“In my experience, bartenders are often just as insightful aspsychiatrists. And that’s coming from someone who’s seen a lot of the latter. I’llgive your analysis the proper weight.”
Maura shrugged, as if she’d met her ethical obligation, and dived in.
“The Ferros are okay. The wife, Melissa, is a bit of a drama queen.When I heard she claimed she had discovered a body, I was a little skeptical.Some part of me wondered if she had just overreacted to someone who passed out;you know, for attention. She likes attention.”
“There you go,” Jessie said encouragingly. “That wasn’t so hard. Whatabout her husband?”
“They’re a good match. Mrs. Ferro likes attention and Mr. Ferro likesto give attention.”
“To her or others?”
“Both,” Maura said. “He’ll give her long, deep, meaningful stares. But healso gets a little flirty when he’s had a few. Both he and Steve have gone alittle over the top from time to time.”
“What does that mean?”
Maura gave an exhausted half smile that Jessie knew well.
“After their wives have left and they’ve had a few drinks, they eachtend to get a little handsy with the waitresses, even with me; never to ‘tossthem out’ levels but enough that I once had to elbow Ferro in the gut to get mypoint across.”
“You didn’t tell management?”
Maura gave another smile, this time one Jessie couldn’t identify.
“The management here is, what’s the word I’m looking for—relaxed—whenit comes to guest-staff interaction. There’s an openness to intermingling whichguests sometimes try to take advantage of. I made it clear that I wasn’t intodoing any mingling, at least not with folks of their particular persuasion. Nowmaybe if you wanted to mingle, I might reconsider.”
She smiled slyly. Jessie could feel her neck start to burn.
“I’m flattered,” she said, “but I think my boyfriend might object.”
Maura shrugged.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Jessie didn’t but she did feel an obligation to bring the conversationback to the professional level.
“And yet,” she noted, “despite your lack of interest in their advances,you still have the hair flip in your arsenal.”
“Just because they can’t touch, doesn’t mean they can’t dream,” Maurasaid with impressive confidence. “The dream of touching is what generates thosebig tips. The hair flip is a big part of the dream.”
Jessie couldn’t argue with the woman’s logic. Besides, she got thesense that Maura could handle herself if someone tried too hard to make hisdream into a reality.
“So Steve Crewe got gropey too?” she asked, moving on.
“Yeah, but he a little clumsier about it than his friend,” Maura said. “RichFerro always managed to seem like he was playing a game. Steve was a littlemore furtive about it, and a little more hangdog if he was shot down. Unlike Rich,I got the sense that he would have felt bad if his wife caught him.”
“Speaking of his wife, what was your impression of her?”
“You’re asking me to give a cold, hard take on a woman who wasapparently just stabbed to death?” Maura asked incredulously.
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
The bartender sighed heavily for the second time in as many minutes andrubbed her scalp with her hand as she thought how best to answer.
“She was nice, I guess,” she began, before adding, “I mean, she wasalways nice to me. I even saw her shame some guy once in the bar that was beinga bit too crude with a waitress. She started asking what his daughter wouldthink if she saw him in that moment. He backed right off. It was actuallypretty impressive.”
“Then why do I hear what sounds like a ‘but’ in there?” Jessie asked.
“She just had an air about her, like she knew she was hot shit and didn’tmind flaunting it. Don’t get me wrong. I do the same thing sometimes. But therewas a dismissiveness that I found off-putting. And she was less nice to herhusband. To be honest, I thought she treated him like a cuckold.”
“How so?” Jessie pressed.
“Nothing overt, just a general vibe. I can’t really explain it.”
Jessie wanted to pursue the issue more but Colby Peters dashed in, breathingheavily and looking agitated.
“Is something wrong with the crime scene investigation?” Jessie askedanxiously.
“No, that’s going fine. They’re working away,” he said. “The problem iswith the guests. We’ve got a mutiny on our hands.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As they rushed to the second floor, Peters explained the problem. Theguests were complaining about being cooped up without any sense of when they’d beable to leave.
“Some of them want to go back to their rooms and pack so they can catchthe first ferry back to the mainland. They just want off the island.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Jessie said, unable to hide herirritation as they hurried up the stairs. “These people are all potentialwitnesses and suspects. No one’s going anywhere until we talk to all of them.”
“I’m not sure we have the power to prevent them all from leaving,”Peters said. “There are only so many of us and my captain is big on keeping visitorshappy about their time here. Remember, in one way or another, tourism employsover half the island’s population. We can’t afford to alienate a bunch of visitorsin one night.”
Jessie was about to read him the riot act, but before she could reply,they reached the top of the stairwell, where she was dismayed to find a halfdozen people milling about in the hallway, talking to each other. Tommy thebellboy stood helpless in the corner, clearly beaten down by being assigned aresponsibility well above his pay grade.
“Where’s Deputy Heck?” she asked Peters, trying to keep her voice even.
“He’s still outside the Crewe suite providing security.”
“I think Long Beach CSU can handle things up there,” she said. “Get himdown here. We need him more than they do.”
As Peters spoke to Heck on the radio, Jessie strode into the center ofthe crowd and shouted in a booming voice.
“I need everyone to move into the Catalina Ballroom, please,” sheordered. “Everyone in the hall here and everyone in the Wrigley Ballroom,please make your way into the Catalina.”
A few people walked up to her, looking annoyed, but she held up herhand.
“Please move into the ballroom, folks,” she insisted. “We’ll deal withyour
