Read Online Bone Appétit by Carolyn Haines - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Haines
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having an anxiety attack. Janet couldn’t sleep, either. She said she was hungry.” Hedy took a deep breath. “Finally I calmed down, and I thought I could rest, so I went back to the room.” Her voice broke, but she drew a deep breath. “I found Janet on the floor.” She couldn’t hold it together any longer and started crying.
Tinkie was beside her, always kinder and gentler than I could be. “It’s okay, Hedy,” she said. “What did the police say?”
Hedy’s head snapped up. “I didn’t call them. I camehere, to you. They’re going to think I killed Janet, too. You can tell them I wasn’t in the room. You can say I was with you, can’t you?”
Tinkie slowly eased away. “We can’t do that, Hedy.”
“You have to. Otherwise, I don’t have an alibi. They’ll assume I’m the killer.”
“Not necessarily. Give us just a minute, Hedy.” Tinkie motioned me toward the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door. “We have to call the police.”
“We do.” I concurred wholeheartedly. Was Hedy playing me and Tinkie? Had she come to our room to get us to collude with her on a murder? Or was she naïve and simply afraid? I didn’t have the answer, and I could tell from Tinkie’s expression that she was as flummoxed as I was. But none of that mattered. Chief Jansen would have to be notified.
“Do you think Hedy is killing the other contestants?”
My gut reaction was no. Hedy simply didn’t strike me as a serial murderer. Not even for the title of Miss Viking. “We don’t have enough information. You talk Hedy into calling the cops. It’ll be much better for her if she does it herself.” Tinkie was far more persuasive than I. “I’m going to get dressed and go inspect Hedy’s room. Once the cops arrive, we won’t have a chance to examine the crime scene.”
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No.” Tinkie would hold more sway with Hedy. “I’ll do it.”
“Be careful and don’t touch anything.”
I nodded as I stepped back into the room, where Hedy continued to sob. I grabbed some jeans and shoes. “I need your room key,” I told her.
She gave it over without even a question. She was either very trusting or very good at acting. As I closed the room door behind me, I heard Tinkie talking with her in a calm,reasonable tone. In ten minutes Tinkie would convince Hedy to call the police.
That meant I had about twenty minutes to examine the scene. Greenwood was a small town. Once the law was called, it wouldn’t take them long to arrive.
Perhaps it was only my imagination, but the smell of carnations—funeral flowers—lingered in the hotel room where Janet Menton lay on the floor beside the bed. Her face, partially smushed into the carpet, was drawn into a rictus of suffering. Whatever killed her had hurt like hell.
Judging from the body position, she’d been trying to crawl to the bathroom when she died. I didn’t touch her, but she was scantily clad and there were no bullet holes, stab wounds, or blood. It was possible—highly unlikely, but possible—she’d died of natural causes. Heart attack, aneurysm, seizure. Healthy young people spontaneously die. On rare occasion they could even combust. Millie, my friend who ran a café in Zinnia, had hundreds of back copies of the tabloids that discussed such cases.
But in this instance, “natural causes” was a far reach. If I had to guess, I’d say Janet Menton died from some type of poison. That wasn’t good for Hedy, who had more opportunity than most to poison her roommate.
The police chief would expect to find Hedy’s fingerprints in her room, but the same could not be said of mine. Unless I wanted to become a suspect—and thank you very much, I’d already done that once and didn’t enjoy it—I had to be careful to leave no trace of my visit to the room. Pulling down my shirtsleeve to cover my hand, I opened the bathroom door.
Holy cow. Beauty products were everywhere. The place looked as if a Clinique counter
Tinkie was beside her, always kinder and gentler than I could be. “It’s okay, Hedy,” she said. “What did the police say?”
Hedy’s head snapped up. “I didn’t call them. I camehere, to you. They’re going to think I killed Janet, too. You can tell them I wasn’t in the room. You can say I was with you, can’t you?”
Tinkie slowly eased away. “We can’t do that, Hedy.”
“You have to. Otherwise, I don’t have an alibi. They’ll assume I’m the killer.”
“Not necessarily. Give us just a minute, Hedy.” Tinkie motioned me toward the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door. “We have to call the police.”
“We do.” I concurred wholeheartedly. Was Hedy playing me and Tinkie? Had she come to our room to get us to collude with her on a murder? Or was she naïve and simply afraid? I didn’t have the answer, and I could tell from Tinkie’s expression that she was as flummoxed as I was. But none of that mattered. Chief Jansen would have to be notified.
“Do you think Hedy is killing the other contestants?”
My gut reaction was no. Hedy simply didn’t strike me as a serial murderer. Not even for the title of Miss Viking. “We don’t have enough information. You talk Hedy into calling the cops. It’ll be much better for her if she does it herself.” Tinkie was far more persuasive than I. “I’m going to get dressed and go inspect Hedy’s room. Once the cops arrive, we won’t have a chance to examine the crime scene.”
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No.” Tinkie would hold more sway with Hedy. “I’ll do it.”
“Be careful and don’t touch anything.”
I nodded as I stepped back into the room, where Hedy continued to sob. I grabbed some jeans and shoes. “I need your room key,” I told her.
She gave it over without even a question. She was either very trusting or very good at acting. As I closed the room door behind me, I heard Tinkie talking with her in a calm,reasonable tone. In ten minutes Tinkie would convince Hedy to call the police.
That meant I had about twenty minutes to examine the scene. Greenwood was a small town. Once the law was called, it wouldn’t take them long to arrive.
Perhaps it was only my imagination, but the smell of carnations—funeral flowers—lingered in the hotel room where Janet Menton lay on the floor beside the bed. Her face, partially smushed into the carpet, was drawn into a rictus of suffering. Whatever killed her had hurt like hell.
Judging from the body position, she’d been trying to crawl to the bathroom when she died. I didn’t touch her, but she was scantily clad and there were no bullet holes, stab wounds, or blood. It was possible—highly unlikely, but possible—she’d died of natural causes. Heart attack, aneurysm, seizure. Healthy young people spontaneously die. On rare occasion they could even combust. Millie, my friend who ran a café in Zinnia, had hundreds of back copies of the tabloids that discussed such cases.
But in this instance, “natural causes” was a far reach. If I had to guess, I’d say Janet Menton died from some type of poison. That wasn’t good for Hedy, who had more opportunity than most to poison her roommate.
The police chief would expect to find Hedy’s fingerprints in her room, but the same could not be said of mine. Unless I wanted to become a suspect—and thank you very much, I’d already done that once and didn’t enjoy it—I had to be careful to leave no trace of my visit to the room. Pulling down my shirtsleeve to cover my hand, I opened the bathroom door.
Holy cow. Beauty products were everywhere. The place looked as if a Clinique counter
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