Resort to Murder by Carolyn Hart

swept by a mixture of anger and compassion, anger at the forces combining to ruinthis special journey for Lloyd and compassion for his very human hunger to love and be loved. I wanted everything to go well for him. Yes, he’d caused my daughter great unhappiness, but I was sure he’d done his best. The haunting truth is that most of us at most times do our best, no matter how short we fall.
    â€œSo the good outweighs the bad.” I gave him a reassuring smile.
    â€œI thought it did. But ever since we got here, Connor’s been on edge. She wanted us to get different rooms so she wouldn’t see that damn tower. They couldn’t make a change because they’re painting a bunch of the rooms and they don’t have enough that are all together. But if Connor hears what that waiter’s saying, I don’t know what will happen.” Lloyd rubbed the back of his neck.
    â€œWhat’s George saying?” I wanted to hear what Lloyd knew.
    He slammed a hand against his leg. “He’s been spreading all kinds of nonsense about, saying that Roddy Worrell’s ghost is walking. That would upset Connor a lot.” Lloyd’s face flushed.
    I looked at him curiously. I almost inquired why a rumor of ghostly doings would be especially distressing to Connor. I would have thought that Mrs. Worrell would be most affected. As, of course, she probably was.
    â€œSomething’s got to be done.” His face was grim.
    â€œWould you like for me to speak to George?” I heard my own words with surprise. I’d intended to talk to Diana, of course. I didn’t like her taking part in what appeared to be an effort to harass Connor. I’d not cared, frankly, what the young waiter did or why. But if I could help Lloyd…
    His face lightened. “Would you do that? Listen, if—” He broke off, looked past me. “Here comes Connor.” He spoke in an undertone. “Don’t tell her what we’ve been talking about.” He scrambled to his feet.
    I nodded, then turned toward the walk.
    Connor hurried toward us, dark head bent. She had changed sweaters. This one was a pale yellow patchwork with a sea motif, embroidered with shells and starfish. I wondered if she’d bought it at Trimingham’s.
    She broke into a stumbling run.
    I came to my feet, realizing that something was wrong. Lloyd hurried toward her, calling out, “Connor, what’s wrong? The children…”
    I felt a quiver of fear. Those damn mopeds.
    Connor never even saw me. She flung herself into Lloyd’s arms. “In my room! The tower…” She shuddered. “It’s smashed—”
    Automatically, my head swung toward the hillside and the shining white tower, a dramatic beacon.
    â€œâ€”and there’s a smell of gin. Oh, God, Lloyd, I’m frightened.”
    Lloyd frowned. “I don’t see how it could have fallen—”
    Abruptly, I understood. In my room, a miniature white porcelain tower sat in the middle of the circular table near the sliding glass door to the balcony. The legend TOWER RIDGE HOUSE was printed in dark blue Gothic script on one side. Likely, there was an identical miniature tower in every room. Connor was talking about a decorative tower, not the actual tower on the ridge.
    â€œâ€”unless someone bumped the table. Maybe Jasmine…”
    Connor jerked away from him. “It wasn’t an accident.” Her voice was tight and strained. “It couldn’t have fallen where I found it.” She shuddered. “Lloyd, that last night, Roddy was angry with me.” Connor reached out, clung to Lloyd, her face imploring. “He’s come back. He’s come back and he hates me—”
    â€œNonsense.” Lloyd was gruff. “Just because that stupid tower got broken—”
    â€œGin. I smelled gin. That’s what Roddy smelled like, a sea of gin.” She flung away from Lloyd. “I want to