Free Resort to Murder by Carolyn Hart

to be Roddy. This Saturday night it will be a year ago that he died.” The dishes clinked as he placed them on the tray.
    â€œDo you really think you saw a ghost?” I didn’t try to keep the disbelief from my voice.
    â€œIt’s not just me.” His reply was sharp. “Frederick told me this morning that he saw something last night. He said he was walking down the back steps.” George nodded toward the wall that curved behind the pool. “That’s where we park our mopeds, out of sight of the guests. He said it was right about midnight. He got his bike and he was just at the curve when he looked up”—George stopped, pointed up the hill at the tower—“there was a shiny glow. He said the whiteness moved around the tower like it was hunting for something. Then, all of a sudden, it was gone. Nothing. There one minute, gone the next. He said it scared the hell out of him.” I heard the reflection of Frederick’s fear in George’s voice.
    A shiny glow. Was this what Steve Jennings wouldn’t describe to me?
    â€œA shiny glow.” I repeated his words. “Why do you think it has anything to do with Mr. Worrell?”
    â€œThat’s where he died. He fell out of the tower a year ago.” He swiped his cloth on the tabletop. “I guess Roddy’s come back to haunt the place where he died.”
    I pushed back my chair, rose, faced him. “Interesting.” My tone was no longer credulous, nor my gaze. Time was running out before the wedding on Saturday. Connor was upset, but perhaps the remaining days could be salvaged. “You’ve talked it up, haven’t you? Told Diana and Jasmine and others—”
    He watched me intently.
    â€œâ€”perhaps Mr. Jennings and Aaron Reed?”
    We stared at each other, our faces combative.
    â€œIt’s all true.” He clenched his hands into fists, frowned at me. “And I’ll tell you something else”—his eyes narrowed—“I’ve been thinking back. How could Roddy have fallen out of the tower? Even drunk, he could handle himself. And he wasn’t that drunk. He was just damn mad at her. The more I’ve thought about that night…” George took a deep breath. “They say a murdered man won’t rest until justice is done.”
    I was startled. I’d not set out to explore the death of Roddy Worrell. That event, in fact, was not of interest to me. But there was something here I had not expected. I felt a prickle of unease as I looked into his frowning face. “Are you saying someone pushed him off the tower?”
    He turned to look up toward the tower. “Yeah. Roddy could handle himself. He never fell.”
    The words hung between us. If Worrell didn’t fall, he was pushed. And if a ghost sought justice…I saw an ugly link between the ghost of the man who died in a fall from the tower and the broken ceramic tower in Connor’s room.
    â€œYou can’t prove that.” I was brisk. “So what’s the good of talking about Worrell? Or the tower?”
    He didn’t look at me. He rubbed his sunburned nose. “I’ve been thinking about that night…” He picked up the tray, stepped away into the shadow of the arbor.
    I wished I could see him more clearly. I took a step nearer. “You know that Mrs. Bailey and Mr. Drake will be married Saturday afternoon.”
    He nodded.
    â€œAs an employee of the hotel, I’m sure you want to do everything possible to make the guests comfortable.” I gazed at him sternly.
    He took a step backward.
    â€œIn fact, George, you can easily be of great service to our group.”
    â€œYes, ma’am?” His tone was cautious.
    I spoke slowly with emphasis. “Do not discuss the tower or Mr. Worrell again with anyone in our party. And let’s have no more talk about ghosts.”
    He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “I can’t help what