Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series) Read Free

room’s open French doors, and the delightful breakfast had combined to work their magic on my usual grumpy morning self, and I felt ready to tackle the world. Or at least to take on the Miramar.
    Emmy returned my smile, although hers seemed slightly forced. She was tired, I thought, and redoubled my efforts to appear cheerful and competent. I had a sneaking suspicion that I was part of the reason she’d had a late night.
    ‘So, what’s my first task?’ I leaned over my plate to scoop up the blueberry muffin remains on my fingertips. Whoever the baker was, she or he had it all over my sweet mother’s attempts. I could actually hear my waistband shrieking in pain as it was strained to its limits. It seemed Emmy had heard it as well but she, apparently, thought it was coming from another direction entirely. She shot to her feet, staring out through the open doors at a small group of people who had circled around another person who was crying and screaming, and in general making quite a fuss.
    Great – just what I need on my first day here, I thought grimly as I too arose and followed Emmy’s fast pace out of the Palmetto and onto the patio that backed up to the dining room. Trying to keep up with Emmy while attempting to appear unruffled was going to be tougher than I’d imagined.
    The woman who was the center of the commotion was weeping hysterically. She was going on about something, but it was difficult to understand her words in between the sobbing and wailing that pierced both my eardrums and my heart. She was either in serious pain or a superb actress. Either way, she was generating interest, the breakfast crowd all agog.
    House security arrived and managed to draw the woman to her feet and guide her to a bench that sat in the shade of an arbor. The bougainvillea that trailed along the ground seemed almost garish in comparison to the woman’s pale face, and I felt a sudden uncertainty, rethinking that bit about acting. This was probably not going to be good, judging by her expression.
    Recalling that I was now an employee of the Miramar, I took it upon myself to gently maneuver the gawkers back to the breakfast tables and off of the patio. I closed the French doors, earning a quick look of gratitude from Emmy, and stationed myself just near enough to hear but not to be in the way. I am a human being, after all, full of the usual foibles and, in general, suffering from an overgrown curiosity. At least I had an excuse for eavesdropping.
    There was something about a child. A little girl, from what I could hear, six years old and given to sleepwalking. Her mother, the woman who had been making the ruckus, described her to the security team, telling them that she and her husband had awakened early to get ready for the day and discovered that Leeza, their daughter, was not in her bed, nor was she anywhere in their suite. The front door, locked securely when they had retired, had been standing wide open and there was no sign of the child.
    ‘My husband,’ she began, speaking between hiccups, ‘He’s out looking for Leeza. She hasn’t done that in a while, but usually …’ Her words broke off as another wave of sobs shook her, and I watched as Emmy moved over and sat down beside the distraught mother, slipping an arm around her shoulders and gently murmuring to her.
    ‘We have the best in security here, Mrs Reilly. Please do not worry. We will find your Leeza, I promise you.’ Emmy looked up at the three men, making a swift motion with her head. They turned and left without a word, and I marveled at the control Emmy exhibited even under duress. She was indeed a force to be reckoned with, and I was suddenly confident in her promise to find and return the missing child.
    I hesitantly approached Mrs Reilly, stopping just short of the arbor’s shade. I wanted to be helpful, to show Emmy that I could be depended upon in a crisis, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what to do. I’m known for engaging