rory hastened to assure him she was okay, then looked around for the gray cloth she’d been reaching for, but it was nowhere in sight. Whoever had hit her over the head must have taken it with them.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, she clambered out of the trash container, the garbage collector helping her to the ground.

  “What happened?” he said, a note of concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” Rory brushed off wet paper towels that clung to her jeans, then waved her thanks at the astonished man and, ignoring the curious looks of the pedestrians she passed, headed up the incline back to the hotel. When she reached the loading dock, she grabbed her tote bag from its hiding place and pulled a bottle of antibacterial gel out of the bag. She slathered her hands and the cut on her arm with the gel before continuing on her way.

  Feeling as if she wasn’t front door material, she entered the hotel grounds through a gate that led into the side courtyard, hoping to see as few people as possible before she cleaned herself up. As she slipped through the iron gate, she heard the hotel manager’s voice. His back to her, Ian paced the empty courtyard while talking on a cell phone. She squeezed into an area between the stucco wall surrounding the hotel grounds and a collection of bushes and trees. Peeking through the leaves of one of the plants, she constantly adjusted her position so she remained out of sight every time he got close to her hiding spot.

  “I am taking this seriously. I know you’re not joking...Yes, I know bad online reviews can crush a business. I’ve seen it happen...You’ll take them down if we promise to pay for the repairs to the houses?...And what about the lawsuit?...I see. What guarantee do I have it’ll go away too?”

  A faint breeze blew in over the wall surrounding the courtyard, sending dust and flower petals in her direction. Rory felt a tickle in her nose. She pinched it closed, trying to suppress the sneeze she knew was coming, but all she managed to do was muffle the sound that erupted moments later. Afraid the man had heard the noise, she stood as still as possible, but he continued pacing and talking, seemingly unaware of her presence. She brushed a few petals out of her hair while she quietly continued to listen to the conversation.

  “That’s extortion. I could call the police on you...Fine, no lawyers...I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

  Ian ended the call, then stood stock still, staring straight at the spot where Rory was hiding. For a moment, she feared he’d spotted her. She breathed a sigh of relief when he ran a hand through his hair and headed back inside.

  Rory played with a leaf on the plant in front of her and thought about the problems at the Akaw: protests outside the hotel, a false alarm, a stink bomb in the men’s restroom, an attack on its website, and now bad online reviews. From the little she’d heard, she guessed Ian was planning on recommending to the hotel’s owner they bypass the lawyers and agree to the caller’s requests.

  When she stepped out into the open moments later, a deep voice behind her said, “Is there some reason you’re skulking behind a plant?”

  Rory turned to discover Detective Green standing in the courtyard, an amused expression on his face. “I wasn’t skulking.”

  “Uh-huh.” He sniffed the air and stared pointedly at a stain on her jeans. “What have you been up to?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you sneaking into the hotel from the side door and not the front?”

  “Someone reported a suspicious character lurking around the back of the hotel. Know anything about that?” His g
aze bore into hers, silently encouraging her to confess.

  She stared down at her tennis shoes, unsure what to say.

  “You have something...” When she looked up, he gestured toward her hair. “May I?”

  Rory nodded her consent. The detective reached up and removed stray petals from her hair, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, making her blush.

  The detective cleared his throat and stepped back. “Now, are you going to tell me what you were doing behind the plant?”

  “I may have...overheard Ian talking on the phone. Someone’s blackmailing the hotel. At least, that’s what it sounded like to me.”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to continue with her story.

  As accurately as possible, Rory related as much of the conversation as she’d overheard to the detective.

  He looked off into the distance as if absorbing everything she’d told him. When she raised her arm to push her long hair behind her ears, he pointed at the scratch on the inside of her forearm.

  “What happened to you?” he said.

  She searched her mind for an explanation that would satisfy the policeman. The only thing she could come up with didn’t even sound convincing to her own ears. “I just scraped it on the gate.”

  “You sure about that?” he said, giving her the opportunity to come clean.

  “I’m sure.”

  He studied her face for a moment, then gently placed his hand in the small of her back and pushed her toward the hotel entrance. “Leave the police work to me. Now, go clean yourself up and go to your convention. You smell like you’ve been rolling in garbage.”

  With that, he walked back through the side gate. Rory made her way into the Akaw and bought a t-shirt and sweats in the hotel gift shop. Several convention goers she encountered asked what happened, but she laughed it off and headed toward Jasmine’s room to take a shower and make herself presentable once more.

  Chapter 13

  Less than an hour later, Rory was scrubbed clean with her dirty clothes put into the care of the hotel laundry. Inside the Manhattan ballroom, she found Nixie sitting alone at a table, staring at a laptop screen, loose papers spread out next to the computer.

  “You’re here about that check, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it.”

  “No problem. I’m actually here to talk to you about something else,” Rory said. “Or is this a bad time?”

  “I’m not sure there is a good time right now.” Nixie waved her hand at the papers. “What’s worrisome are these accounts. I can’t make sense out of them. I was never really good at the financial side of things. Jasmine tried to teach me, but I’m afraid it didn’t stick. Hold on, I’ll be right with you. Let me just find this one receipt.” The convention organizer searched through several pieces of paper and, not finding what she wanted, opened a three-ring binder, revealing a well-worn photograph tucked in its inside pocket.

  Rory moved to one side and twisted her head so she could make out who was in the picture. Taken at a table in a restaurant, Nixie sat next to an older version of the young girl she’d seen coming out of the office earlier that day. Rory was about to ask about the photo when the woman closed the binder, looked up at her and said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m retracing Jasmine’s steps the days before her death. I understand you had a meeting with her on Tuesday?”

  “Why do you want to know? Didn’t the police declare it an accidental overdose?”

  “I’m just trying to fill in the blanks for Peter.”

  Nixie nodded her head in sympathy. “Poor guy. He has so much to deal with right now. I know exactly how he feels. That was me six months ago. I remember wanting to know everything about my husband’s last few days.” She took several deep breaths. “Let’s see, you wanted to know about Tuesday. Jasmine and I had a meeting. Five-ish. We went over the books. Or Jasmine tried to go over them with me.”

  “How did she seem?”

  “Seem?” Nixie looked puzzled. “Other than a little frustrated with me, she seemed fine. Her usual self. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if you noticed anything different about her.”

  Nixie sat back in her chair and tilted her head. “She did seem a little worried that day. She told me she thought her husband was keeping something from her.”

  “Did she have any idea what?”

  “I’m afraid not, but...” Nixie stared off into the distance as if trying to decide whether to reveal something she knew. “You’ve heard the rumors, right?”

  “What rumors?”

  The convention organizer lowered her voice. “About Peter. He’s under invest—No, it’s not right. They’re just rumors. That’s what I told Jasmine. Forget I said anything.”

  Rory stared at her, unsure what to make of the woman’s comments. “Are you saying Peter’s under investigation for something to do with work? Where did you hear this?”

  “Rumors, just rumors.” Nixie waved her hand at her laptop. “I wish Jasmine were here. I’ve gone over everything twice. Something’s just not right.”

  “Have you asked Peter? He’s a CPA, maybe he can help.”

  “Doesn’t seem right to bug him right now. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”

  If Jasmine’s husband was under some sort of investigation, Rory could see why the woman wouldn’t want him looking at her books. It might also explain his getting a second job in maintenance instead of accounting, though she hadn’t confirmed that yet. She made a mental note to ask Peter the next time she saw him.

  Nixie looked pointedly at her computer screen. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I must get back to this.”

  Rory waved goodbye and headed toward the lobby. As she walked down the hallway, she wondered what Peter had been keeping from his wife. They always appeared to have a good relationship and seemed to be honest with each other, but maybe something changed recently. If he were in trouble for something he’d done at work, he might have wanted to keep that from Jasmine so he wouldn’t worry her. Or maybe he took an extra job to pay off a debt his wife didn’t know about. Of course, even if he was under investigation, that didn’t mean he’d actually done anything wrong. She knew about baseless accusations and how damaging they could be all too well.

  Moments later, Rory found Liz outside a nearby ballroom talking with one of the other convention attendees. As soon as she spotted her friend, Liz excused herself and hurried over.

  “Where’ve you been? I thought you’d look in on my class, but you didn’t. Is everything okay?”

  “Sorry, something came up.” Rory readjusted her tote bag on her shoulder.

  Liz pointed to the bandage on her friend’s arm. “What happened? And you weren’t wearing those clothes earlier. What’s going on?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Have you been sleuthing without me?”

  “I was searching through the hotel’s dumpsters, looking for those coveralls I was talking about, and someone smacked me on the side of the head, that’s all. I’m fine.” Rory pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. She squared her shoulders and did her best to appear calm so she wouldn’t worry her friend, but thinking about the incident still frightened her.

  “That’s all? Someone hit you on the head and you say ‘that’s all?’ Are you okay? Did you tell the police?” The questions came rapid-fire out of Liz’s mouth.

  “I saw Detective Green right afterwards,” Rory said, not bothering to mention that she hadn’t told the man about her adventures in dumpster diving. “I didn’t see much, anyway.”

  Liz peered at Rory anxiously. “Do you need me to take you to see the doctor?”

  Rory shook her head. When it began to pound, she immediately regretted the action. “Other than a slight headache, I feel fine.”

  “Okay, but if you feel queasy, you tell me right away. That could be an indication of something serious.”

  Rory nodded in agreement, glad she had a friend who was so concerned about her.
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  Since neither of them had found time for lunch, the two young women headed toward the El Porto ballroom where convention attendees could buy quick meals and snacks. As soon as they settled down at a table, Liz said, “So, what did you find out?”

  Rory told her friend about how she’d almost had her hand on what she thought was important evidence when someone hit her over the head and spirited it away. She touched the tender spot on the side of her head and winced at the memory.

  “Are you sure your falling into the trash container didn’t just bury it further in the garbage?”

  “I felt someone rummaging around and taking something.”

  “You didn’t even get a peek at whoever it was?”

  “I was facedown in garbage. Didn’t have a chance to see much of anything.”

  Liz wrinkled her petite nose in disgust. “Eww! I’m glad that wasn’t me.”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore. The trash is gone now. But there’s something else.” Rory brought her friend up to date on the phone conversation she’d overheard between Ian and the mystery caller, as well as what Hulbert had said about seeing Peter on Wednesday.

  “Have you asked Peter about being in the hotel?” Liz said. “Seems suspicious he was wearing coveralls.”

  “We still don’t know it was him,” Rory said. “He and Brandy are competing this evening. I thought I’d talk to him afterwards.”

  “You’re putting it off, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a little afraid of what he’s going to say.”

  They were trying to decide what to do next when Veronica walked up to their table. Speaking into a digital recorder, she said, “What do you have to say about the Akaw’s handling of Jasmine Halliday’s death?” She thrust the tiny device in front of Rory’s face and waited for an answer.

  “No comment,” was Rory’s immediate reply.