a
little too much.”
That piqued
Paula’s interest. “What do you mean?”
“I worried when
I saw her chatting with everyone from the housemaids to the gardeners and the
security guards. You know, sometimes our people try to take advantage of
foreigners who are kind to them.”
“Did you ever
express that to her?”
“On one
occasion, yes,” he said, with hesitancy.
“What was her
response?”
“She just
smiled and thanked me—said she would be okay.”
But Paula was
still curious. “Was there someone in particular you were concerned about?
Someone she was friendly to?”
“I didn’t like
the way Amadu, one of the security guards, used to stare at her and go out of
his way to engage her in conversation,” Edward said, his distaste showing. “It
wasn’t his place to do so, and I warned him to stop.”
Good, Paula
thought. I may be getting somewhere. “Do you think there was anything more? I
mean, something between the two of them?”
Edward seemed repelled
by the idea. “No, I don’t.”
“Is Amadu here
today?”
Edward shook
his head. “I sacked him.”
“Oh,” Paula
said in surprise. “Because he was being forward with Heather?”
“Not that. I’ll
explain. The guards are mostly occupied at the front of the hotel—they sit near
the sentry box and keep an eye on who comes and goes—but they’re also supposed
to patrol the rear of the hotel at least once every two hours during their
shift.
“Amadu came on
duty as usual at nine that Sunday night. He admitted he went to the back around
ten but not after that. If he had, he might have found Heather before it was
too late, or maybe even before something happened. That’s why I sacked him.
Neglect of his duties.”
An idea leapt
into Paula’s mind. “Is there any way I could get in touch with him?”
“I suppose,”
Edward said, clearly taken aback. “I can text you his number if you want,
Madame Detective.”
She smiled at
his playful jab. “Thank you. Again, I’m sorry for being so nosy. I’m still so
troubled by Heather’s death, and I really want to understand.”
“No, I understand
completely,” he said, nodding vigorously as he scrolled through his phone
contacts. “I’ll send you the number now, and then we’ll go to see Mr. Miedema.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jost Miedema welcomed them into his chalet, cordially shaking
hands with Paula as Edward introduced her. He was a tall, tanned, lean white man
with a bony face and a rugged nose that might have been broken at some point in
his life. His brown hair, styled with gel, had strands of gray.
“Please, do sit
down and make yourselves comfortable,” he said, a slight Ghanaian lilt to his
underlying Dutch accent. “Can I offer you anything? A soft drink or water?”
His visitors politely
declined as they took their seats. The sitting room, carpeted lushly and furnished
with soft leather armchairs and dark mahogany side tables, was deliciously
chilled by a whisper-quiet air conditioner. The compact, gleaming kitchen was
visible on the other side of a small dining section. Paula assumed the bedroom
was at the end of a short hallway on the other side of the sitting room.
“This is really
lovely,” she said to Miedema. “Much more spacious than it looks from outside.”
“Thank you.” He
patted Edward on the back. “I’m grateful to my dear friend here. He takes good
care of me.”
“You deserve
it,” Edward said. “You and your company have been our faithful customers for
years.”
Miedema looked
soberly at Paula. “I know Heather worked with you at the High Street Academy, so
I want to say a special sorry for your loss.”
“That means a
lot to me,” Paula said. “I owe you special thanks as well for trying so
valiantly to save her.”
“If only,” he
said with obvious regret. “I’ve been reliving that morning with nightmares. I
felt so futile and despairing as I was trying to bring her back to life,
because in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. And
little too much.”
That piqued
Paula’s interest. “What do you mean?”
“I worried when
I saw her chatting with everyone from the housemaids to the gardeners and the
security guards. You know, sometimes our people try to take advantage of
foreigners who are kind to them.”
“Did you ever
express that to her?”
“On one
occasion, yes,” he said, with hesitancy.
“What was her
response?”
“She just
smiled and thanked me—said she would be okay.”
But Paula was
still curious. “Was there someone in particular you were concerned about?
Someone she was friendly to?”
“I didn’t like
the way Amadu, one of the security guards, used to stare at her and go out of
his way to engage her in conversation,” Edward said, his distaste showing. “It
wasn’t his place to do so, and I warned him to stop.”
Good, Paula
thought. I may be getting somewhere. “Do you think there was anything more? I
mean, something between the two of them?”
Edward seemed repelled
by the idea. “No, I don’t.”
“Is Amadu here
today?”
Edward shook
his head. “I sacked him.”
“Oh,” Paula
said in surprise. “Because he was being forward with Heather?”
“Not that. I’ll
explain. The guards are mostly occupied at the front of the hotel—they sit near
the sentry box and keep an eye on who comes and goes—but they’re also supposed
to patrol the rear of the hotel at least once every two hours during their
shift.
“Amadu came on
duty as usual at nine that Sunday night. He admitted he went to the back around
ten but not after that. If he had, he might have found Heather before it was
too late, or maybe even before something happened. That’s why I sacked him.
Neglect of his duties.”
An idea leapt
into Paula’s mind. “Is there any way I could get in touch with him?”
“I suppose,”
Edward said, clearly taken aback. “I can text you his number if you want,
Madame Detective.”
She smiled at
his playful jab. “Thank you. Again, I’m sorry for being so nosy. I’m still so
troubled by Heather’s death, and I really want to understand.”
“No, I understand
completely,” he said, nodding vigorously as he scrolled through his phone
contacts. “I’ll send you the number now, and then we’ll go to see Mr. Miedema.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jost Miedema welcomed them into his chalet, cordially shaking
hands with Paula as Edward introduced her. He was a tall, tanned, lean white man
with a bony face and a rugged nose that might have been broken at some point in
his life. His brown hair, styled with gel, had strands of gray.
“Please, do sit
down and make yourselves comfortable,” he said, a slight Ghanaian lilt to his
underlying Dutch accent. “Can I offer you anything? A soft drink or water?”
His visitors politely
declined as they took their seats. The sitting room, carpeted lushly and furnished
with soft leather armchairs and dark mahogany side tables, was deliciously
chilled by a whisper-quiet air conditioner. The compact, gleaming kitchen was
visible on the other side of a small dining section. Paula assumed the bedroom
was at the end of a short hallway on the other side of the sitting room.
“This is really
lovely,” she said to Miedema. “Much more spacious than it looks from outside.”
“Thank you.” He
patted Edward on the back. “I’m grateful to my dear friend here. He takes good
care of me.”
“You deserve
it,” Edward said. “You and your company have been our faithful customers for
years.”
Miedema looked
soberly at Paula. “I know Heather worked with you at the High Street Academy, so
I want to say a special sorry for your loss.”
“That means a
lot to me,” Paula said. “I owe you special thanks as well for trying so
valiantly to save her.”
“If only,” he
said with obvious regret. “I’ve been reliving that morning with nightmares. I
felt so futile and despairing as I was trying to bring her back to life,
because in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. And
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