One of the 1099s from three years earlier caught her eye.
Mason walked into the bedroom as she stood, still scanning the document in her hand.
“She used to work at the Navy Consolidated Brig, Chesapeake,” she said.
“As a nurse?”
“I guess so. Doesn’t say.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
She shook her head. “No. But it’s interesting.”
“Is it? Doesn’t your dad have a habit of hiring vets? Maybe she’s a vet, too.”
“True.” She folded the document and slipped it in her pocket. “Nothing out there?”
He shook his head. “Nothing except a dead woman. We should go.”
“Leaving the scene of a death. We have to stop meeting like this.” Shee pulled open the bedside table drawer and pushed around the contents. She plucked out a rolled piece of lined paper and unraveled it to reveal a pencil sketch of a middle-aged man with a goatee. Mangled holes edged the top as if it had been ripped from a larger notebook, the ragged bottom implied the torn sheet had once been larger.
“That looks like William,” said Mason.
“Who?”
“William. He works at the hotel. You haven’t met him?”
Shee pushed the drawer shut with her thigh. “No. Great. I haven’t even won Croix over yet and now there are more people to meet.”
“Maybe Martisha had a crush on him.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Not my type.”
Shee shrugged. “Either way, maybe he knows something. Let’s go.”
They made their way back to Mason’s truck, Shee grateful the fallen night would cloak their exit. The last thing she needed was neighbors identifying the truck to the cops when the body was found.
Shee’s phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID.
Angelina.
She answered. “We’re on our way back—”
“Beatriz is dead,” said Angelina. “We need you here. Now.”
&&&
Chapter Forty-Seven
By the time Shee and Mason returned to the hotel, two bodies had been laid on a plastic paint drop cloth, side by side on the king bed of Captain Rupert’s old room.
Shee stared at the woman who’d been making her bed only a day before. Beatriz’s long, honey-brown hair had been neatly displayed over each shoulder, partially covering the bloodstain on her shirt.
Shee motioned to the male body beside the housekeeper.
“Who’s this?”
Angelina stood with her hand over her mouth, as if it were the only thing keeping her from screaming. Her mascara pooled beneath her eyes. No attempt had been made to fix it.
She lowered her hand and licked her lips. “No idea—other than he killed Beatriz.”
“She got him first?” asked Mason.
Angelina nodded and motioned to the man’s neck.
Shee moved to get a better view of the wound. The stranger’s skin appeared ashen, his camo gear covered in darkening blood. She spotted the tear in his neck the moment she rounded the bed. Her eyes widened. It looked as though an animal had tried to chew off his head.
“My God, what did she do to him?”
“Throwing knife. William thinks he was digging at the wound, trying to breathe.”
“William? He found them? Where is he?”
“He found them in the woods next door. He’s checking for more now.”
Shee pulled the small rolled sketch from her pocket.
“Is this him? We found it at Martisha’s.” She unrolled it for Angelina to see.
Angelina squinted at the sketch. “That’s one of the Captain’s.”
“Mason thinks it looks like William.”
“It does. You haven’t met him?”
Shee set the picture on top of a corner bookshelf and it rolled itself tight like a threatened armadillo. “Do you trust him?”
“He came with a personal invite from Mick. He tried to save Beatriz...” Angelina motioned to the bodies. Her head tilted.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Captain liked copying his drawings out of books. I don’t remember him ever doing a live portrait.” She opened a drawer in a small bureau against the wall to retrieve a pad of paper. She flipped through a few of the pages, unveiling sketches of people and landscapes. The paper was the same as the sheet with William’s portrait, all boasting a similar style of tight crosshatching.
“Any idea why Martisha took this one? It was in her bedside table, like it meant something to her.”
Angelina ran her knuckle under her eye, but the mascara had re-dried and she did little to erase her raccoon mask. “Maybe he gave it to her as a gift? She was his nurse. I guess she wasn’t there to ask?”
“She was there,” mumbled Shee.
“So you did talk to her?”
“She shot herself before we could.”
Angelina gasped. “You found her dead?”
“Something like that.” Shee’s lips pressed into a tight knot.
Cough walked in, frowning at the bodies.
“Is that Beatriz?”
Angelina nodded.
He clucked his tongue. “I’m sorry to see that.”
“I should head outside. Maybe get a bead on William,” said Mason.
Shee looked at him and sighed, certain this had to be the worst vacation Mason had ever taken. “This isn’t your war.”
“It is now,” he said without looking at her. Instead, he locked on Angelina. “Where’s Archie?”
“The dogs are in my room. It’s unlocked if you want to let him out. Down the hall, last door on the left—”
He shook his head. “He’s safer there for now, if you don’t mind.”
Angelina shrugged and shook her head.
Mason turned and headed toward the lobby.
“Be careful,” Shee called after him. She cringed.
“I sound like his mom,” she muttered, lowering herself into the cushioned chair in the corner of the room. She dropped her
