Page 32 of Murder in the Lighthouse

Lucien grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and scribbled Indigo’s contact information on the pad. “There.”

“I’ll be right back,” the woman promised.

Fifteen minutes later, the manager returned to the counter. “Florence Brown registered at our hotel five days ago. On Sunday, she provided an alternate bank card for payment. As I just explained to her daughter, Ms. Brown has been behaving, shall we say, oddly since her arrival.”

“How so?” Brogan asked.

“For one thing, she told us a story about being Mrs. Graeme Sutter, which we knew was not true.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because Mr. Sutter frequently comes into our restaurant from his home in Montecito. We’re familiar with his usual circle of friends. And we had never seen Ms. Brown before her arrival five days ago. She has been fabricating stories like that for the staff. Like I said before, she’s behaving oddly. But she is a paying guest. We have many guests who are, shall we say, eccentric during their stays.”

“Where is Florence now?”

“She’s in the main building, sitting in the bar. Currently, she’s insisting to the bartender that she’s Graeme Sutter’s ex-wife and that he should be paying for her tab.”

Lucien smiled. “I can assure you she was never married to Graeme or any other member of Indigo, for that matter.”

The manager’s face broke into a grin for the first time since the conversation began. “I’m certain of that, Mr. Sutter. If you can figure out a way to persuade Ms. Brown to leave permanently and not return to Laguna Marq, the resort will comp your bungalow for the night, or however long it takes to escort Ms. Brown off the premises. We’d rather she not make a scene anywhere on the property. We value our guests’ privacy.”

“Is there an available bungalow next to hers?”

“There is. We have avoided putting anyone nearby because of her unpredictable behavior. She’s in 201. I can book you into 203.”

Lucien took out his wallet and slid a credit card across the counter. “For incidentals. I won’t make any promises until the daughter arrives, but Brogan and I will do what we can to ensure Florence stays out of trouble.”

“If we’re lucky, maybe we can convince her to at least stop with the tall tales,” Brogan said.

“We don’t mind hearing tall tales or reacting to the typical strange behavior of some of our guests,” the manager said.“It’s claiming association with one of our gold members that’s troubling. You’re all checked in,” she said as she shoved a business card toward Lucien. “If things should escalate, I’d appreciate you keeping the police out of the lobby. Call me first. The name’s on the business card. Caroline Madigan.”

“Thanks for your help,” Brogan replied. “Which way to the bar?”

“Down the hallway to the left,” Caroline replied. “Order anything from the bar or the restaurant, and we’ll comp that, too. Your father has spent a lot of time here.”

“Sounds like it,” Lucien muttered as he ushered Brogan toward the watering hole dubbed Tequila Reef.

Feeling the urgency in dealing with Florence’s mental state, they glanced around the room before spotting a lone female matching the photo Indigo had sent. Florence sat at the end of the bar, the fingers on both hands laced around a highball glass. She was humming an Indigo tune from twenty years ago.

“We approach with caution,” Lucien whispered.

“Yeah, because we wouldn’t want to create a scene and upset Caroline,” Brogan replied, following him to the end of the bar.

Lucien cleared his throat before speaking. “Florence Brown?”

The woman turned on the barstool, her eyes wide in surprise. “Yes, that’s me. Do I know you?” An Aussie-tapped rhythm to her voice was unmistakable. She narrowed her eyes. “You look familiar.”

“I should. You have a picture of me on your social media, both of us,” Lucien corrected before taking a deep breath. He introduced himself and explained why they were there. “This is my wife, Brogan.

Florence’s face perked up, squaring her shoulders. “You are Rory’s daughter. You look just like him.”

“Thanks. And yours is worried sick about you. Indigo has been looking all over Queenstown. Why would you fly halfway around the world to be here?”

Florence swallowed hard, her expression alternating between fear and confusion. “My daughter overreacts to everything. I’m sure she thinks I’m as mad as a cut snake. But I’m not. I read somewhere that Graeme comes in here a lot. I was hoping to meet him. In person.”

“If that’s true, why threaten him with that poem you sent with the flowers?” Lucien asked. “I don’t think he’ll leave the house until we tell him you’ve seen a doctor and received a thorough checkup from head to toe.”

“Was he that upset? Goodness. Rock stars come with such flaming drama, don’t they? Would you like a drink?” She held up her glass, clinking together the ice, signaling to the bartender that she needed another. “I can verify they make a roaring good mojito. Definitely a five-star cocktail. The whole place is like that.”

---