Late Arrival: A Park Hotel Mystery (The Park Hotel Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  Late Arrival

  BY

  DIANE CAPRI

  Presented By:

  AugustBooks

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  Praise for

  New York Times and USA Today

  Bestselling Author

  Diane Capri

  “Full of thrills and tension, but smart and human, too. Kim Otto is a great, great character. I love her.”

  Lee Child, #1 World Wide Bestselling Author of Jack Reacher Thrillers

  “[A] welcome surprise… [W]orks from the first page to ‘The End’.”

  Larry King

  “Swift pacing and ongoing suspense are always present… [L]ikable protagonist who uses her political connections for a good cause…Readers should eagerly anticipate the next [book].”

  Top Pick, Romantic Times

  “…offers tense legal drama with courtroom overtones, twisty plot, and loads of Florida atmosphere. Recommended.”

  Library Journal

  “[A] fast-paced legal thriller…energetic prose…an appealing heroine…clever and capable supporting cast…[that will] keep readers waiting for the next [book].”

  Publishers Weekly

  “Expertise shines on every page.”

  Margaret Maron

  Edgar, Anthony, Agatha and Macavity Award-Winning MWA Grand Master

  Copyright © 2019 Diane Capri, LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  Published by: AugustBooks

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  Late Arrival is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  The publisher and author do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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  eISBN: 978-1-942633-30-3

  Original cover design by: Dar Albert

  Digital formatting by: Author E.M.S.

  Table of Contents

  Reviews

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  More from Diane Capri

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Dear Miss Charlotte,

  Thank you so much for the pictures of your new baby grand-niece. She is beautiful. And yes, I know I’m getting older, and the baby clock is ticking, but I need to find a decent man first. And no, I’m not sending you pictures of the sheriff. I appreciate the sentiment that a rugged Texas sheriff would make a great husband, but we’re just friends. I swear.

  I’m hoping the next time I write I will have a new address. Living in the hotel is taking its toll, and I miss my little Scout and Jem. It’s time for me to get a place of my own, and thanks to my friend June, the florist I told you about, I’ll be renting her cute bungalow while she’s out traveling the world. I will definitely send you pictures of the house. I think you’d love it. It’s a far cry from the granite mansion you and I lived in while I was growing up.

  Thank you for the invitation to spend Christmas with you and your family this year. I will definitely think on it and let you know. I have to admit I’m a bit worried about what winter is going to be like here. I have spent cold, snowy months in Michigan before, but I think living in California spoiled me.

  I’ve had a few short conversations with Mom and Dad, but nothing unusual to report on that front, either.

  As always, I miss you. And I hope to see you soon.

  With all my love,

  Andi

  Chapter 2

  “You’ve lost my clubs. My very expensive clubs. How incompetent does a person have to be to lose something as large as a set of golf clubs?” the squat man demanded with his beady little eyes glaring at me from behind designer eyeglasses.

  I stared across my concierge desk and tried really hard not to throw my silver-plated hotel pen at him. I bit my tongue to avoid reminding him that I didn’t lose a damn thing that belonged to him. Nor did I say that somewhere along the way from the airport to the Park Hotel lobby, he was the one who had lost sight of his golf clubs. The clubs were probably still in the shuttle along with all the other oversized items the dock porters had collected at the ferry.

  He’d arrived late, and he was in a hurry, and he was an impatient jerk. The fourth impatient jerk I’d dealt with today. So far.

  “I’m sure, Mr. Fasco, that we will be able to locate your clubs and return them to you. As you can clearly see,” I gestured to the chaotic, bustling lobby behind him, “we are trying to get all the guests checked in for the charity tournament. It’s highly likely that your clubs were held up in the rush to get everyone into the hotel in an orderly manner.”

  Although the scene before me was the opposite of orderly. I’d call it extreme chaos. Not only were more than fifty golfers checking into the hotel for the Frontenac Island Charity Tournament all at once, but there was a kindergarten class of thirty rowdy five-year-olds roaming the corridors and the grounds for a history lesson on Frontenac Island and the Park Hotel.

  Whoever had scheduled these two events simultaneously had a lot to answer for, in my humble opinion.

  One of the rambunctious, mischievous students was hiding under my desk as I attempted to calm Mr. Fasco. I don’t know how or when the kid got there, but currently, he was poking me in the shin and giggling. It took all I had not to kick the little scamp. Not hard, of co
urse. I would never hurt a child. But a slight nudge with the toe of my black pump to show him who was boss wouldn’t be remiss under these circumstances, surely.

  This was the kind of week I was having. A swirling storm of disgruntled guests. And nothing I did seemed to be enough for any of them. I was off my game, that was for sure. I just hoped Samuel didn’t notice, because this was the first week that we had implemented the two-tiered concierge system I’d argued for as a way to keep my job.

  Casey Cushing, the Park’s long-time concierge, had returned from his personal leave. He’d been taking care of his mother during her hip surgery and subsequent recovery for the past few months. While I was on the desk today, he was helping Ginny with organizing and executing the week’s events at the Park Hotel. We alternated weeks at the desk and helping with events. My bad luck plopped me on the desk during one of our busiest times of the year.

  Every late September, the Park Hotel hosted a charity golf tournament for the CEOs of Michigan’s prominent businesses. It was a chance for them to use the hotel to mingle and talk shop and raise money for their own charitable causes. The tournament was a terrific event that benefited programs catering to those in need, like Habitat for Humanity Detroit and the Hope Network. But some of the CEOs were far from easy to please.

  Case in point…

  Mr. Fasco sucked on his teeth, which desperately needed some chemical whitening, and was as petulant as the five-year-old under my desk. He said, “I don’t care about anyone else. My clubs are worth more than you make in a month. I will sue this hotel if my clubs are lost or stolen. Which is a high possibility by the looks of your porters.”

  I bit my tongue, almost to the point of making it bleed. The man was plain rude as well as dead wrong. All of our porters were fine people and excellent at their jobs, as was everyone else employed by the Park Hotel. They wouldn’t be working here otherwise. Several of our porters were of Ojibwa descent. Our newest porter, Josh Smallwood, was the eighteen-year-old cousin of Tina, one of our most experienced members of the Chamber Crew. I’d spotted Josh hustling his butt off, carrying in several loads of luggage from the horse-drawn shuttles parked out front. He’d been working eight hours straight without a break—and without complaint. Unlike some people who wouldn’t lift a travel bag at gunpoint.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Fasco,” I said as sweetly as I could and slid a piece of paper toward him along with my pen. “Please write down a description of your golf bag and clubs, and when we locate them, I’ll call you and have them sent to your suite.”

  “You’ll recognize my bag immediately. My name tag is attached to the handle.” Sneering, he picked up the pen and scrawled a brief description of his designer bag and clubs. He mumbled under his breath as he wrote. I picked out a few words that I didn’t care to repeat or acknowledge.

  As soon as he finished, a harried young woman wearing a gray pantsuit strolled up behind Mr. Fasco, rolling a set of golf clubs behind her. “Mr. Fasco, I found your clubs.”

  He whirled around. “For Pete’s sake, Melanie. Don’t ever sneak up on me like that.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I found your clubs.”

  “Where were they?”

  “In the shuttle, sir.”

  When Mr. Fasco turned back to me, I gave him one of my thin I’m barely preventing myself from smacking you smiles. “Well, look at that.”

  He rolled his eyes. “My assistant is so disorganized.”

  The hapless Melanie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t argue.

  I replied, “But she did find your clubs, so there is that.”

  He glared at me, pushed his pricey glasses up onto his nose, turned, and walked away. He barked at Melanie, “Come on. We need to sign in for the tournament. At least this foolishness with my clubs didn’t delay us too long.”

  Before Melanie scampered off behind her boss, I waved her over. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I’m sure Mr. Fasco’s under a lot of stress.”

  She exhaled a long breath. “Don’t apologize for him. He’s a real peach whether he’s stressed or not.”

  She didn’t need to say more. I recognized the ambitious look in her eyes. She was assistant to Mr. Fasco for now, but the job wouldn’t last forever. She was going places, and she wouldn’t let a jerk like Mr. Fasco interfere with her upward mobility. She’d do what she had to do to get herself ahead. I had to admire her pluck.

  “What room are you in?” I asked.

  “Room 236.”

  “Charge your food and beverages to your room. I’ll make sure the bills get comped. Working for Mr. Fasco, you’ll more than earn free food and booze all weekend, I’d say.”

  She gave me a huge grin. “Thank you. You may have saved my life.”

  I nodded. “I aim to please.”

  When she left, I inhaled deeply and focused on the next problem. I looked down at the little face staring up at me with a goofy, gap-toothed smile.

  “Okay, little man, time to deal with you.”

  He folded his hands together as if in prayer. “Don’t rat me out. Please. I can’t go back—I just can’t.”

  I suppressed a grin. “Why not? What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Lexi. She wants to kiss me.”

  His confession lifted my eyebrows. Five-year-olds were kissing now? “Oh. I see. That is a problem. You don’t want Lexi to kiss you?”

  He shook his head vehemently. “Kissing is gross.”

  “Okay, well, the best thing you can do is to tell Lexi not to kiss you. Tell her you don’t like it.”

  “What if she doesn’t listen?”

  “Then you need to tell your teacher. You should never let anyone do things to you that you don’t want.”

  His face scrunched up like he was thinking about it. “And that will work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He crawled out from under my desk and offered his hand. “Thank you for helping me. You are very nice.”

  “You are most welcome, little man.” I took his small hand and shook it. “Now, we should find your teacher. She’s probably worried about you.”

  No sooner had I said that than a frantic-looking woman with steel-gray hair came charging through the lobby.

  I waved her over. “I think I have what you’re looking for.” I led the boy around the concierge desk.

  She dropped to her knees and hugged him. “Manuel. You had us all worried.” Then she looked up at me. “Thank you for finding him.”

  “No problem. He was no trouble.” I winked at him.

  He smiled and took his teacher’s hand as they left.

  One more crisis averted. I checked it off my list. I felt like I needed a high-five or something. As I went back around my desk, my cell phone buzzed. I took it out of my pocket and saw a text from Daniel.

  Date night? I’m on the island for a meeting with the mayor.

  I texted back: Can’t tonight. Got a bachelorette party to go to. One of the girls from the hotel is getting married.

  He wrote: Call me later when you’re tipsy. I can stay over. (kissy face emoji)

  Maybe, if you’re lucky, I texted with a big grin on my face. My cheeks flushed.

  I was taking a huge step here, having kept Daniel at a safe distance. I kind of left him hanging, quite literally, the night my suite was trashed. I’d been contemplating ending our blossoming relationship because of my conflicted feelings for Sheriff Luke Jackson. Feelings that I had since managed to squelch. The sheriff and I just weren’t going to happen. We had a strong friendship, a mutually respectful working relationship, and I didn’t want to ruin that.

  I figured he felt the same way, because I’d only seen him twice since the break-in. Once to update me. He’d said lots of fingerprints had been found, which wasn’t surprising. I lived in a hotel, after all. There’d been no matches in the criminal database systems. My laptop, which had been stolen, hadn’t turned up at the local pawn shop. No surprise there, either. The other time I’d seen him was when he ca
me to the hotel to take his daughter Megan, who worked here, out to lunch for her birthday.

  There’d been no phone calls from the sheriff. Not that I expected any.

  The break-in had rattled me in more ways than one. The sheriff and I had nearly kissed during a weak moment for both of us. We’d been dealing with the stress of solving a murder, on top of the reality that my suite had been destroyed by someone looking for something, and I still had no clue what it could have been.

  I’d moved into another suite while mine was repaired. Recently, I’d moved back, but I didn’t want to live at the hotel anymore. A serendipitous opportunity had come up. I would be moving into a little house in the village soon. My cats, Scout and Jem, would be ecstatic. I missed them terribly, and they were restless and bored living apart from me, too.

  “Only three more hours to go, then it’s drinking time,” Ginny Park said.

  Momentarily startled, I looked up to see my best friend smiling at me across the desk. She was trying a new hairstyle. Two little buns were perched on the sides of her head, like misplaced earmuffs. She looked like a hippie Princess Leia. Not entirely a bad look for her, to be honest. She was so adorable that she could pull off just about any style.