Kyle gave me a friendly, but bland smile as I approached the bar. The kind of smile that tricked a girl into believing she was special, when actually the smile was totally impersonal. I’d seen that look on bartenders and wait staff the world over. I imagined it was a defense mechanism against the unwashed masses.
“Hi, Kyle,” I said cheerfully as I slid onto one of the barstools. “Why don’t you pour me a nice blackberry bourbon? On the rocks.” It was barely past lunchtime, but what the heck...I was on vacation. Sort of.
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
I tried not to glare at the “ma’am” comment. “Heh, careful with the ‘ma’am’ there, Kyle. I’m not that much older than you.” I laughed awkwardly.
He gave me a look that told me exactly what he thought of that statement. “Of course...miss.”
I went ahead and gave him a black scowl. He wasn’t looking anyway. “Alrighty then,” I said with another awkward laugh. Interrogating people wasn’t as easy as Detective Costa made it look. “Hey, you’re last name wouldn’t happy to be...” I pulled out a random name, “Blackburn, would it?”
He gave me a funny look. “No, it’s Vaughn. Why?”
Aha! I’d been right! But I kept my expression bland and gave an airy wave. “Oh, it’s silly, but a friend of mine has a cousin named Kyle that works somewhere around here. Wondered if you might be him.”
“Nope,” he said, pulling a glass from under the counter.
“So, you must have heard about that woman they found dead on the beach.”
There was only the slightest pause as he dumped ice into the glass. Then he shrugged. “Sure. Who hasn’t?” He splashed brown liquid into the glass and handed it to me. “Seven dollars.”
I gave him my room number so he could put it on my tab and took a sip to brace myself. Delicious. “Weren’t you dancing with her at the party the night she died?” I asked, all innocent-like. I might have even batted my lashes. I’m not above such things when strictly necessary.
He hesitated as if not sure how to answer. Then he shrugged. “Sure. I was dancing with her. What of it? Not like I saw her after that.”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice conspiratorially. “I was just wondering, you know, because they say her husband did it.”
That seemed to put him at ease. He gave me another one of those wide, semi-flirtatious smiles that was probably more about tips than anything. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. So I was wondering if you, you know, saw them together or something. I mean, you could have witnessed something important. Have the police talked to you?”
He leaned forward and lowered his own voice. “Yeah. Someone spilled the beans I was dancing with Natasha that night, so of course they questioned me. But I didn’t see anything. After she got in a fight with that skinny chick, I booked.” I could only assume that by “skinny chick” he meant Cheryl, who wasn’t exactly what I’d call skinny. More slender. “Don’t need that kind of negative attention, you know. I wasn’t exactly supposed to be at that party, if you know what I mean.” He straightened up and started wiping down the bar with a white towel.
I did know what he meant. I doubted fraternizing with guests was something the resort approved of, and I was pretty sure Kyle’s activities with Natasha went far beyond a couple dances at a party.
“You know,” I said conspiratorially, tapping one fingernail on the edge of my glass, “just between you and me, the police apparently found a note in her room. Something about a meeting that night.”
He shrugged. “So whoever she met killed her.”
“I imagine so,” I said with a knowing nod and a raised brow.
“What did the note say?” he asked, feigning mild disinterest, but I could see he was hanging on to every word.
“I don’t know the details, but I do know there was a time and location. One of the empty rooms, I think. I imagine the police will be checking it out. Doing that CSI thing.”
He stiffened at that. “Nothing else? On the note, I mean.”
I held back a smile. I casually swirled my drink, the ice clinking against the side of the glass. “Well, I think there was a name. At least, that’s what I heard.” I leaned forward and winked. “But you never know. Police like to hold things back. Smoke out the guilty party. Am I right?”
Was it my imagination, or did he go a bit pale under his tan? He wiped the bar almost obsessively, over and over as if trying to rub out a stain. “You hear the name?”
I sighed. “No. I wish. I’m dying of curiosity. Aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Not my business. Listen, it was nice talking to you, but I gotta get back to work.”
“Sure, sure. No worries. One thing before you go, though,” I said as a thought struck me. Kyle probably knew a lot of people at the resort. Maybe he’d recognize the bracelet. I pulled the silver bangle out of my handbag and held it up. “Do you recognize this? Maybe it belongs to somebody who works here?” Was it me? Or was that a glimmer of recognition?
Kyle eyed it with disinterest. “Nope. ’Fraid not. Where’d you find it?”
“On the beach last night.”
“Really? Huh. Well, you should turn it into Lost and Found.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” I said, tucking the bracelet back into my pocket. “Sorry to disturb you. I’ve got a class to get to.” I waved him off airily as I downed the last swallow of bourbon. I slid from the stool and walked slowly away from the bar toward the automatic doors leading to the courtyard. I dashed to the side and took up a
