Murder at the Miramar (Augusta Burnette Series) by Dane McCaslin Page A

Miramar leaned toward casual. I’d seen how Emmy dressed, though, and I felt the need to emulate her. Maybe that would help me keep my newly crowned concierge head above water.
    Someone new brought our breakfast tray, a young girl who looked about ten. She was probably at least nineteen or so, but her slender build and shy stance gave her that childlike appearance. As quickly as she could, she handed me the tray and scooted down the corridor, heading, I guess, back to the kitchen. I briefly wondered where Maria was, then turned my attention to eating: per usual, I was starving or doing a good imitation of it.
    The view from my bedroom window showed an early morning that was bright with just a touch of wispy clouds floating near the horizon, looking like flocks of seagulls floating on the waves. Regrettably, the clouds that reminded me of birds also brought back the memory of Emmy’s body as it lay on the shore, the center of an avian squabble.
    I was going to have to wash that visual from my mind if I was going to function.
    I drew in a deep breath, leaning my forehead against the cool glass for a moment, corralling my thoughts, organizing the day. A shower was the first step, though, so I shut the blinds and turned to get ready for whatever adventure – hopefully of the happier variety – awaited me.
    Ellie was still seated on the couch, sipping hot tea and staring off into space. I hoped she wasn’t revisiting last night’s calamity; even more, I hoped that she wasn’t still blaming herself. Cards or not, she couldn’t have possibly foreseen the tragedy of Emmy’s death. On second thoughts, it might have been better if she had: we might not have had to find Emmy the way we did.
    With a promise to join me in the lobby as soon as she’d showered and dressed, Ellie stood to her feet and hugged me. ‘AJ, stay safe out there. This place gives me the creeps, room service or not. I’ll come find you as soon as I can.’ She really did look worried.
    I laughed, although it came out sounding a little strangled – which, come to think of it, is not such a good descriptor, considering all the deaths around here. Anyway, it was good to be fussed over, although I would’ve preferred different circumstances. I wasn’t too anxious, though; I highly doubted the Miramar Murderer (as I’d privately dubbed him) would strike in broad daylight.
    Stanley West, the resort’s general manager, was waiting at Emmy’s desk. Actually, he was pacing up and down the lobby, stopping every so often to glance out of the window as though expecting something else to happen. He had the appearance of someone whose nerves were on edge, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him one iota. Mine would be, too, if I had to deal with staff, menus, activities, and a killer.
    ‘AJ, there you are! I was just debating whether or not to call your suite. In fact, I wasn’t even sure you’d stick around after all this.’ Stan waved his arms expansively. I guessed that he’d never had to deal with anything more than a miffed guest or a no-show employee before, so this must have been close to pure catastrophe in his book.
    This entire situation was probably more of a draw than he knew. I had a hunch that, before long, folks would be clamoring for a room at the Miramar: those who liked an amateur ghost hunt, those who were drawn to the macabre, and those who just enjoyed a good scare. Emmy’s death, as unfortunate and untimely as it was, could serve as a catalyst in reinforcing the Miramar’s reputation as the place to be. That, I was fairly certain, was something she would have been proud of, as weird as it sounded.
    ‘Hey, Stan,’ I said, aiming for ‘casual happy’ to match my khaki pants and linen shirt. It wouldn’t do to seem rattled; I had a feeling that I would be called upon to play the part of Emmy today. ‘I got here as soon as I could. Just let me know what you need me to do.’ I smiled at him as I headed for Emmy’s desk. Flipping on