Текст книги "Powdered Murder "

Автор книги: A. Gardner

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My heart pounded the entire elevator ride to Franco's room. I'd done something I'd only ever thought about doing, and I was surprised at how easy it was to walk right into the head maid’s tiny office that also acted as a cleaning closet and swipe a room key. I'd stared at the floor the rest of my journey towards the guest rooms. I was sure I would be caught if I looked someone in the eye.

The elevator dinged and I carefully walked down the hall to Franco's suite on the same floor as Lila's. The hallway was quiet, and a decorative table near the end of the hall greeted me with a vase of newly-placed poinsettias. The brilliant red contrasted with the cream-colored walls. I gulped when I reached Franco's door, wondering what I might find when I turned the door knob and had a glimpse of his belongings and hygiene habits.

I swiped the key and my eyes widened when a green blinking light showed me the key card had worked. I turned the handle and pushed open the door. The suite was dark and quiet. I took a step. The floor creaked behind me and I jumped, almost hitting the wall. A faint whisper came from behind me.

"Essie, you little sneak."

"Lila?" I gasped. She was standing behind me, watching me breaking and entering into her assistant's private room.

"I thought I heard something," she responded. She was wearing a silk nightie and a white sleep mask with the word Bride embroidered on it rested on her forehead. "I'm a light sleeper. I thought you were Franco and I wanted to run over tomorrow's schedule one last time. He must still be at the bar, the boozer."

"I was just—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, hun." I raised my eyebrows as she stepped past me and flipped on the lights. "I've been wondering what he's hiding myself." She thumbed through a stack of gossip magazines on his nightstand, each marked with pink Post-its. I pulled one of the pink tabs and the magazine opened up to a page with a picture of Lila shopping in L.A. the week prior. I watched Lila glance at the photo and then turn her head.

"What makes you think he's hiding something?" I asked. She hadn't glared at me or even studied my choice of late night attire with a critical eye. Clearly, she and Patrick hadn't had a conversation yet. Tomorrow's wedding was still happening.

"Same reason you're up here." She chuckled and ran her fingers over a half empty bottle of bourbon on the mini bar. Franco's room was smaller than Lila's room, and tidier. His closet was color coordinated, and his bed wasn't made the usual way the maids made the beds with the sheets folded down twice and complimentary leaf-shaped chocolates on the pillow. Franco must have made the bed himself.

"You think he had something to do with Donna's accident?" I was weary of mentioning the word murder around her as her wedding was in the morning. I wasn't sure how she was currently processing the events of this weekend. One moment she'd looked perfectly happy and the next moment she'd been sobbing.

"Who knows?" She opened the drawer to her nightstand and picked up a ratty, torn copy of A Tale of Two Cities. "A die hard Dickens fan," she commented, dropping the book back in the drawer. "He re-reads that stupid story every year."

I followed her lead and opened a few dresser drawers. Folded socks and underwear. Colognes lined up alphabetically. I pulled open the third drawer and found a black leather briefcase. As soon as Lila's eyes caught sight of it, she threw it on the bed. It required a number combination to be opened.

"There's the little Devil," she muttered. She tried a few numbers, but the briefcase remained locked. "He purposefully tried to hide this from me when we arrived." She tried another number combo followed by two more. She sighed and closed her eyes. "His birthday … his mother's birthday." Her eyes blinked open. She hurriedly tried another set of numbers. The briefcase made a distinct clicking noise and the lid rose. Lila anxiously peered inside, finding a stack of papers.

"What is all this?" I grabbed a paper and began reading it.

"That dirty snake," Lila murmured, lowering her voice. The expression on her face changed. She scowled, but it wasn't the sort of face that my dad made when he found out Joy and I had been cheating at cards. It was the sort of face Joy once made when she came home to find that Wade had totaled her car. "He'll pay for this."

"Pay for what?"

Lila tossed a few pages aside and neatly folded them so they would fit in her hand. She looked up at me and almost immediately tears streamed down her face. Her silk nightie fluttered against her chest as she jumped up and handed me a title page that read Life with Lila: A Woman on Edge.

"He's writing a tell-all book about me," she sniffled. "I knew he couldn't afford that Rolex on the salary I pay him." She threw the papers back into the briefcase. "Essie, we have to destroy it. This'll ruin me!" She paced back and forth, rubbing the side of her head. Her chest rose up and down, her breathing becoming heavier and heavier as if she was on the brink of a panic attack. She shoved the case towards me.

"I'm sure this isn't the only copy," I pointed out.

"No," she blurted out. “No. No. No."

"Calm down," I said softly. Lila leaned against the dresser like she was fighting a dizzy spell, and I reached out to help steady her. "Can't you have your lawyers put a stop to all this?" I spotted a box of tissues next to the television and handed her one. She dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

"Maybe," she gulped, looking down at the tear stains on her nightie. "I'm a mess, aren't I? All I want is a nice, quiet wedding, and this is what I get. Maybe the universe is turning against me? Do you ever feel like that?"

I felt like that all the time, especially when Patrick showed up at my place of work unannounced with his fiancée after years of not speaking to me. Lila waited for my response with glossy eyes and an expression that made me feel sorry for her. She slumped her shoulders and inched closer to me like a lost puppy waiting to be scratched behind the ears. She probably did this every time Patrick tried to speak to her about the wedding and their future together. Lila was an expert at getting what she wanted, even sympathy from someone she hardly knew.

"Did Patrick tell you I used to be…?" I pinched a roll of skin from my cheek, attempting to make her feel better. "Heavier?"

"No," she quietly laughed. "He never mentioned that. You're joking."

"Nope."

"I knew that bod had to be years-in-the-making." She did a once-over of my physique, almost back to her snobbish self. "No offense."

"None taken," I lied. "Being thin doesn't come easy to everyone."

"Well, at least every time I nibble on sweets it doesn’t go straight to my thighs like Bebe," she said quietly. She took a deep breath. "Thanks, I feel do feel better." She headed towards the door. "Don't worry, this'll be our little secret okay. You are right. I'll get my people on this right away. This is a total invasion of privacy."

"And tomorrow?"

"We act like nothing is wrong," she replied. "For now." She smirked before leaving me alone to do some more snooping. The way her soft, innocent smile changed to a scandalous smirk within seconds gave me chills.

I placed the briefcase back in the dresser drawer and continued looking through Franco's luggage. Everything was neatly pressed and not a crumb or wrinkle was in sight anywhere. His tell-all book was the only thing hiding in his room.

I quickly left his suite, disappointed I didn't find something that pointed to Donna's murder. Just a ton of designer suits, a mess of a book dishing the secrets of life in the spotlight, and an old Dickens novel with a tattered cover.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I woke up Sunday morning to the sound of my phone ringing and glanced at the time. I hadn't fallen asleep until way past midnight so I could barely keep my eyes open.

"Hello?" Patrick's wedding was hours away and I hadn't caught Donna's murderer yet.

"Essie," the voice on the other end whispered. "It's Murray. I sent Dad out for the coffees, but he'll be back any minute." I sat up immediately and rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes. I might have to break my no-stimulants rule and down a coffee before the ceremony. "I have some information for you."

"Is this about our little visitor?" I eagerly asked.

"John Slagger," Murray answered. "Yes. I thought you should know he spent the last three years at a place in Northern Washington called The Cove."

"The Cove?" I repeated. "What's that?"

"I knew you would ask me that so I looked it up," he said proudly. "Are you ready for this one?" He paused for dramatic effect. I rolled my eyes, feeling a headache beginning to build behind my eye sockets.

"Come on, Murray."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "It's a prestigious recovery center for the mentally impaired. Or in other words, it's a classy looney bin."

"Murray." My heart pounded as I grabbed the first pair of jeans and top I could get my hands on. "We've got to find him, you understand? Tell the sheriff to patrol the town as soon as he gets back."

"Geez, Essie. Take a breath."

"This is serious," I argued. "It's the morning of Patrick's wedding and there's a mentally unstable tourist running around. What if he lashes out at someone?"

"Oh." I heard the odd sound of Murray's gulp. "I get it. I'll tell Dad."

"Start with the bakery," I suggested. "Apparently he has a thing for Ada."

I hung up just as I grabbed my coat and ran to the front door.

"Essie!" Joy said, running from her bedroom. "Where's the fire?"

I turned around, surprised to see Joy had actually spent the night in her room. I leaned to the side a little to peek into her bedroom.

"No naked man this morning?" I joked.

"Please, sit down," she insisted. "Your cheeks are practically on fire. Besides, you never told me what happened last night. We had a deal, remember? Today is the big day."

"I know what day it is," I said, frustrated. Joy folded her arms and wrinkled her nose. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap it's just…"

"This whole thing has turned us both into crazy people," she said. She scratched the side of her head and left a tangled piece of hair hanging across her face. I took a better look at her, noticing the bags under her eyes that were normally covered with concealer. Sores were on her cuticles from biting her hang nails until they bled. "I blame Patrick."

"Yes," I agreed, thinking back to the moment we'd shared together last night. I opened my mouth to tell Joy that we'd kissed, but I quickly stopped myself. I'd already made the decision to move forward and let the past stay in the past. Patrick was free to make his own decisions, and maybe if he had decided to call off his wedding things would be different. But he didn't. He talked about it many times, but he still hadn't followed through with anything. He must have really loved Lila in some way. "Do you ever wonder what we would doing right now if Patrick had never chosen to get married at the resort?"

"I wouldn't be on the brink of the promotion of my life," Joy answered.

"You'll get your promotion," I responded. "And this town's reputation will remain intact. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a killer to catch." I zipped up my coat.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"You're a bridesmaid," Joy reminded me. "You should be at the resort right now getting ready for the ceremony."

"I'll meet you there."

Before she had the chance to argue with me, I stepped out into the cold morning air and smiled at the uncommonly clear weather. The snowstorm had passed for now and the streets were covered with white powder that glittered under the morning sun. It made the town look sweet and simple like a homemade marshmallow dipped in white chocolate.

At the end of the street was the bakery. I would search there first for John. He was wandering around somewhere. He had to be. My mind raced as I passed Mrs. Henson out for her morning walk with her two Akitas.

John Slagger was a nutter and if Franco wasn't the killer, then John was responsible for all of this. I didn’t know how he managed to murder Donna and peruse through Canyon Street at the same time, but I was going to figure out how he did it. John was the next suspect in line. There were no other explanations. The only question was why kill Donna?

I kept speed walking until I found myself gulping down air. I arrived at the bakery and was disappointed when I looked through the windows and didn't see John Slagger anywhere. I turned around and made my way to the coffee shop. I crossed the street in front of the corner market and stopped dead in my tracks when something black and shiny caught the corner of my eye. I turned my head.

The black BMW was parked behind the store. My chest felt heavy as I glared at it, waiting for the driver to step out of the front seat and face me once and for all. I took a step closer to it and froze. The door to the corner market swung open and a man in a khaki trench coat and brown slacks stepped out of the shop with a paper sack. His white hair matched the snow on the windowsills and his weathered face was tan and wrinkled. He carried himself with confidence, winking in my direction as he walked past me and headed for his car. The black BMW with tinted windows.

The man didn't look familiar. He casually unlocked the car door and checked his watch before getting inside. I took a deep breath, and walked towards him. This was either a brilliant idea or the stupidest one I've had in years. But I had to know the truth. I had to know what I was dealing with. Who I was dealing with. I might have never had the chance to confront the mysterious driver again.

"Excuse me," I shouted. The man stopped and watched me approach him with a friendly smile on his face.  He tilted his bag of supplies, letting the lid of Stella's prize-winning blackberry jam and a loaf of fresh-baked cinnamon raisin bread show. The man straightened the collar of his shirt and looked up and down the street as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"Can I help you?" he responded politely. I wasn't sure what to say or what not to say. All I knew was Martha had threatened me, someone was trying to kill me, and I wanted answers before the town of Bison Creek was crawling with press and policemen.

"Hi, I'm Essie."

"Pleased to meet you," he answered, refusing to return the gesture by giving me his name.

"I've seen you around before … with Martha, I think." I took a deep breath and glanced up at the snow-capped peaks in the distance as I casually mentioned Martha's name. The man's polite grin turned sour as he chucked his grocery bag into his car.

"Martha said this might happen," he muttered. "Stupid townies poking their noses where they don't belong." His voice sounded raspy as he blurted out insults. I took a step back into a pile of fresh snow. "Alright, what'll it take to shut you up?"

"I don't understand what you mean?" I took another step backwards but almost stumbled on a snow-covered rock. I rubbed my arms together as a chill breeze brushed pass the two of us.

"It's money you want, isn't it? How much?"

"What are you talking about?" I replied, confused. The man reached into his pocket and my entire torso froze. When he pulled out his check book I exhaled a breath of relief.

"Name your price," he repeated. "Come on, I haven't got all day." He glanced up and down the street again. "You must have a figure in mind."

"Honestly, I don't."

"Then what will it take for you to keep your trap shut about me and Martha, huh?"

I covered my mouth, finally realizing what the man was talking about. The breakfast food. The sneaking around. The threats. And the overwhelming smell of aftershave.

They were having an affair.

"You mean what will it take to keep me quiet about the two of you having an affair?" I tested him to see if I was right. His face cringed when I said the word affair out loud like admitting it publicly would cause the heavens to send a mighty avalanche to engulf him and the town.

"Keep your voice down," he pleaded, looking anxious.

"How long has this been going on?"

"That's none of your business," he snapped. "Either name your price or keep your mouth shut, got it?"

"Fine," I agreed. The man got into his car and started the engine. "I'll keep quiet."

"I kept telling Martha that meeting in town was too risky," he said quietly. "But I suppose that was part of the thrill." He sighed as if he'd been defeated once again. "Nice to meet you, Essie. And a little advice for the future? Stay away from the Millbrecks. They're all crazy." He slammed his door and immediately began backing out of his parking space.

I stood still until the frozen morning started seeping into my bones. The whole town would spiral out of control if the townspeople learned the almighty Millbrecks were having marital problems. The mayor might actually having a running mate next election. I walked along Canyon Street watching each shop open its doors to wandering tourists and the residents of Bison Creek out on their morning errands. The black BMW was out of the running which was good and bad news. The good news was the driver was indeed harboring a secret, but it wasn't murder. The bad news was I was stuck with the same old suspects and no evidence that could force Sheriff Williams to make an arrest before the death of Lila's bridesmaid became front page news.

At the end of Canyon Street, I looked up and saw the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort in the distance. It was bustling with new traffic and the chimneys in the kitchen were working overtime. Smoke was rising from the rooftops. The cool mountain air exaggerated the puffs of smoke and made them look like mini rain clouds. Real winter clouds were moving in from the Rockies. I knew the clear weather wouldn't last. Not today when everything was supposed to be perfect. Another snowstorm was headed our way.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Bad news." When I arrived at the resort I was met by Joy. She was dressed like usual in her gray pencil skirt and a conservative top hiding her tattoos. Her hair was brushed back and she had done her makeup flawlessly, hiding any evidence of her extreme exhaustion. "We've had to move the ceremony to the upstairs hall, and we've roped off half the hotel."

My ears perked up in hopes that the bad news was that the wedding had been postponed until further notice. I followed Joy up the employee staircase and towards the new wedding location. The ceremony was now going to take place upstairs where there was a full view of Bison Creek and the chair lift leading up the slopes. The mountainside was empty this morning, and the fluffy snowflakes that began falling made the valley look peaceful and serene. It was like the events of the past couple days had never happened, and Mother Nature was doing her best to wash over the madness with fresh buckets of white powder.

"What's happened?"

"The goons have arrived," she said discreetly. We entered the room that was being set up according to Joy's instructions with a vintage, wooden arch and elegant white chairs.

"Plain English, please. It's been a long weekend."

"The press are downstairs," she said through her teeth. "I mean, some of them won't admit that they're paparazzi, but they've all got cameras and they're all loitering in the lobby."

"Can't you get rid of them?" My heart raced. My time was up. It was only a matter of time before the world started asking questions about Donna.

"We've been trying, but it's not like we have experience with this sort of thing." She straightened the bow on one of the chairs and snapped her fingers at a florist when a decorated evergreen was placed in the wrong corner. Joy had done an immaculate job turning the hall and adjacent rooms for the reception into a winter wonderland, even though the ceremony only consisted of a handful of people.

"I can't believe you did all this and Mr. Kentworth still won't promote you to Head Coordinator."

"Story of my life," she said under her breath. "When I get the chance to shine it's ruined with murder and mayhem." She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers over the vintage arch placed in front of the rows of chairs. "Sorry." She glanced at me. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, but–"

"I know." I glanced down at the floor. "I was so close to solving everything. I guess I keep missing something."

"If anyone can catch that killer, it's you."

"So you keep saying," I replied.

"I say it because it's true, Essie." She took a long, calming breath and began following the florist to make sure all the greenery she'd ordered was arranged tastefully on the railings overlooking the great room.

I ran all the evidence through my head for what seemed like the thousandth time, stopping abruptly when I got to Patrick's kiss in the snow. Maybe if Patrick wasn't around I would have solved this case in no time.

My train of thought was disturbed by footsteps pounding up the staircase. Eli's cheeks were rosy as he ran to Joy and stopped suddenly to catch his breath. Joy placed her hand on his back and waited impatiently for him to tell her what was wrong.

What else could go wrong?

"They're getting restless down there," he breathed. "One of them is demanding to speak to a manager. I didn't know what else to do."

"Slow down," Joy replied. "Did you confirm that Lila is staying at this hotel?"

"Um…"

"Did you confirm that their getting married this morning?"

"Um … I might have.…"

"Eli!" Joy quickly broke her soothing, supportive demeanor and smacked him on the head. "What happened to no comment? No comment is your friend, remember? No comment will save you from blurting out the truth, remember? Or do I have to give my speech all over again?"

"I'm sorry," Eli whined. "But they asked so many questions and it all happened so fast—"

"Perfect," Joy said, raising her voice. "That's just great, Eli. Now I'm going to have to call the sheriff down here to keep them from parading upstairs during the ceremony. This is just what I need."

"It was an accident, okay." Eli stood up straighter, regaining some of his confidence. "I didn't mean to give anything away."

"Yes," Joy finally sighed. "Well, we would've had to deal with this sort of thing sooner or later." Eli nodded. "I just wish it didn't have to be sooner." She glared at Eli until he guiltily looked away. "Essie, will you take a peek at the damage? I need to check on Aggie in the kitchen."

"Of course." I agreed because I knew sifting through reporters might be my last chance at finding John Slagger, the loon on the loose. After all, being an undercover reporter was his cover when I first met him. I followed Eli downstairs and braced myself for paparazzi overload. I imagined what I'd seen in the movies, lights flashing and crowds shouting things to get my attention. The lobby looked nothing like that.

I walked with Eli to reception and found groups of people huddled all over the lobby and bar. Some had cameras and some were casually chatting. I couldn't tell which ones were guests and which ones had been sent from L.A., but one thing was certain. The press was here and I, like Eli, was confused.

"This man over here," Eli muttered. "He won't chillax. He keeps insisting on talking to a manager." I scanned the crowd for a tall, thin man with a brand new ski coat. John Slagger was still M.I.A. and if he was loitering around the lobby I didn't recognize him. "Over here, Essie."

Eli directed me towards a man with dark hair and trimmed beard. He was dressed in a suave suit and had a matching leather shoulder bag across his chest. He lifted his chin when he saw me – the way Martha sometimes did when she met someone new. It was her way of showing the other person she was a woman of importance. As if raising your chin above someone means you are high on the totem pole.

"Miss…?" The man searched my chest for a name tag. He immediately stopped when his glance lingered too long on the buttons on my shirt.

"Stratter," I said. The man reached out to shake my hand and I hesitantly accepted. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to speak to the happy couple about an exclusive deal with Starstruck Magazine. I know they will be interested in our very lucrative offer. Can you put me in touch with Miss Clemton's assistant or manager, perhaps?"

"Oh I—"

"I realize you have a lot going on here, Ma’am," he interrupted as if he had rehearsed his argument many times in front of the mirror. "I am only asking for a minute of their time, and I promise the deal I am here to negotiate is nothing short of seven figures. Please, let them know that."

"I will," I responded. "Mister...?"

"Oh." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated badge. "Mr. Thomsen. Here is my identification. You can call the magazine and verify my employee number if you like."

I accepted his badge and stared at the name on his identification card. It said C. Thomsen. I re-read his name a few times. It sparked something inside my head I couldn't let go of. I resorted to saying his name out loud to help my thought process along.

"C. Thomsen," I said quietly. The man watched me curiously as I kept repeating his name. "C. Thomsen. C. Thomsen."

"Yes," the man replied. "That is me. Like I said before."

"Are you okay, Essie?" Eli nudged my shoulder and waited for me to respond.

"C. Thomsen," I said again like a broken record.

"Yeah." The man was beginning to look slightly annoyed. "The C stands for Charles, but I go by Robert, my middle name."

"Charles," I whispered. "C. Thomsen. Charles Thomsen. C. Darnay. Charles." My eyes went wide. "Charles Darnay. Charles Dickens."

"You'll have to excuse her," Eli said, ignoring me. "She's had a little too much to drink if you know what I mean."

"Shush, Eli," I said. I faced Charles Thomsen (a.k.a. Robert). "You've read A Tale of Two Cities, haven't you? By Charles Dickens?"

"Is this some kind of trick question?" he looked from me to Eli to see if we were pulling some kind of prank.

"There's a character in that book named Charles Darnay," I stated.

"Um … yeah," he agreed. I looked at Eli.

"No clue." Eli shrugged.

"C. Darnay," I said. "Eli, go upstairs and make sure Lila and Bebe stay in their rooms." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number to the sheriff’s office. No answer. "Oh, for the love of…" I dialed the number again.

"Officer Williams," Murray answered.

"Murray," I shouted. "Where’s the sheriff?"

"He's out on patrol this morning," he answered. "Looking for you-know-who."

"Tell him to get to the resort as soon as possible, got it? As soon as possible!"

"What's the matter?" Murray asked. "You sound like you've seen a ghost or something."

"No." I gripped my phone tight and looked from Eli to the man from Starstruck Magazine. The clue was in front of me this whole time and I couldn't piece it together until now. Franco, the Dickens buff, had ordered and picked up the cupcakes using the name C. Darnay, a fictional character from the book he was currently reading. He texted Donna in behalf of Lila, snuck into the spa while Misty and Eli were off doing who knows what, and offered Donna a deadly sweet. And when Donna's throat started to close up, Franco pushed her into the pool and waited for nature to take its course.

"Then what's going on?" Murray waited eagerly for me to tell him why I was panting, insisting that the sheriff pay the resort a visit immediately.

I didn't know why Franco wanted to kill Donna. Maybe she knew about his book deal? Maybe she was planning on blabbing to everyone this weekend starting with Patrick. Maybe Bev already knew about it and that's why she backed out of the wedding? Maybe all this drama was his attempt at topping the New York Times' Bestseller List? All I knew was he was reckless, he'd tried to kill me, and when he finally found out that Lila and I knew about his book too, he would stop at nothing.

"I know who the murderer is."