It doesn't surprise me that their initial reaction is that Emmanuel killed himself. I've seen it before. Far too many times. But in this situation, it makes sense. Two staff members came forward during the initial investigation and mentioned the rumors about Emmanuel and Rosa. Though neither seemed willing to straight-out say they were having a relationship, there was enough suggestion and hearsay to all but confirm it.
Obviously, in his devastation after her death, Emmanuel couldn't take the grief and killed himself.
It's an easy conclusion for local police, but one that could be quickly discounted by investigators reviewing the case. They'll see the same things I did and know someone else was responsible for his death. What they might not see is the significance of the menu.
"Constance said he called for medicine this afternoon because he wasn't feeling well," I point out. "She sent some up from the infirmary. That can't be possible."
"Why not?" Bellamy asks.
"The menu on the floor is from this morning. Yesterday morning? I don't even know what time it is. It was on top of the blood. He was dead before he supposedly called for medicine."
"Could the menu have moved?" Bellamy asks. "Maybe he didn't pick it up, and the killer walking past it made it move into the blood."
I shake my head.
"Look at the way the blood is gathered at the top of the paper. It had already started to coagulate when the edge of the menu hit it and slid forward, gathering it. Emmanuel was dead before he supposedly called for medicine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I'm starting out of the room when Bellamy stops me.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I have to go talk to Constance or somebody at the desk. Whoever can tell me who called for medicine, and who delivered it,” I tell her.
“Emma, it's after two in the morning. You need to sleep,” she says.
“No, I need to find out what happened.”
“You do need some rest,” Eric insists. “Even if there is someone in the lobby right now, it's not going to be the same people who work in the morning. They might not even know who handles something like that. You need to get at least a couple of hours of sleep before you do anything else.”
“Fine,” I finally relent.
“Good,” he says. “We’re staying here in the room with you. You're not going to be alone at night until we figure out what happened.”
I want to argue with him, but he's right. Someone killed Emmanuel, and I can only imagine it's because of what he knew. It's not going to take much for them to know I'm unraveling what's going on here at the resort, and that means I'm dangling by a thread.
Eric gets an extra pillow and blanket and stretches out on the couch in the living area while Bellamy comes into the bedroom with me. It doesn't take her too long to fall asleep, but I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. Finally, I can't take it anymore and climb slowly out of bed. Moving as quietly as I can as to not wake up Bellamy or Eric, I get my computer and curl up in a chair.
I send an email to Sam, promising to call him the next day to explain everything. Even though I don't get to hear his voice, somehow, just sending him a message is comforting. I close my computer and climb back into bed. This time I'm able to drift to sleep, but it's thin and fitful. I only manage to scrape together a couple of hours over the rest of the night.
I'm startled awake by the sound of someone knocking on the door. For a brief second, the thought that it must be Emmanuel flashes through my mind, quickly chased by the reality of what happened last night. I'm out of bed in an instant and throw on the first clothes I can get my hands on. By the time I open the door to the bedroom, I hear voices coming from the front of the room.
“Oh, good morning. I came to speak with Miss Griffin.”
“You can speak to me,” Eric says.
But he doesn't need to defend me. The second I heard those words, I knew who was standing on the other side of the door. I'm across the room in a flash. Alonso's eyes widen slightly when he sees me, and I grab him by the front of his shirt to yank him into the room as I kick the door closed.
“Where are they?" I demand.
"Emma," Eric warns, trying to step up to me, but I maneuver around him and force Alonso further into the room.
"Who?" the manager asks.
"You know who I'm talking about," I snap. "Where do you have them?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I came to check on you."
Eric carefully disengages my hands but keeps himself positioned between Alonso and the door. It's a careful balance, not wanting me to lose control, but also not being willing to let him get away.
“Check on me?” I ask incredulously. “Why? Because you wanted to see how much I figured out?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says again. “I was worried about how that man's death might be affecting you. Desmond let me know you aided in the investigation.”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I did. It only felt right considering Emmanuel— which was his name, by the way— Emmanuel, not 'that man', was going to tell me what he knew about the girls.”
“What girls?" Alonso asks.
He moves out of the way as I lunge toward him.
"Drop your act.”
His eyes flicker back and forth like he's trying to find someone who can help him.
“Are you asking about Graciela? I don't know where she is. I'm as shocked as anyone about what happened,” he tells me, doing his best impression of honesty.
“What do you mean about what happened? Noelle told me she took a couple of days off.”
“She wrote me a note,”
