In the upper corner of the closet, the small safe stood open and empty. I had no idea if the police had opened it and taken whatever was inside, or if Natasha simply hadn’t used it.
Moving to the dresser, I pulled open one drawer at a time. More clothes. Enough underwear to open a lingerie store. All of it lacey and fussy. Exactly what I would have expected of a woman like Natasha Winters. Personally, I preferred comfort. Which, I supposed, could partially explain why I was still single at over forty. I just didn’t see the point in having a skinny piece of satin wedged up my backside.
I took the bathroom next. Again, nothing but the usual makeup and bath stuff. Clean towels hung neatly from the racks, looking as if they’d never been used, and the toilet paper rolls had neat little triangles still folded on the ends. It was looking more and more like Natasha hadn’t come back to her room all day; if she had, I suspected at least the triangles would be gone.
I inspected the living room and kitchen area last. Like my own dining room table, Natasha’s contained her laptop cord—the police likely took the laptop itself—and various papers and pens. In the kitchenette, I found an open bag of expensive coffee, a bunch of bananas, and an unopened bottle of red wine. The fridge held coffee creamer and six single-serving containers of Greek yogurt, all vanilla.
Through the sliding glass door, I could see a view of the Gulf. It was, in a word, stunning. The one thing about Florida I truly liked. Off to the side, cabanas stood sentinel over early morning beachgoers. The one where Natasha’s body had been found was still wrapped in yellow crime scene tape.
With a sigh, I started for the door. There was nothing in the suite to indicate what Natasha had been up to or why someone might have killed her. I was halfway to the door when a thought struck me. I turned around and headed for the phone sitting neatly on the end table next to the couch. Beside it was a cheap pen and a pad of paper with the hotel’s logo on the top. I picked up the pad and tilted it toward the light. Sure enough, something had been written there. I could only assume it had been written by Natasha since, from what I could tell of my own room, the pads were replaced with each new guest.
I ripped off the top sheet and tucked it into my capris pocket. I could figure out what was written on it later. As I headed toward the door, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from Cheryl.
Police coming! GET OUT!!
Chapter 5
Adventures in Sleuthing
I RAN FOR THE DOOR, my flip-flops making an awkward splooch sound on the marble floor. My hand was on the door handle when a second text came in. A quick glance at the screen and I froze in place.
Too late! HIDE!!
Cheryl was overly fond of exclamation marks. I gritted my teeth, desperately looking for a place to hide. The closet was a no-go. They could easily open it and find me. Ditto the bathroom. I considered the balcony, but tossed that aside. Even if I closed the drapes, they could open them easily enough and see me. And I wasn’t exactly built for climbing over balconies. Even if I managed, with my luck I’d get locked out.
That left one place: under one of the beds. I eyed the narrow openings with a malevolent eye. I loathed tight spaces, and these barely looked high enough for a mouse to crawl under, never mind my generous backside. Nothing for it. I’d have to put on my big-girl panties, suck it up, and squeeze under.
Crossing my fingers, I dropped to my belly and wriggled beneath the bed nearest the door. My butt scraped uncomfortably against the wooden slats of the bed frame. My boobs mashed into the floor in a way that told me I was going to be sore later. No doubt my purple t-shirt was covered in dust bunnies. My feet were barely out of sight when the door swung open and a pair of white sneakers entered the room, followed by a pair of scuffed black dress shoes.
I narrowed my eyes. I’d know those shoes anywhere. They went along with the rumpled suit and the scruffy day-old beard growth. Detective Costa. What was he doing here? Well, obviously investigating a murder, but why was he back in Natasha’s room when presumably he’d already gone over it last night?
“Thank you, Alfonse,” the detective said in his smooth baritone with just a touch of an accent. Barely noticeable, but definitely there. And definitely sexy. I gave myself a mental shake. Costa was the enemy. Well, maybe not enemy, per se, but he was definitely not on my side at the moment.
“No problemo, detective,” the man called Alfonse replied. I was guessing he was some sort of resort employee. “You want me to wait?”
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Sure thing.” The white sneakers passed in front of my hiding place. The heavy fire door opened and slammed shut behind Alfonse. There was a pause. One of those “pregnant” ones.
“You can come out now.”
What the—? I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. When I opened them I could see the black dress shoes standing right in front of my hiding spot. Was Costa psychic?
I held my breath. Maybe he was just guessing, and if I stayed still, he’d go away.
“I’m not going away.”
For crying out loud. Was he a mind reader now? With a heavy sigh, I wriggled my way out from under the bed, the metal side rails scraping along my ribs in a most uncomfortable way. Likely I’d have bruises.
Surprisingly, Costa did the gentlemanly thing and reached down to help me to my
