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

the computer’s power switch and the little desk lamp, I sat down, folding my hands and trying to project efficiency and control à la Esmeralda Ruiz.
    Stan ran both hands through his hair, creating little tufts that stood up over his ears. I had to hide a smile; he looked like one of the characters from a children’s puppet show, the kind that look like big fuzzy tennis balls with mouths.
    ‘I think that if we can just make it through today, we’ll be OK. Detective Bread told me he’d be back later this morning for a few more interviews.’
    I smiled, not bothering to camouflage my amusement this time. ‘Do you mean Detective Baird?’
    Stan stopped his pacing and looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. ‘That’s what I just said. Anyway,’ he added, resuming his fidgety movements, ‘We should be fixed for the weekend. Emmy had already lined up a few things that we’ll go on with. Hopefully this will all blow over soon.’

That little phrase threw me for a loop. This will all blow over soon? He made it sound like the three deaths were inconveniences to his precious resort, which maybe they were, at least to him.
    ‘Speaking of interviews,’ I said, managing to sound composed, ‘when will you start looking for a new concierge?’
    Stan looked at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘I really hadn’t thought that far ahead, AJ. I guess I just assumed that you’d want the job. You know. Move up a notch in the world.’ His smile was magnanimous as though he’d just offered me the crème de la crème of jobs.
    Oh, sure: who wouldn’t want to work at a resort that could boast a resident killer? And you know what they say about assuming things. I’m not going to write it here, this being a family-friendly narrative. But you get the general idea. And I didn’t want to be anything other than what I’d been hired for. I’d been able to tell from Emmy’s stress levels that ‘concierge’ was just a fancy word that meant ‘it’s all on your back’.
    I was saved from what might have been a regrettable retort by the appearance of my cousin. She looked more awake than she had when I’d left her earlier. In fact, she was practically emitting bursts of static electricity, and by the look on her face, she had Big News. The next order of business was to shoo Stan on his merry way and let Ellie spill the beans.
    I managed to get rid of the jumpy resort manager by reassuring him that I wasn’t going anywhere and that I would be able to handle two groups of guests arriving later that morning.
    ‘I’d appreciate it if I had some help, though,’ I said sweetly. My voice was as thick with honey as a beehive, and I hooked my arm through Ellie’s, pulling her in close. ‘My cousin just happened to be visiting the resort. She would be happy to assist me, if you’d OK it.’ I could feel Ellie’s arm stiffen but I held firm, that syrupy smile plastered on my face.
    Stan gave Ellie the briefest of glances, nodding as he began walking away. ‘Have her fill out the necessary papers, AJ, and make sure that HR gets them by the end of the day. Now, if that’s all?’
    I didn’t have time to answer, even if I had wanted to. Stan was already strolling off to the next task, leaving me and an astounded Ellie to fend for ourselves. Whether we liked it or not, we’d just become a two-headed concierge for the Miramar.
    ‘Well.’ Ellie plopped down in to the chair I normally occupied, arms crossed and a stunned look on her face. Laser-like glare would probably be more accurate (as in ‘stun gun’); I’d managed to enlist her help at the desk before she’d known what had hit her. Chalk one up for the ol’ AJ, I thought with a grin. I hadn’t lost my touch.
    I checked the bookings for the day, noting that the two large tour parties were due to arrive before ten. Glancing at my wristwatch, I saw that we would have time to call out for the morning’s cookies. I decided to have the kitchen put them into a napkin-lined basket