By the time Traci reached the Shack, the woods were alive with lights: blue lights from the Bonaventure sheriff’s department, the red lights of an ambulance, and the swirling white lights from the Saint’s security patrol cars. Her heart pounded and she felt the blood rushing to her head. This was real.
Yellow crime scene tape had been stretched in a wide perimeter around the Shack. Inside the tape, Ric stood stiffly at the edge of a knot of law enforcement types.
A uniformed sheriff’s deputy stepped forward as soon as Traci alighted from her golf cart, and motioned for her to stop.
Traci tried to brush past the woman. “I’m Traci Eddings, the president of the resort, and that’s my niece, Parrish, the girl who—”
“Sorry for your loss, ma’am, but this is an active crime scene investigation. You need to stay right here.”
“Can you… tell me anything? Like, what happened?”
Just then, Ray Bierbower walked up and ducked under the tape. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. E.”
He removed his aviator sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This was the last thing I wanted to find.”
“Who called the sheriff?” she asked.
“I called it in, as soon as I found her, but I don’t think your brother-in-law is too happy with me for doing that.”
“Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing. Do they know what happened?”
“They’re not telling me nothing official. But I can tell you, when I found her, she wasn’t shot or stabbed or anything like that, at least as far as I could tell. She just kinda looked like she’d fallen asleep.”
Traci felt bile rising in her throat. She ran to a thicket of palmetto and vomited; dry heaves that brought her to her knees as she retched and sobbed. When she tried to stand, she felt faint. Somehow, she managed to stagger to her feet. She was leaning against a slash pine tree when Bierbower found her, her eyes closed, a cold sweat forming on her flushed face.
He handed her a neatly folded handkerchief and looked tactfully away as she dabbed at the snot and sweat dripping down her face.
“Your niece seemed like a real nice girl, every time I had dealings with her,” he said.
“She was… amazing. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. Parrish was like a daughter to me.”
“Traci? This is Sheriff Coyle. He needs to talk to you.” Ric turned and walked away without another word.
The sheriff could not have missed the hostility in her brother-in- law’s attitude.
“Very sorry for your family’s loss,” Coyle said. “As I understand it from Mr. Eddings, there was some kind of party here last night? What can you tell me about that?”
“Not very much. I only found out about it this morning, from some of my staff who share a dorm with Parrish.”
She dabbed at her face and neck with the handkerchief and fanned at the halo of swarming gnats.
Coyle whipped a notebook from his pocket. “I’m gonna need to talk to all those folks.”
“Our general manager, Charlie Burroughs, can provide you with everyone’s…”
Traci was aware that her voice was trailing off, and she was beginning to do a kind of slow-motion sway. Coyle touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she whispered. It sounded like her voice was coming from far, far away.
“Lean on me,” Coyle said. The next thing she knew, she was stretched across the bench seat of her golf cart with a cool towel pressed to her neck and a cold bottle of water being rubbed across her forehead.
She opened her eyes to see Ray Bierbower, Charlie Burroughs, and the sheriff staring down at her.
“You passed out,” Bierbower said.
“Dehydrated, probably,” Coyle said, handing her the water bottle. “Drink.”
“Have you eaten anything today?” Charlie asked.
