Page 98 of Sunset Beach
“Detective Hernandez. She also told me that Gulf Vista’s management deliberately obstructed their investigation, right from the start, and maybe even tampered with the murder scene.”
“Interesting,” Ben acknowledged.
“It gets better. I also managed to track down Jazmin’s best friend, another housekeeper who was working with her the night she was killed.” She uncapped a bottle of water and drank. “Neesa, that’s Jazmin’s friend, told me some really nasty stuff was going on with the guy who was head of housekeeping. At first, they put up with his sexual harassment because they couldn’t afford to lose their jobs, but eventually, she said, both she and Jazmin traded sexual favors for ‘bonuses’ and time off.”
“So, what? You think this Herman guy maybe killed her? Why? I mean, if she was doing what he wanted, why’d he want to spoil a good thing?”
Ben wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, which he balled up and tossed in the direction of the trash can.
“Swoosh,”he said, when he landed the basket. He turned back to Drue. “What’s it got to do with the mom’s lawsuit? I mean, even if this guy did kill your girl Jazmin, it still doesn’t get her mother any more money from the hotel. Right? It happened at work. The hotel has video of her working.”
“She’s not ‘my girl Jazmin,’” Drue said, feeling the blood rise in her cheeks. “She was a person, Ben, and she didn’t deserve to die like she did. She was working and taking college classes and trying to be a good mom. And you’re right, none of this guarantees more money for Yvonne Howington. But maybe knowing who did it and why is almost as good as money. Maybe it means a sick bastard gets locked up for the rest of his life, and doesn’t get to prey on women anymore.”
“You know what Brice would say about all this, right?” Ben asked.
“Put up or shut up?”
“That too. But mostly he’d point out that’s a lot of ‘maybe’s.”
The break room door opened and Marianne stuck her head inside. “Drue? Wendy needs you right away.”
40
Wendy was lying on the sofa in her office. “Close the door,” she told Drue. “Please.”
The office manager’s face was pale, and she had her legs propped up on a stack of cushions. She wore a chic turquoise A-line dress, the first actual maternity dress Drue had seen her in, but she’d kicked off her spike-heeled Manolo Blahniks.
“Are you all right?” Drue asked.
“Not sure,” Wendy said, her voice shaky. “I’ve started spotting.”
Drue sank down onto the floor beside the sofa. “What do you want me to do? Should I call Dad? Or an ambulance?”
“No! Don’t call anybody. Your dad is in court, and I don’t want him to freak out. And I sure as hell don’t want an ambulance. I called my obstetrician’s office. The nurse says a little spotting isn’t anything to be concerned about.”
“What’s a little?” Drue asked now, feeling slightly freaked out herself. Until her mother’s illness, she’d never really been around sick people. She’d felt so helpless during Sherri’s swift decline, powerless to stop the relentlessadvance of the cancer. She swallowed back a sudden spasm of anxiety-triggered nausea.
“It’s just… spots,” Wendy said. “The point is, the nurse says I probably need to go home and get some rest. Brice drove us to work this morning, so…”
“I’ll take you home,” Drue said quickly. “Can you walk?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not dying.” Wendy swung her feet onto the floor and slipped on her shoes and grabbed her Louis Vuitton tote.
“Let’s go,” she told Drue. “And not a word about this to the rest of the staff.”
As they passed through the reception area, Wendy paused beside the reception desk, waiting while Marianne completed a phone call.
“Drue and I are going out to lunch, and then doing some shopping,” she said. “Her phone line will be off-line for the rest of the day. Tell any of my callers that I’ll be back in the office in the morning, but donotforward any calls to me, unless it’s life and death.”
Marianne looked astounded. “You’re going to lunch,together?”
“Girl time,” Drue said lightly, tucking her arm through Wendy’s.
On the twenty-minute drive out to Brice and Wendy’s house at the beach, Drue kept surreptitiously glancing at her passenger.
“Would you quit it?” Wendy said finally. “I told you. I’m fine. I just saw my doctor. I’m not hemorrhaging and I’m not going to have the baby in the front seat of your car.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Drue said. “I wouldn’t want to mar OJ’s pristine upholstery or anything.”
