“We must be close,” I mused aloud.
“To what?” Cheryl glanced around as if trying to figure out what I was talking about.
“To the identity of the killer, of course. To finding out the truth. Otherwise, why would someone try and kill me?”
“Because you’re nosey.” There was an edge of sarcasm in her tone.
I laughed. “It’s true. But people don’t generally kill other people just for being nosey. Not unless they have something to hide.”
“I suppose you’re right. Too bad we can’t figure out how close we are.”
I couldn’t agree more. Clearly the killer was getting antsy, but the reality was I had no idea who he or she could be. It seemed I’d eliminated the most likely suspects. Of course, there was still Yvonne, the acquisitions editor. Not to mention, Avery Andrews, Natasha’s biggest competition, and Greta Morris, Natasha’s current PA, but I considered them not particularly likely. With Natasha’s death, Greta was out of a job. Ditto Yvonne. Well, not out of a job, but she’d lost her biggest client. The only one who even vaguely benefited from Natasha’s death was Avery, who now took the number-one romance spot at the publishing house. Romantic Press would be dumping all the marketing budget they’d spent on Natasha into Avery’s books now, and that could only boost her sales even more. Yep, Avery had a lot to gain from the murder. I mentally added her to my list of people to be questioned. Also, I still needed to figure out who owned the bracelet I’d found and if it was important to the investigation or simply a coincidence. My gut was telling me there was no such thing as coincidence.
We drew abreast of the hulking pink giant that was the Don CeSar. It looked different from the beachside. Even more elegant and imposing. I noticed a large group of guests huddled around the beach access door. They seemed to be waiting for something. I frowned when I caught sight of a uniformed police officer guarding the entrance. Something was up.
“Come on.” I nudged Cheryl. “Let’s go check it out.”
She groaned, but otherwise didn’t protest, which I took for consent. Not waiting to see if she followed, I took off across the perfectly raked white sand toward the huddle of people. I quickly sought out the most gossipy-looking one of the group: an elderly gentleman with enormous white sideburns and beady, dark eyes that saw everything. He was the only one who’d been given a chair, which probably had a lot to do with the cane clutched between his gnarled hands. He looked ready to burst.
“What’s going on?” I asked, breezing up like I belonged there. “Why aren’t they letting us in?”
The old man’s eyes twinkled with barely repressed excitement. “It’s the police. They told us we couldn’t go in. Things afoot.”
I gave him a conspiratorial look. “What sort of things?” My blood zinged with excitement. Had there been a robbery or something?
The old man’s smile broadened as if he held the best secret in the world. “You’ll never believe it,” he said. “This sort of thing never happens here. Not at the Don CeSar.”
“What sort of thing?” I asked impatiently.
He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. “Murder.”
“THIS WAY.” I WAVED Cheryl to follow me around the side of the building. I figured the police couldn’t have every entrance blocked. There was always some side door or something. A service entrance, that sort of thing.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Cheryl asked, looking a little worried.
“Probably not. But a faint heart never solved a murder mystery.”
“That’s not how the saying goes,” she said dryly.
I shrugged. “Hey, whatever works, right?”
With a glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching—particularly the police—I crept around the side of the building, Cheryl hot on my heels. The way was dimly lit by ornate wrought-iron lamps and the pebbled walkway nearly overgrown with lush, tropical greenery. Although a narrow path wound its way down the side of the building, it was clearly not something the guests often used. Likely they stuck to the other side of the building with its enormous pool and varied selection of bars. We had it completely to ourselves. Even the police were absent.
The first side door we came to was one of those exit-only doors. Even if it hadn’t been locked, we wouldn’t have been able to get in. There was no handle. Hanging around until someone wandered out didn’t seem like a good idea either. Who knew how long we’d have to wait?
We walked farther down the path, skirting stubby palm trees with branches that were in need of a trim and dodging spray from overly enthusiastic sprinklers. Finally we found another door. This one appeared like it might be an actual side entrance for employees or the odd guest seeking a smoke. I pushed gently on the crash bar and sure enough, it swung open.
“This way,” I hissed.
“Why are we whispering?” Cheryl murmured back.
“Because we don’t want anybody to hear us.”
“What anybody?”
She had a point. There was no one around. No guests. No employees. And certainly no cops. Probably they were all over at the other side of the building where the excitement was, which was where I wanted to be.
The door led into a narrow hallway. Very bare and boring. Nothing at all like the opulent upstairs. Definitely a service entrance. I racked my brain trying to remember if this part of the building had been on the ghost tour, but I hadn’t been paying any attention after my near-death experience.
On either side of the hall, doors led to various storage, janitorial, and laundry rooms. Up ahead I could hear the telltale
