The Princess and the Poison Page 11

  I was glad I didn't have my coffee yet. In response to that statement, I probably would have sputtered my latte all over him. I remained silent.

  Donna brought out our coffees a moment later, and we thanked her. She raised her eyebrows at me, no doubt wondering who Ryan was. I tried to convey a look that meant I'd tell her later, which was about as difficult as it sounded.

  "She was so kind," Ryan said. "Probably the kindest person I've ever known. She was very good to me."

  I was having real difficulty squaring this image of Katrina with what I—and everyone else—had observed. Presumably Katrina's boyfriend would know her the best of anyone. He seemed sincere, but maybe he was just fooling himself about her character. He wouldn't be the first person to deny his significant other's faults. Love being blind and all that. I considered grilling him on the matter, but he seemed so fragile. I didn't want to upset him. "How long had you been together?" I asked instead.

  "About nine months." He paused and turned red. "I actually dated Mariana before Katrina. That's how I met Katrina."

  "Wow. But, wait. You had to pretend you were still with Mariana while you were with Katrina? How did Mariana feel about that?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Not so great, as you can imagine." He laughed bitterly. "It was…awkward."

  "Yeah, sounds like it." Was it so awkward that Mariana might have killed Katrina? "Ryan, if you don't mind my asking, who will inherit Katrina's money? Did she have a will?"

  "Her parents inherit some, and she designated the rest to go to various charities. The parents don't especially need it. They're wealthy."

  Okay, so that answered one of my questions. But I had more. "You know, I've been wondering. What happens to Katrina's entourage now? They obviously don't have their jobs with her anymore. Are they still in the area?"

  "Yeah, they're still around. They're all staying with Sondra's aunt here in Springdale."

  "Sondra was another member of the entourage?"

  "Right. Sondra is…was her makeup artist. Hayley was her hairdresser."

  I made a mental note to fill in the names on my spreadsheet. "But you guys will be going back to Hollywood soon?"

  "Mariana was just hired at a high-end manicure shop in Oak Heights. Nail Away with Me, it's called. She's looking for an apartment and is moving here. Hayley and Sondra landed a gig at a big society wedding, but that's obviously just short-term. They'll probably go back to Hollywood after that. I'm gonna look for a job here. And I'll probably just keep staying with my folks. There's no reason for me to go back now. Now that Katrina is…" His voice trailed off, and he gave me a look that would give Eeyore a run for his money.

  "Your folks live up here?"

  "Yeah, I'm from here originally, actually."

  I wanted to ask Ryan about the "big society wedding," but I didn't want to come off as insensitive. He was obviously in a lot of pain. "This must be very hard on you."

  He nodded miserably.

  Then I couldn't stop myself. "Whose wedding is it?"

  He looked confused.

  "Where Hayley and Sondra got work."

  "Oh. Caitlin Devaneau's."

  "Yeah, I've heard of her." Caitlin Devaneau was a well-known socialite in the area. I wasn't really sure what socialites did exactly, but I had seen her mentioned in the paper a few times for attending one ball or another. I remembered reading she was marrying some big shot computer guy. And if I recalled correctly, the wedding was coming up soon. If only I knew Caitlin and could swing an invite.

  "Did she have a driver? Who drove them to and from their hotel?" I was surprised Ryan wasn't curious about all the questions. He was probably still in shock from Katrina's death.

  Ryan nodded. "Some guy she hired just for the summer. Um, Jeremy, I think his name is. From On the Road Limos."

  I didn't think the driver would have had access to the spinning wheel, but he could be good for some intel. I'd have to look him up as soon as possible. And wasn't it about time I got a real manicure? At a high-end salon?

  My cell phone rang. It was Cameron, alerting me he needed change. I told Ryan I had to go, and we stood.

  "Nice meeting you," he said.

  "You as well." We shook hands.

  "A little chilly this morning, isn't it?" He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. His eyes grew wide as he slowly withdrew a key from his right pocket. The keychain tag read 402. "Uh-oh."

  "What? What is that?"

  "It's a key to Katrina's hotel room at The Cunningham. That's what you get for staying at a historic hotel. No key cards. I guess I was so busy getting back to work that I forgot I had it. They probably want it back."

  "I thought you had just been up here for the afternoon."

  "Yeah. I was hoping to stay the night, so Katrina gave me the extra key, but I just couldn't. My boss threatened to fire me if I didn't come back. I wish I had just quit right then and there. Maybe I could have saved her." He shot me the Eeyore look again.

  An idea came to me—an unethical one to be sure but perhaps one of those ends-justified-the-means kind. I hated to do it to my new friend, but desperate times and desperate measures. I'd love to be able to search Katrina's hotel room for possible clues.

  "I have to go over to that area this afternoon. I can return the key for you." I smiled uneasily, but Ryan didn't seem to notice my discomfort.

  "That would be great. Thanks, Ashling." He handed over the key, and I slipped it into my pocket. We said good-bye.

  * * *

  Later, when I told Donna the plan I'd concocted, she asked quite sensibly, "But won't a new guest be staying in the room?"

  "That I don't know. The room was probably a secondary crime scene, but because it's been a while since the murder, it probably isn't anymore. It's entirely possible someone new is staying there. Best case scenario, it's still a crime scene, Katrina's things are there, but no law enforcement is around. Mildly bad scenario, it's not a crime scene, we walk in, new guests are there, and I'll have to come up with a cover story. Worst case scenario, it's still a crime scene, Truesdale and Ochoa are there, I can't come up with a cover story, and they place me under arrest." I was only half-joking about that last bit. They couldn't really arrest me, could they?

  "Okay, that settles it. I'm going with you."

  "Donna, I don't know. If someone with the police catches you in Katrina's hotel room…"

  "That's why we'll be extra careful. Right?"

  "Well, okay." To be honest, I'd be glad to have the company. This wasn't going to be easy.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Donna and I walked into The Cunningham Hotel as nonchalantly as we could, pretending we were legitimate guests and were simply returning to our room.

  "My cousin and his wife got married here. Boyd and Tammy." My heart was hammering, and I was trying to cover my anxiety with small talk. What if the detectives were here and they caught us? I should never have let Donna come. There would be enough trouble if they caught me. "It was a long time ago. I was the flower girl. I wore a dress with daisies on it."

  "Nice story, Ash." Donna crossed her eyes at me.

  We approached the elevator, which was one of the old-fashioned kind with a gate. We took the elevator to the fourth floor, disembarked, and looked around to be sure we were alone.

  "Coast is clear," Donna said.

  "Four oh two," I whispered.

  As we walked down the hall, Donna took two sets of rubber dishwashing gloves out of her purse.

  "What are those for?" I asked.

  "In case it's still a crime scene. I have a whole box of these at the restaurant."

  "Good idea." I put on a pair.

  No yellow crime scene tape crisscrossed the door on room 402. Holding my breath, I carefully inserted Ryan's room key. I desperately tried to come up with a cover story in case we got caught, but I had nothing.

  Both Donna and I sighed with relief as we entered the room. No one was there. That was the good news. The bad news was the room ha
d been completely cleared. No suitcase, no computer, no negative-2-sized clothing, and, most importantly, no list entitled "People Who Might Kill Me."

  Donna and I turned to each other.

  "I guess this means it's not a crime scene anymore," I said.

  "Possible the police missed something?"

  "Doubt it. But let's look anyway. Keep on the gloves just in case."

  "I wonder why Katrina and company were staying at this hotel." Donna opened the closet. "It's not the classiest hotel in the area. It's old. And this room is hardly a suite. It's just a standard-sized room."

  "Your guess is as good as mine. I thought at first it was because Katrina was low-maintenance. But now that we know more about her, I have no clue. Maybe it was self-protection. Everyone would have thought she'd stay at The Bay or some other luxury hotel. She probably would have had fans and the media camping out, hoping to see her."

  I opened dresser and desk drawers but found nothing other than a couple of bobby pins. I walked around the room, peering closely at the TV, the sofa, and the coffee table. I moved the ottoman to get a better look underneath the coffee table. Nothing. Then, in a dazzling display of clumsiness that surely would have netted a perfect score from the judges, I tripped as I got up, tumbled backward over the ottoman, and fell with a thud to the floor.

  "Nice going, Dick Van Dyke," Donna teased.

  "Ouch," I cried, writhing from side to side and pushing my hand to the small of my back. "That hurt."

  Donna's teasing turned to concern. "Try not to move. I'll help you."

  Just as Donna knelt to assist me, I noticed something shiny stuck in between the nightstand and the bed. I forgot all about my hurting back.

  "Donna! Something's stuck there. Help me get it."

  Donna pulled away the nightstand. The object fell, and I crawled over, finally grabbing what turned out to be a smartphone. Managing to get to my feet with only a few stabbing pains, I showed my found treasure to Donna.

  "Do you think it's Katrina's?" I asked excitedly. Then, deflated, I followed up with, "The battery would have to be dead by now."

  Donna took the phone from me. "I think it's actually turned off. See?" She did something to the phone and flashed me the display.

  "This is great! She must have turned it off, put it on the nightstand, and, at some point, knocked it over without realizing!"

  "Yeah, that part is great. What isn't so great is it's password protected."

  I groaned. "Cripes. Now what?"

  "Maybe we can figure it out. But I don't think I can do anything with these gloves on. I could barely turn it on."

  I thought fast. "I have an idea. Let's take it with us. After we get a look, assuming it's hers, I'll hand it over to the detectives. That's the right thing to do anyway. I'll tell them I found the phone at the park and only went through it to find out the owner. That way it won't matter that my fingerprints are on it."

  Donna looked me over, evaluating my plan. "Okay, put it in your purse, and let's go."

  On the way out, we dropped off the room key at the desk, saying we were returning it for a friend. Hopefully the young desk clerk wouldn't connect it to Katrina.

  Back in my office, Donna and I sat next to each other at my desk, and I removed the phone from my purse.

  "Okay, I'm going with the theory it's Katrina's. Now that I think about it, I didn't see her with her phone on the day of the premiere, so I bet it is. How do we figure out the password? Do you think it's her birthday? But who knows what that is."

  "May twenty-third."

  "Right. I forgot you were her biggest fan." I tapped in 0523, but no go. "Yeah, I guess she wasn't dumb enough to use her birthday. But now what? Ryan's birthday? You can't possibly know that. You didn't even know about him."

  Donna thought a minute. "Try five two one nine."

  "What's that?"

  "It was her street address on Whatever. And she used it as her email password on the show. They had a whole episode about her getting hacked because the password was too simple." Donna had the grace to blush.

  I tapped in 5219 and the password screen went away. "You're a genius. It worked! But you need to help me. I want to access her browser history, email, and stuff like that. I don't know how these things work. I still have a flip phone."

  "Are you ever going to join the rest of us in the twenty-first century?"

  "You know I've got a great plan that doesn't cost much. I prefer to spend my money on other things. Like pie." I grinned.

  She reached for the smartphone, but I shook my head. "I don't think we better get your fingerprints on it. Just tell me what to do."

  "Well, see those icons? You can just tap one, and it will open. Like pictures and music and the internet. Tap that one for the pictures." I did as she instructed.

  "That's the hairdresser." Donna pointed to a woman with very short hair and vivid blue eyes, whom I vaguely recognized from the gaggle of gorgeous giggling women I'd seen on the stage when I'd first met Katrina. But this woman looked different. I remembered long and lush blonde hair.

  "Hayley," I said. "But her hair is so short."

  "You can pinch your fingers and release to zoom in." Donna demonstrated in the air.

  I zoomed in. "She has hardly any hair! Just tufts and bald spots. She must wear a wig. Why would Katrina take a picture of that?" The second I said it, I knew the answer. "She was blackmailing her? But why? She didn't need money."

  "Ashling, you forget. Katrina was a b-i-t-c-h, remember? She probably was blackmailing her just because she could."

  So we could add blackmail to the list of Katrina's misdeeds.

  I swiped across the picture as Donna directed, and a new one took its place.

  "What's that?" Donna asked.

  "I don't know." I made the pinching movement. "It looks like makeup labels. That's weird. Do you know these brands?"

  "No. Never heard of them."

  I looked through more pictures, finding a number of selfies of Katrina in her Sleeping Beauty gown and several photos of StoryWorld. Nothing unusual.

  A knock at the office door was followed by the arrival of Detectives Truesdale and Ochoa. Donna and I looked sideways at each other. No time to get rid of the phone. We'd have to play it cool. My heart pounded. At least they hadn't caught us at the hotel. I didn't know how I would explain our search of Katrina's room.

  "Ms. Cleary, Mrs. Grayson," Ochoa said, flicking his eyes at both of us.

  Donna and I mumbled responses.

  "We've had complaints from Julie Tavern and Laura Tenniel that you've been interrogating them," Truesdale said to me.

  "I wouldn't call it interrogating. I just had a few questions. Innocent questions."

  "Whatever you call it, we want you to stop." Ochoa shot me a stare, and I looked at Truesdale for support. She just frowned at me. What happened to "good cop, bad cop"?

  "But Donna didn't do it!" I cried, pointing to my friend. Donna put on her most innocent expression, which unfortunately had the opposite effect of what she was going for. She looked like she was faking. "You're not making any headway in finding the real killer," I added imperiously. I'd put the phone on my desk, but I kept glancing at it, as did Donna. Unluckily for us, it didn't go without notice.

  "Whose phone is that?" Truesdale asked, without responding to my statements.

  Time to go forward with my plan. It wasn't exactly the way I'd envisioned, but okay, here I go. "It's Katrina's. I just found it. It was in the bushes at The Princess and the Pea ride. She must have dropped it without realizing. I was planning to bring it to you right after I figured out it was hers."

  "The battery hadn't died?" Ochoa asked. "She's been dead for three weeks." Cripes, I forgot they were detectives.

  "No. She had it turned off." I tried to look sincere. That part wasn't a lie, I reminded myself. Only my cover story was the huge whopper.

  Truesdale made a soft scoffing sound and held out her palm. I handed over the phone.

  Ochoa said
, "We'll be in touch."

  The detectives left, leaving Donna and me in stunned silence.

  Finally, Donna said, "Ouch. Do you think they believed you?"

  "I don't know. They're pretty sharp. Darn it. We hardly got to look at it. We didn't look at all the pictures, and we never even got onto the internet or to her emails."

  "We learned one thing. She was blackmailing the hairdresser. That could be important."

  "Right. So Hayley is now a viable suspect. That's good. But what's up with that picture of the makeup?"

  "I have no idea. What do we do now?"

  "I wish we could talk to Hayley. And the makeup person, Sondra. Ryan told me they're both working at a high society wedding soon. For Caitlin Devaneau. Too bad there's not a way for us to go to the wedding so we could talk to them." I fiddled with the charms on my bracelet watch. Was it possible to actually crash a wedding? Or did that only happen in the movies?

  Donna said, "Maybe there is. I know Caitlin's mother, Susan."

  "What? You do? You never told me that."

  "The subject never came up."

  "How in the world do you know her? I don't remember you attending any high society events lately. Have you been moonlighting as a socialite?"

  "Caitlin's father, Peter, is a part-time lecturer at the university. I met them all one night at a faculty dinner. Susan and I hit it off. She loves to cook, and we traded some recipes."

  Dinah startled me by jumping into my lap. I scratched her ears. "Do you think you could get us in? To the wedding?"

  "I can try. I'll go call Susan right now. I think I might have her number at the restaurant."

  While Donna was gone, I tinkered around with my suspects list, making sure to give Dinah attention at the same time. I didn't accomplish much, but I did turn each column a different color and succeeded in making the list much prettier.

  Donna returned about fifteen minutes later. "Okay, we're in. Susan and Peter are hosting the reception at their estate in Oak Heights, and Susan said we're welcome to come. It's this Sunday. It's a lunch thing because the newlyweds are flying to Europe after."