destination spa and hotel. And our chef, René, is close to having our restaurant Michelin rated.”
“Do you do other conferences here?” Mom asked.
“We try to schedule something once a month. We don’t like to do too many because we are small enough that a conference can easily fill all the rooms and then there aren’t any for regular guests.” She glanced at me and tilted her head. “My mother could tell you so much more about the history of some of our artwork. It’s really her obsession, right after running the hotel. I wonder where—”
A muffled shriek cut across Jessica’s words.
Everyone turned toward the door, candle flames dancing with the movement.
We heard it again, but louder.
I rushed toward the exit, and Mac followed right behind.
“Everyone stay where you are,” Jessica said. “We’ll be right back.”
I assumed no one followed directions, based on the stampede of feet that trailed Mac and me into the hallway. We heard someone running on the floor above and headed for the stairs. As we reached the top, a well-dressed older woman approached carrying a kerosene lamp. She wore a navy suit and low heels, its conservative feel contrasting with her huge, wild eyes. She put her hand to her mouth when she spotted us.
“Oh, she’s . . . where’s?” the woman said.
Jessica quickly introduced the woman as her mother, Linda Garrett.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jessica stepped forward and hugged her.
“It’s Clarissa.” Linda took a shaky breath. “She’s dead.”
Her hands shook and caused the flame to bounce and flicker. Jessica gasped.
An uproar of shocked dismay rose from the stairs where the rest of the guests congregated.
“Let me take that, Mrs. Garrett,” Mac said. “I’m a police officer. Can I help?”
“Police?” She scanned Mac’s face and handed him the lantern. “Yes, please. I . . . can’t believe it.” She stared, openmouthed, at Mac and swayed a bit. Jessica put an arm out to steady her.
Mac turned to Wally. “Take everyone back downstairs to the lounge, please. Then gather the rest of the staff and wait for us there.”
Wally nodded and turned toward the group to begin his crowd control.
“What happened?” Jessica said. She sniffled and rubbed her eyes.
“I went up to check on Clarissa and to bring her a lamp.” Linda pointed to the lamp Mac held. “She didn’t answer the door, but it was unlocked, so I went in.” She took a shaky breath. “I know she likes to take a bath in the evening and thought she might be in the bathtub and couldn’t hear me.”
We waited while Linda gulped air and dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her sweater. She took a steadying breath and continued. “It was pitch dark in her room and I had to walk carefully.” She turned to Jessica. “You know how she is with her shoes. A person could turn an ankle walking through her minefield of shoes.”
Jessica nodded and gave her a small, encouraging, if watery, smile.
“I knocked on the bathroom door, and it swung open. I could see she wasn’t in the tub.” Linda looked at Mac. “It’s a large claw-foot tub and takes up most of the room. ThenI saw her on the floor. She was still dressed—she must have slipped and hit her head.”
Linda stopped and stared past us, back in the moment.
“She wasn’t breathing.” She turned and buried her face on Jessica’s shoulder.
Mac placed a hand gently on Linda’s arm. “I need to go secure the scene.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said. I felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of investigating a mysterious death. A sharp moment of guilt stabbed at my conscience. A young woman was dead. I was getting worse than Aunt Vi.
Mac started to say something and then nodded.
“Mrs. Garrett? Are you able to come back to her room and show us?” Mac asked.
She nodded and clutched Jessica’s hand as we walked to the end of the hall. The lantern cast grotesque bouncing shadows on the walls. The climb up was steep and