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police, who charged onto the scene with paramedics in tow. Rising, Vail strode to one of the uniformed officers and spoke rapidly. The heavier man waddled over to join them while Marla hung back in horrified fascination.
    It looked as though the medical team had come too late. They went through the motions of hooking up the victim to various paraphernalia, but she could see the resignation on their faces. It didn’t take long before they loaded him onto a stretcher and drove away. Marla glanced at Vail, whose scowl indicated his disapproval.
    Off to the side, George Butler engaged in a heated dialogue with a gray-haired gent whose weathered face revealed his advanced years. “Excuse me,” Marla said, approaching the hotel manager. “Can you tell me what happened?”
    “The poor man must have lost his balance. A most unfortunate accident. I got here just as our resort doctor finished examining him.” He waved at the fellow hovering at Vail’s side. “There wasn’t anything more we could do.”
    Appalled at Butler’s casual tone, Marla blurted, “Why was that man working on a holiday? Don’t you give the staff time off? Earlier I passed some construction people crossing the fields. They were still on duty, too.” What was their assignment, to look for sinkholes?
    “Tomorrow is the holiday, not today. Anyway, they’re with our maintenance crew. Right, Seto? Seto Mulch is our groundskeeper and maintenance chief,” Butler said by means of introduction. “He keeps things in shape.”
    The older man nodded his acquiescence. His skin exhibited many age spots, indicating he’d spent a lot of time in the sun.
    “I don’t understand what the painter was doing in this section,” Marla said. “I thought you told me Oleander Hall was closed until you got approval for renovations.”
    Mulch exchanged glances with the manager. “A section needed coatin’, ma’am. If we have the place lookin’ good, at least on the outside, maybe the higher-ups will decide to remodel rather than tear it down. Be an insult to our past if they replace this fine hotel with mockups for some theme park.”
    “A living-history experience will draw more people than an expensive resort known only to an exclusive clientele,” said a woman who broke from the crowd being corralled by the social director. “Pardon me for intruding on your conversation. I’m Donna Albright, city councilwoman. We’re having a meeting here this weekend to decide the issue.”
    “Surely you don’t want to destroy the hotel,” Butler protested.
    “This isn’t the first accident involving workers on the property. Remodeling is becoming too risky,” Albright retorted.
    “That’s why I have the paranormal team here this weekend. They’ll settle the spooks.” Butler pointed to a fortyish man with stark white hair and a build that indicated too many trips to the buffet table. “Dr. Rip Spector is leader of the ghost chasers. We’re continually replacing our construction crews. They’re a superstitious lot, and they claim unhappy spirits are playing pranks on them.”
    “I wouldn’t call a fatal fall from a ladder a prank,” Albright said.
    Marla wanted to question Albright further, but just then two familiar faces came into view. Marla rushed ahead to exchange quick hugs with her cousins Lori and Jeff Levine.
    “What’s going on?” Jeff asked, his onyx eyes glinting in dark contrast to his golden brown hair.
    Marla brought them up to speed. “Dalton has no jurisdiction here, so I don’t know what he’s telling them. It’s a terrible thing to happen.”
    Now that she thought about Butler’s explanation, it seemed illogical that they’d assign a maintenance man, even if he was part of a holiday crew, to paint a condemned wing when he should be on call for emergencies involving guests. They must have enough laborers that it didn’t matter.
    “I wonder if the paranormal team believes ghosts were responsible,” she said to Lori. “Can’t they