Page 61 of Dead Girl Running

He’d suggested that, at such time when the guests were sparse and those employees remained at work, he would pretend to go on vacation, hide in a room he’d prepared, sleep in the daytime and go out at night.

He stated he didn’t suspect her; although she had the talents, she hadn’t been in the United States long enough.

While she tried to decide how she felt about that—apparently her character was suspect, but her location proved to be her alibi—he stood, opened the outer door and let in a cat. A mangy-looking, skinny cat. He dried the poor thing, carried it to a food bowl on the floor in the kitchen and fed it some kibble. “Someone dumped it on the property,” he said. “They do that occasionally. When this is over, I’ll find it a home.”

Kellen nodded. Because of guest allergies, cats were absolutely forbidden in the main hotel building. Mr. Gilfilen was a stickler for following the rules. Yet he’d saved the cat and betrayed his position to her when he’d opened the door.

Fascinating. “You might want to dim the lights before you open the outer door. Anyone who is looking for a reason to be suspicious will find it in that square of light.”

Mr. Gilfilen nodded. “I’ll remember.”

He wasn’t as shocked to hear about Priscilla as he should be, so Kellen knew he’d spoken with Leo. But his narrow, dark face tightened with disdain and horror when she reported Priscilla’s mutilation.

He advised her on the handling of resort security personnel and let her know he was watching the monitors both inside and out. Unless he called her on an issue, she didn’t really have to worry about it. That was one thing off her plate, and she was grateful for it.

Then he turned to her and demanded information.

She told him everything she should know…if she hadn’t spoken with Nils Brooks. She told him what she’d seen the night before and asked if he had investigated. He admitted he had, but he had worn night goggles to help him see what was going on, and the smugglers had flashed a light in his direction and blinded him.

“So they knew you were there,” Kellen said.

“I don’t know if they knew someone was there, or if that’s simply a precaution they employ. In the future, I should expect more professionalism from these people.” He picked a piece of lint off his knee. “I originally believed this smuggling was the work of an amateur, and I saw no reason to think it wouldn’t be easily handled. I now think I will be handling the situation differently.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I’ll position myself in the rocks and watch for a landing. I want to know who’s doing this. If I can find that out and pass the information to the Coast Guard, that will simplify their very difficult job.”

“Are smugglers there every night?”

“If they were, the Coast Guard would have already arrested them. They’re watching, but—winter weather blasts the coast with one crisis after another, boaters go out in terrific storms, rescue takes precedence over smuggling and the Coasties are spread thin.”

“So you’re going to sit out in the rocks in the storms and the rain and the wind and the cold until you catch somebody in the act?”

“I do know how to care for myself, Miss Adams.”

“Of course you do.” She couldn’t tell if he was sarcastic or merely austere. The cat came over and wound itself around her ankles. She absentmindedly leaned down to pet it, tried to think how best to warn him of the danger he courted. “Mr. Gilfilen, I think we can make the assumption that Priscilla ran into these smugglers and was murdered. Whoever this is, they’re ruthless and cruel. I beg you, be vigilant, and if you need help, please know you can contact me and I will somehow assist you.” She found herself making the offer in an imitation of his dry and formal manner. “I also know how to take care of myself.”

“I appreciate that, Miss Adams. You will be the one I call.” He stood and gestured her toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to start my nightly vigil.”

Right. She was being invited to leave. She gave the cat a last scratch, gave Mr. Gilfilen a nod and stepped out into the corridor.

In the darkness, surrounded by the rubbery smell of new carpet and the moldy smell of old drapes, she made a decision: her working day was officially over.

Outside, the clear sky had dropped the temperature to below freezing. Kellen went through the employee dining room, located a winter coat that was both too big and not heavy enough and headed across the grounds to her cottage. As she walked, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it.

Leo. Good news, she hoped. She answered, “Hi, Leo, how’s Annie?”

“She’s doing well. Sitting up, eating solids and complaining that she wants out of the hospital so the Di Luca Late and Cheery Christmas celebration can begin. The doctor promises, if she continues to do well, she can leave in the morning.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll let everyone know. Did you hear anything about our autopsy?”

“That’s one of the things I’m calling about. I talked to Mike Sun. He hasn’t seen Lloyd Magnuson. He hasn’t seen a body.”

Kellen stopped walking. “What? Lloyd didn’t deliver?”

“I talked to Sheriff Kwinault in Virtue Falls. She hasn’t heard from Lloyd Magnuson at all. She didn’t know we’d found a body here.”

Kellen couldn’t believe it. She knew Lloyd was ill suited for the police job, but this was ridiculous. “He said he was going to inform all necessary law enforcement. Where did he take the body?”

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