The Corpse in the Cabana

that’s ridiculous. I’m the one who found the body. Why would I kill you?”
“You could have been a burglar or something.” He frowned. “Well, you are, I guess, but I mean a dangerous one.”
“Oh, yes,” I said dryly. “I’m exceptionally dangerous. Now would you put that thing down and tell me why you lied to me?”
He sighed and padded back to the kitchen, where he tossed the knife into the sink. Then he turned to me, resignation written all over his face. “Come on. Would you admit you’d banged a murder victim, like, minutes before her death?”
“Er, no. Certainly not.” I tried not to wince at the word “bang.” Not to be a fuddy-duddy or anything, but it was just so...uncouth. There were a lot more interesting and creative words for such an...event. “So, why did you come back? To the room I mean?”
He shrugged, running a hand through his spiky hair. “To make sure nothing got left behind. In case the police search the room.”
I would have bought it if I hadn’t seen the search. He’d been looking for something specific. Of that, I had no doubt. “What did you leave behind?”
“I lost my key card, okay? I figured even if they couldn’t trace it to me, it probably had my fingerprints on it or something. I thought maybe it got lost in the couch, but it isn’t here, so I’m good.” He seemed genuinely relieved.
“Won’t your boss want to know where the card went?” I asked.
“Naw. Guests lose their cards all the time. Or take them home or magnetically wipe them. It’s not uncommon to end up with missing cards. It was keyed in under the manager’s name anyway. I ain’t dumb enough to put it under my own name.” He grinned cockily as if he’d done something super smart. Frankly I was surprised he’d been that forward thinking. From what I’d seen of him, he pretty much appeared to let his hormones do the thinking.
I eyeballed him thoughtfully. Kyle might be guilty of fornication with a woman old enough to be his mother (as well as having very poor taste in women), but he hadn’t done anything an innocent person wouldn’t have done. Heck, if I could have lied to the police about finding Natasha’s body, I probably would have. I just hadn’t thought they’d suspect me. Silly me.
I wasn’t quite ready to write him off the suspect list entirely, but he wasn’t looking nearly as suspicious as I’d originally thought. Everything could be easily explained. And what motive did he have anyway? I honestly couldn’t think of one.
“Listen, you aren’t going to tell anyone are you?” Kyle asked, looking suddenly worried. “I could lose my job, and I really need it.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “As far as I’m concerned, your boss doesn’t need to know about any of this.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.” He flashed a genuine grin, not the fake one from the bar. “I owe you one.”
“Sure kid.” What I didn’t say was that I planned to tell Detective Hottie first chance I got. Anything less would be illegal. Messing with an investigation or something, and I’d already done plenty of that. Besides, it might get Costa off Cheryl’s and my back.
We said a brief goodbye at the door, and Kyle took off for parts unknown. I started for the elevator when a hiss from somewhere to my right startled me so bad I nearly swallowed my tongue. I whipped around only to find a dark, huddled shape in the shadows behind a giant potted palm. I was pretty sure I knew who it was.
“Cheryl, is that you?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“No need. Kyle already caught me.”
She stood up, sunlight picking out the reds and golds in her mostly brown hair. She was wearing a navy blue t-shirt with the phrase “Obstinate, headstrong girl” in white, swirly letters.
“What?” She sounded horrified.
I waved off her concern. “Don’t worry. We talked it out. He had a perfectly reasonable explanation.” I quickly told her about my conversation with Kyle.
“So, he’s not a suspect then?” she asked doubtfully.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly, but he’s low on the list. His explanation made sense. Besides, what motive would he have? He barely knew Natasha, and she was much older than he. I have no doubt she was a fling. Probably one of many. Kyle’s a good-looking kid, for his age, and gets plenty of attention from guests. He doesn’t exactly strike me as being above taking advantage of said attention. Natasha was just another notch in the bedpost, so to speak.”
“Good point,” Cheryl said. She propped her hands on her hips. “So now what?”
I checked the time on my phone. “It’s too late to call Costa, so I’ll ring him in the morning. How about we grab a nightcap and see if anything interesting is happening?”
She grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”
IT WAS EARLY ENOUGH that the Flying Fish was still open. NWA Conference attendees, clearly marked by the blue badges hanging from lanyards around their necks, huddled in groups around long tables, chatting in hushed tones. It was clear that Natasha’s murder was the topic on everyone’s minds. Couldn’t say I blamed them. She seemed to be taking up more than her fair share of space in my head.
On the far side of the room, I caught sight of two women sitting alone. Both were what one might consider “of a certain age.” They were clearly caught in an intense argument. I nudged Cheryl. “Look at that.”
She squinted. “Is that Yvonne Kittering? Natasha’s editor from Romantic Press?” she asked, subtly indicating the woman on the right. She had the vague outline of a fireplug, square and squat, with muddy brown eyes and short, graying hair. An unlit cigarette was clutched between two fingers and a bottle of antacids sat beside her wine glass.
I nodded. “It is. And it looks like she’s having a heated conversation with Natasha’s personal assistant.”
Cheryl frowned. “That doesn’t look like Piper.”
“No, it’s