Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

that nearly encircled her. Her face was obscured by a tousle of platinum-blond hair that was half-caked with drying blood, and the knife used to kill her remained sickeningly lodged out of the middle of her back. I wanted to check for a pulse, but thought better of it because I couldn't bring myself to touch her. Judging by tremendous amount of blood, and the fact that some of it had already dried in the night air, she couldn't possibly still be alive. I settled in- stead for watching her bloody back to see if there was even the slightest rise and fall, but nothing moved, and that was somehow more disturbing than the scene itself.

I wanted to leave but hesitated for a moment, leaning in just a little closer as morbid curiosity got the best of me. I saw that the back of Celeste's shirt was ripped in several places, and it appeared she had more than a dozen stab wounds peppering her upper back and lower neck.

About then, it dawned on me that I could be contaminat- ing a crime scene, so quickly I retraced my steps, making my way back to the lobby, when the night clerk rounded BLIND SIGHTED 291 the corner and announced, ``Police and an ambulance are on the way.''

I nodded to the clerk as I again took my seat beside Millicent, picking up her hand and squeezing it with a pained smile. ``Thank you, uh . . . Bradley,'' I said scanning his rumpled shirt for a name tag. ``Do you think you could possibly get us a towel and some water so that I can help Millicent, here, clean up a bit?''

Millicent smiled gratefully at me, the color just beginning to return to her cheeks, as Bradley darted off to find the requested towel and water.

``Did you see her?'' Millicent asked.

I nodded and squeezed her hand again. ``Yes. I didn't touch her, but you were right: There's nothing we can do for her now.''

Millicent sighed heavily. ``Poor woman. She was a real bitch, of course, but no one should go like that. . . .''

Millicent's direct observation made me smirk in spite of the dire situation, and I nudged her lightly with my shoul- der. ``You're a pretty cool cucumber, aren't you, Millicent?''

Millicent smiled slyly and replied, ``Well, it's the truth.''

I sighed myself and said, ``Yeah, I suppose you're right. . . .''

A few moments later Bradley returned with a moist towel and a glass of water, and at the same time we heard the distant sound of sirens approaching. Quickly I used the wet towel on Millicent's hands and face, wiping off as much blood as I could while my stomach squirmed at the sight of so much red.

``Thank you, Abby,'' she said when I was finished.

I didn't get a chance to say, ``You're welcome,'' because in the next moment the revolving door at the hotel's en- trance burst to life as several sheriff's deputies and two paramedics came rushing into the lobby. For some reason everyone approached me instead of the night clerk, who seemed only too happy to relinquish the details to me. A tall deputy in army-green sheriff's uniform stopped in front of us and bent down, eyeing Millicent but looking to me for answers. ``What seems to be going on here?'' he asked in a voice rubbed raw by cigarettes.

``This is Millicent Satchel,'' I began calmly, the idea that 292 Victoria Laurie I just needed to state the facts forcing me to keep my cool. ``She was having trouble sleeping tonight and decided to take a stroll around the pool. When she was at the far end she tripped in the dark over someone who has apparently been murdered--''

``What's that?'' the deputy asked sharply, already looking toward the door to the pool. ``You say someone's been murdered?''

``Yes. Celeste Ballentine has been stabbed to death out by the pool, and Millicent tripped over her body as she was taking her walk--''

The deputy stood up abruptly, interrupting my statement as he moved quickly to the door of the pool. The other two deputies fell in behind, flanking him, and each took up a position on either side. Looking back at us, the first dep- uty asked Millicent, ``Ma'am, do you know if the assailant is still out there?''

Millicent immediately tensed, her shoulders shaking slightly, and I knew what she was thinking even as the same thought sent similar shivers down my own spine. What if the killer was still out by the pool? Could both of us have passed right by him and never even known it?

``I . . . uh . . . I don't know, Deputy,'' Millicent said in a trembling stutter. ``I only saw Celeste, and everything else is just a blur.''

The deputy looked to his two companions and motioned them silently to follow him in. The three of them drew their guns simultaneously and eased their way through the door, leaving us to wait anxiously for their return.

Quicker than I would have expected they were back in the lobby, and the first deputy raised the walkie-talkie attached to his lapel and said, ``Dispatch, this is Unit 651. We're here at the Seacoast Inn, and we're going to need Detective Stokes and CSI out here ASAP. . . .''

The next several hours were a complete blur of move- ment, questions, and activity. Detective Stokes was a woman, Wanda Stokes, who was short, with sandy-blond hair and a tough-as-nails attitude. She had a thick bor- oughish accent that made me guess she probably hailed from parts much farther northeast than Florida. She was BLIND SIGHTED 293 also quite good at getting information, which Millicent and I were only too happy to give.

We told her about staying up late and talking until two A.M., then Millicent's desire to take a walk and my feeling uneasy