Read Online Murder in the Raw by C.S. Challinor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C.S. Challinor
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, cozy, Murder, murder mystery, mystery novels, amateur slueth, c.s. challinor, rex graves mystery
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the meantime, he would meet with Bijou in person and see what could have inspired the Irishman to spin such an improbable tale.
“In case I can’t borrow a car, is the hotel limo available for two o’clock?” Rex asked the desk clerk, feeling this might be appropriate transport for his appointment.
“It is booked for the afternoon to take the von Muellers to Philipsburg. I can see if the van is free.”
“That’s okay.” Rex thanked the clerk and made his way to the Winslows’ cabana.
Paul unabashedly opened the door in the altogether, holding a mug of coffee.
“Sorry to bother you again, but the limo’s taken and I have a meeting with Monsieur Bijou.”
“No problem, dear man. Shan’t be needing the Jeep today.”
“In that case I’ll take it now, if I may, and do some sightseeing.”
Paul reached back to a table in the hall and pressed the car keys into Rex’s hand. “Send dear Mr. Bijou our regards.”
Half an hour later, Rex was well on his way. What he appreciated most about St. Martin so far, he reflected as he drove up the coast, was that the island had not broken out in a rash of concrete like so many vacation hotspots around the world—Florida and the Costa del Sol in Spain, to name but a few. He hoped that wouldn’t change, but with developers like Bijou putting up luxury high-rises along the coast, who knew?
When he arrived at the Marina del Mar, he found a gated community of six towers soaring from lusciously landscaped islands linked by navigable waterways with individual boat slips and Venetian-style bridges. Rex parked the Jeep in the underground garage of the first tower, as Bijou’s personal assistant had instructed on the phone, and entered a lobby tiled in Italian marble. Classical music floated from yucca plants festooning the far corners, while a tubular aquarium in the center disappeared into the cathedral ceiling, soothing the visitor in mind and spirit with its gentle burble and lazy shoals of angelfish.
Impossible to enter the calm and tasteful elegance of the Marina del Mar tower without feeling a sense of entitlement, Rex remarked to himself. He walked over to the V-shaped reception desk where a young woman with Spock eyebrows and subtly applied mauve eye shadow supervised a chrome laptop of ultramodern design. “Rex Graves to see Monsieur Bijou,” he informed her.
“I’ll let him know you are here,” she said in a neutral accent, and spoke into an intercom. “He will see you now, Mr. Graves. Please go up to the penthouse suite.”
After summoning one of the transparent elevators, Rex pressed the button for the nineteenth floor. The car rose noiselessly and deposited him at a plush-carpeted antechamber leading to a solid-looking door with a brass knocker. Before he had time to reach for it, a young Adonis of indeterminate race in a white dress suit and black bowtie admitted him into the suite.
“This way, sir,” he murmured deferentially, leading Rex onto a wide balcony with panoramic vistas of the private marina and open sea.
A stylish man in his fifties approached, clean-shaven, and with not a silver hair out of place. His eyes were so pale as to be colorless. Even Rex, who had little sartorial savoir-faire , could tell that the custom-made suit came from the most expensive cloth, the fabric of the shirt was of the finest linen, and the tie of the rarest silk—platinum gold in color. Rex felt unhappily frumpy in the man’s presence. As they shook hands, he was aware of an expensively subtle aftershave emanating from his person.
“Would you care to join me in a gin and tonic?” Monsieur Bijou asked in exquisite English that was yet not quite English.
“Thank you.”
“Oscar, please bring the drinks upstairs.”
Upstairs? Rex looked about him, certain there could not be another story to the building. Monsieur Bijou gestured to a flight of steps off the balcony, which brought them to a rooftop pool, and indicated a padded patio chair beneath a
“In case I can’t borrow a car, is the hotel limo available for two o’clock?” Rex asked the desk clerk, feeling this might be appropriate transport for his appointment.
“It is booked for the afternoon to take the von Muellers to Philipsburg. I can see if the van is free.”
“That’s okay.” Rex thanked the clerk and made his way to the Winslows’ cabana.
Paul unabashedly opened the door in the altogether, holding a mug of coffee.
“Sorry to bother you again, but the limo’s taken and I have a meeting with Monsieur Bijou.”
“No problem, dear man. Shan’t be needing the Jeep today.”
“In that case I’ll take it now, if I may, and do some sightseeing.”
Paul reached back to a table in the hall and pressed the car keys into Rex’s hand. “Send dear Mr. Bijou our regards.”
Half an hour later, Rex was well on his way. What he appreciated most about St. Martin so far, he reflected as he drove up the coast, was that the island had not broken out in a rash of concrete like so many vacation hotspots around the world—Florida and the Costa del Sol in Spain, to name but a few. He hoped that wouldn’t change, but with developers like Bijou putting up luxury high-rises along the coast, who knew?
When he arrived at the Marina del Mar, he found a gated community of six towers soaring from lusciously landscaped islands linked by navigable waterways with individual boat slips and Venetian-style bridges. Rex parked the Jeep in the underground garage of the first tower, as Bijou’s personal assistant had instructed on the phone, and entered a lobby tiled in Italian marble. Classical music floated from yucca plants festooning the far corners, while a tubular aquarium in the center disappeared into the cathedral ceiling, soothing the visitor in mind and spirit with its gentle burble and lazy shoals of angelfish.
Impossible to enter the calm and tasteful elegance of the Marina del Mar tower without feeling a sense of entitlement, Rex remarked to himself. He walked over to the V-shaped reception desk where a young woman with Spock eyebrows and subtly applied mauve eye shadow supervised a chrome laptop of ultramodern design. “Rex Graves to see Monsieur Bijou,” he informed her.
“I’ll let him know you are here,” she said in a neutral accent, and spoke into an intercom. “He will see you now, Mr. Graves. Please go up to the penthouse suite.”
After summoning one of the transparent elevators, Rex pressed the button for the nineteenth floor. The car rose noiselessly and deposited him at a plush-carpeted antechamber leading to a solid-looking door with a brass knocker. Before he had time to reach for it, a young Adonis of indeterminate race in a white dress suit and black bowtie admitted him into the suite.
“This way, sir,” he murmured deferentially, leading Rex onto a wide balcony with panoramic vistas of the private marina and open sea.
A stylish man in his fifties approached, clean-shaven, and with not a silver hair out of place. His eyes were so pale as to be colorless. Even Rex, who had little sartorial savoir-faire , could tell that the custom-made suit came from the most expensive cloth, the fabric of the shirt was of the finest linen, and the tie of the rarest silk—platinum gold in color. Rex felt unhappily frumpy in the man’s presence. As they shook hands, he was aware of an expensively subtle aftershave emanating from his person.
“Would you care to join me in a gin and tonic?” Monsieur Bijou asked in exquisite English that was yet not quite English.
“Thank you.”
“Oscar, please bring the drinks upstairs.”
Upstairs? Rex looked about him, certain there could not be another story to the building. Monsieur Bijou gestured to a flight of steps off the balcony, which brought them to a rooftop pool, and indicated a padded patio chair beneath a
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