Read Online Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) by Keyla Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: Keyla Hunter
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through the photos that I carried in my laptop. I picked the one of Katherine and the white-haired man.
“Yes, dear?”
“Katherine, may I ask who this is with you in the photograph?”
Her face turned pale and then beetroot red.
“Wh-where did you get that? Who are you? Why are you asking me these questions?” She shrieked and waggled her arms. With one quick age-defying movement, she pushed me toward the door.
“I… I…”
“If you bother me again, you… you’ll be sorry.” She stared at the name tag on my shirt. “Do I make myself clear?” she asked, her voice seething.
“Crystal,” I said to the closed door.
----
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Another favor please
Hey Nat,
It’s me again.
I had a bit of a run in with a guest today and I was wondering if you could help me out.
I kinda promised to have someone from the salon come over and do her hair. I completely forgot that you were on leave today.
Please, Nat, I need to make it up to her. Amanda will have my head if she finds out.
~T~
----
----
To: Tracy Turner
From: Natalya Chaykovsky
Subject: Re: Another favor please
Seriously, Trace?
How do you get yourself into these soups?
I’m getting some sun, not right now, but ok.
You owe me big time.
Nat.
----
----
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Re: Re: Another favor please
Thanks Nat!
Actually she was the one in a soup of sorts… It’s a bit of a saga and I’ll tell you when we meet up this evening.
The afternoon would be fine as long as it’s today.
She’s Katherine Walters - Room 666.
Thank you… thank you. You’re the best.
~T~
----
The ringing of my telephone startled me as I sat at my desk. It was Clara Johnson, Maxwell’s PA, with a request that I should report to his office at once. I popped my half-eaten peanut butter sandwich back into the brown paper bag and headed for the elevator.
Maxwell’s office was on the top floor of the main building which was twenty-four stories. Clara showed me into the almost semicircular room. Its curved perimeter of glass maximized the room’s breathtaking views. The mid-point of the curve overlooked the resort’s private coved beach, which was surrounded by the Heinz reserve. A majority of the properties in the vicinity belonged to the Henderson estate, much of the rest to the state.
A smattering of luxury yachts and smaller sailboats dotted the smooth sheet of blue ocean that stretched toward the hazy horizon. Families, couples, and solitary travelers reveled on the soft white sand and the scorching heat.
A couple of motorboats with the words Regency Resort Security in dark blue darted across the water close to the shore. They provided an assurance of the resort’s promise of safety and privacy it offered to its A-list clientele. The security personnel surveyed the coast for the paparazzi and other rogue elements that could disturb the peace.
The noiseless air conditioning in the room created a cool respite from the glaring heat of the day. With a wave of her arm, Clara directed me to the end of the room to one of three black leather chairs sitting against a mahogany table. I caught my reflection in the polished tabletop and realized that the goings on of the day had left me looking an absolute mess. Scowling at my image, I used my palms to smooth the hair that had come away from my ponytail as best as I could.
I faced the back of what I assumed to be Maxwell’s chair. It was upholstered in black leather with sleek and shiny dark brown wooden arms. I sank deeper into my own cloud of comfort when the chair in front of me swiveled around. Millie sat in her son’s chair across from me. The old lady cut a tiny form in the massive chair, but her presence filled the room. Her mouth was drawn in a straight line, and my smile didn’t stir a response. I sat up in my chair.
“Tracy, thank you for coming,” she said as if
“Yes, dear?”
“Katherine, may I ask who this is with you in the photograph?”
Her face turned pale and then beetroot red.
“Wh-where did you get that? Who are you? Why are you asking me these questions?” She shrieked and waggled her arms. With one quick age-defying movement, she pushed me toward the door.
“I… I…”
“If you bother me again, you… you’ll be sorry.” She stared at the name tag on my shirt. “Do I make myself clear?” she asked, her voice seething.
“Crystal,” I said to the closed door.
----
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Another favor please
Hey Nat,
It’s me again.
I had a bit of a run in with a guest today and I was wondering if you could help me out.
I kinda promised to have someone from the salon come over and do her hair. I completely forgot that you were on leave today.
Please, Nat, I need to make it up to her. Amanda will have my head if she finds out.
~T~
----
----
To: Tracy Turner
From: Natalya Chaykovsky
Subject: Re: Another favor please
Seriously, Trace?
How do you get yourself into these soups?
I’m getting some sun, not right now, but ok.
You owe me big time.
Nat.
----
----
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Re: Re: Another favor please
Thanks Nat!
Actually she was the one in a soup of sorts… It’s a bit of a saga and I’ll tell you when we meet up this evening.
The afternoon would be fine as long as it’s today.
She’s Katherine Walters - Room 666.
Thank you… thank you. You’re the best.
~T~
----
The ringing of my telephone startled me as I sat at my desk. It was Clara Johnson, Maxwell’s PA, with a request that I should report to his office at once. I popped my half-eaten peanut butter sandwich back into the brown paper bag and headed for the elevator.
Maxwell’s office was on the top floor of the main building which was twenty-four stories. Clara showed me into the almost semicircular room. Its curved perimeter of glass maximized the room’s breathtaking views. The mid-point of the curve overlooked the resort’s private coved beach, which was surrounded by the Heinz reserve. A majority of the properties in the vicinity belonged to the Henderson estate, much of the rest to the state.
A smattering of luxury yachts and smaller sailboats dotted the smooth sheet of blue ocean that stretched toward the hazy horizon. Families, couples, and solitary travelers reveled on the soft white sand and the scorching heat.
A couple of motorboats with the words Regency Resort Security in dark blue darted across the water close to the shore. They provided an assurance of the resort’s promise of safety and privacy it offered to its A-list clientele. The security personnel surveyed the coast for the paparazzi and other rogue elements that could disturb the peace.
The noiseless air conditioning in the room created a cool respite from the glaring heat of the day. With a wave of her arm, Clara directed me to the end of the room to one of three black leather chairs sitting against a mahogany table. I caught my reflection in the polished tabletop and realized that the goings on of the day had left me looking an absolute mess. Scowling at my image, I used my palms to smooth the hair that had come away from my ponytail as best as I could.
I faced the back of what I assumed to be Maxwell’s chair. It was upholstered in black leather with sleek and shiny dark brown wooden arms. I sank deeper into my own cloud of comfort when the chair in front of me swiveled around. Millie sat in her son’s chair across from me. The old lady cut a tiny form in the massive chair, but her presence filled the room. Her mouth was drawn in a straight line, and my smile didn’t stir a response. I sat up in my chair.
“Tracy, thank you for coming,” she said as if
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