Murder's Last Resort Read Free Page A

my room, I could see the soft glow of the Central Florida sun, dancing on the sparkling blue lake beyond my deck. I made myself a cup of my morning tea—Darjeeling from Western Bengal.
    Doug would get French out of jail post haste. Once this murder was cleared up and all our Sapphire guests had left, I could plan some away time with French. Western Bengal sounded good—distant enough to be an exotic adventure.
    Now French was having an exotic adventure all his own in the downtown jail of Orlando. Or maybe not. He might be the only guy there. Orlando was not exactly known for its murderers, drug lords and rapists. Most crimes revolved around cigarettes stolen from the Circle K or people running red lights.
    Orlando was better known for its two Ms, McDonnell Douglas and Mickey Mouse. McDonnell and Mickey had put Orlando on the map. Now French’s behind was parked in the middle of that map in a cell on Orange Avenue.
    I walked to the patio to drink my tea at the table. A blue heron swooped over me and I ducked. It perched on a nearby railing post. How long had we lived here now—over three years? I was still not used to the birds, the bugs and the reptiles.
    Herons and egrets landed wherever they wanted, not at all spooked by humans. Snakes slithered away through the thick, leathery grass every time I walked from my front door to the hotel. The only Florida wildlife I liked was the playful otters that hung around the ponds between our property and Disney World. Most mornings, I encountered them as I walked the par course.
    With the heron watching me, I picked up the phone, dialed Doug’s number and started to tell him about French.
    “Hi, Doug.”
    “Good morning, Maya,” he said. “I’m already on it. I got your earlier message.” His voice sounded smirky. He might find it funny that French was in jail, but it was no laughing matter to me.
    “French will be out on bail in less time than it takes you to brew a pot of tea,” he told me. “You still brew a lot of tea, don’t you, Maya?”
    “Yes, Doug. I still brew a lot of tea.” I thought I best fill the silence with gratitude, so I continued, “Thanks for making French a priority.”
    We said our goodbyes and I did my morning rituals, thinking of French the whole time, and how I wanted to help speed along the solving of this case. I wasn’t a policeman’s daughter for nothing. My dad had been LAPD for over twenty years and retired. Then, he was a private investigator. Before his too-young death of a heart attack, he had shared his tales with my mom and me. I missed my Dad every day and—like father, like daughter, I guessed. Figuring out who done it was in my blood. Besides, what else was I doing? I wanted French here with me.

Chapter 6
     
     
    I walked to the hotel along the volleyball beach and past the boat and windsurfer rental shack. Tots and their mommies were splashing in the kiddie pool. Oil-slathered sunbathers were already sucking up their Frangelico smoothies. Recreation department employees in their white polo shirts and shorts waved at me and said hello. All appeared in order on the happy, sunny playground of the Sapphire Silver Pines Orlando Resort. Our plum location next to Disney World kept us at a year-round 87% occupancy rate. We were always hopping.
    I called Dave Enderly from a house phone on the lower level and he told me where to find the PD. He was letting them hole up in a small meeting room near the Grand Ballroom. This would be their makeshift, on-site office. I poked my head in the door and said hello to some of the guys.
    French and I knew almost every policeman in Orlando, due to the frequent special events we hosted for the community. The guys were open with me. No results were back from the labs yet. No big news since last night. Where was Rick? I wanted to ask him why French was in jail. Did they really think he was involved in the murder?
    Hubert French, my husband—everybody knew he was a people person, not a murderer. At