“The best room. It’s called the Honeymoon Suite.” Marigold turned a sudden smile on her. “But they should call it the Murder Suite.”
“I’m sorry?” Astonished, Tina paused with her pencil hovering over the page.
“I’m not surprised you don’t know. It was a long time ago, and only us locals remember, and no one wants to piss off the Carmichaels by mentioning it. A guest was murdered in that suite, like thirty years ago.”
“Really? I didn’t know the inn had such an interesting past. What happened?”
“If you really want to know, you should talk to Heather and Gabby. They’re covering it on their podcast.”
Heather McPhee was Luke’s girlfriend, which made her one of the few people Tina knew on this island. She and her friend Gabby Ramon cohosted a true crime podcast called Dirty Rotten Bastards, and somehow they still hadn’t run out of material here on Sea Smoke Island.
“Is it a big mystery? Did they arrest someone? Now I’m curious.”
“They never found out who did it, I can tell you that. I vaguely remember everyone on the island freaking out because a murderer might be on the loose. They interrogated everyone who worked there, all the guests, everyone staying on the island. No one was allowed to leave for a day, I remember that. But they never did arrest anyone, and eventually we all just got on with our lives.”
“An unsolved murder mystery. Damn.” She almost wished she could focus on that instead of some dumbass runaway bridegroom. But a crime from thirty years ago didn’t rate against nabbing someone who might still be causing trouble in the here and now.
“If you want to know more about it, ask Heather and Gabby, or look it up online.”
“It was in the papers?” Her fingers itched to start googling.
“I mean…a wealthy guest stabbed to death in the dark…yes, it got some coverage.”
“In the dark? What do you mean?”
“The power went out that night. That’s how they came up with the cheesy name for their overdramatized coverage. They called it the Night Light Murder.”
3
Tina had to laugh. “That’s either lame or creative, I can’t decide which.”
“That’s the newspapers for ya.” Marigold pulled up outside the inn’s entrance. It didn’t have a parking lot, per se, since most guests arrived by boat. Most of the nearby vehicles were golf carts that the staff and guests used to get around.
“Hang on a sec,” Tina said as she gathered her things, preparing to climb out of the truck. “Tell me more about this murder. What happened? Who got killed by the light of the night light?”
“Some obscenely wealthy guest, one of those old-school upper-crust dudes who’d been coming to the inn every summer his whole life.”
“Anything get stolen?”
Marigold turned an impatient gaze on her. “You’re supposed to be finding Adam Johnson and kicking his ass, not worried about some murder from thirty years ago.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Sorry. Since the Murder Suite is the last place you saw him, I’m going to do a sweep in there. Make sure to send me a few photos of Adam.”
“I will. I’ll shoot you everything I’ve found out about him so far too.”
“Thanks, that’ll be helpful.” At least, she hoped it would be. If this “Adam Johnson” didn’t want to be found, chances were he’d make it impossible to do so. She’d give it a solid try, mostly because it was better than being on “vacation.”
The Lightkeeper Inn welcomed her inside as if she were a duchess, with a bell boy jumping to take her bags, and a smiling concierge’s assistant offering her a glass of sparkling water spiked with juniper—locally grown, Tina was assured.
The inn wore its history gracefully. Its wooden floors gleamed with the patina only decades of wax polish could give. Not a speck of peeling paint was to be seen on the tall white columns that supported the high ceilings. An atmosphere of wealth and ease radiated throughout. Exuberant bouquets of tiger lilies and deep blue delphiniums added a splash of color to the airy foyer. To the left was a glass-walled conservatory where guests lounged and gazed at the view; to the right a restaurant with a classic mahogany bar. That must be where they served the Zombie’s Revenge.
Along one wall of the foyer, vintage framed photographs from the inn’s early days showed women in bustles strolling across the lawn, men playing badminton in knee pants, and children digging in the sand on the beach at the foot of the cliffs. Wasn’t there an elevator to that beach? Tina had heard rumors to that effect.
And yet, for all the visible wealth and privilege, it wasn’t hard for her to imagine a murder happening here. She was a police officer, after all. She could also see how easily it would be forgotten as the flow of summer pleasure-seeking continued on.
From her previous time on Sea Smoke, she recognized the reception clerk, a young local named Heidi Ochoa. The girl stiffened as she approached. “What now?” she asked warily.
Tina laughed. She could hardly blame her, since her past two visits had been during times of crisis.
