Текст книги "Powdered Murder "

Автор книги: A. Gardner

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I almost had a heart attack when I got back to my apartment and saw the figure of a man leaning by the front door. I reached into my coat pretending I had some sort of weapon hidden away for situations like these. All I found were a pair of gloves and stick of cinnamon-flavored gum. At least my breath would smell like Christmas if something were to happen to me.

I exhaled a sigh of relief the moment I recognized the man looking back at me. His jeans were worn and his boots glistened from trudging through the snow. His breath was visible as he exhaled and eagerly waited for me to unlock my door. I looked over my shoulder one last time before I gave him my full attention.

"Wade," I said quietly. "You better hope Mrs. Tankle didn't see you." My landlady was fully aware of the ups and downs of Wade and Joy's relationship. Hearing a heated couple screaming at each other through the walls because one of them forgot to fill the tank with gas was bad for business. More than once a customer of The Painted Deer has complained.

"That nosey old bat is still running this place?" He glanced down the stairs and towards the bookshop underneath my apartment.

"Yep," I informed him. "And she dislikes you just as much as my sister does."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true." He leaned in as I opened the door to my apartment and let him in.

Wade was never one for giving a girl her personal space. He's the type of person who sits a little too close to you on the couch, leans in just a little too close during a conversation, and hovers too much when he is curious. Though even I can’t deny that he is attractive in his own rugged way, I think he only does those things to get a reaction out of people.

Well, a reaction out of women.

If it wasn't still winter, his shirt would be off. And most likely his pants.

"You are probably right." I took off my coat and tossed it on a kitchen chair next to one of Joy's. Her things were usually scattered around the apartment. "Is there a word for when you beyond hate somebody?"

"Our marriage," he joked. Wade helped himself to contents of my fridge. He looked past my bottles of vitamin water and homemade chocolate chia pudding with a frown on his face. "What's all this?"

"You mean, why are there seeds in my pudding or where is the booze?" I chuckled, knowing Wade never missed the opportunity to snag a free beer. "Booze. Joy hid them somewhere."

"Of course she did," he muttered. "She's not even here and she's making my life Hell."

"Why are you here, Wade?" I grabbed a vitamin water and loudly sipped it in front of him with a grin on my face. I knew that I couldn't let him stay for too long because Joy was due home sometime before the big wedding dinner, but it was nice to have Wade around. No nutter would try anything while he was here in my apartment. At least, I didn't think so.

"That guy you were asking me about," he replied. "He came poking around the mine this morning asking questions."

"John Slagger, the reporter or photographer or whatever he is?"

"That's the one," he answered, grabbing a vitamin water too. He unscrewed the cap with almost no effort at all and cautiously took a sip. He wrinkled his nose. "I thought you should know, and why do you put seeds in your pudding?"

"They're chia seeds and they're really good for you. Plus, they absorb liquid so adding them to my chocolate mix basically makes the pudding for me."

"You lost me at chia seeds." He nodded and took another sip of his vitamin water like the flavor might have changed the second time around. He wrinkled his nose again and looked at the label. "What am I even drinking here? Magnesium? Zinc? What am I, a metal refinery?"

"They're minerals, Wade." I pulled out my cell phone, wondering if Patrick planned on letting me know what his decision was about the wedding. My screen opened up to the last thing I was looking at before I'd locked my screen. I stared at Bev's phone number. "Didn't you pay attention in health class?"

"The good parts." Wade placed his half full bottle on the counter instead of throwing it away. One of the many things about him that drove Joy crazy. He never threw away his trash. Wade retreated to the living area. He plopped down on the sofa and grabbed the TV remote like he was back home in his cabin.

"Uh." I quickly blocked his view to ensure that I would have his full attention. "As much as I enjoy your company Wade—"

"I'm on my break," he interrupted. "I'll be out of your hair in thirty minutes tops."

"I assume that no amount of yelling, screaming, or bribing can get you to leave before then?"

"Man, I've missed you Stratter girls." He smirked and resumed channel surfing. Nothing short of throwing my flat screen out the window would get rid of him now.

"Promise me that you'll be out of here before Joy gets home."

"I promise," he agreed. He glanced back at the kitchen table where Joy's coat was hanging over a chair. He'd noticed it right away along with the various other items of hers that were sitting around the apartment. A pair of her shoes. An empty handbag. A tube of lipstick. Her favorite coffee mug. Deep down I knew Wade had stopped by for his fix of Joy.

"I'm going to look for something to wear for a dinner tonight," I said. "When I'm done, I expect you to be out."

Wade nodded as I went into my room and opened up my closet. If the wedding dinner was still on, I had nothing suitable to wear according to Bebe's standards. I thumbed through the dresses I owned and stopped when I came to a red one I bought years ago. It was a little too tight when I'd bought it, but it probably fit like a glove today. I pulled it out of my closet and pressed it against my body.

My cell phone screen lit up as I tossed it on my bed. I stared at Bev's number again. Was it possible that Bev backed out at the last minute because she knew something like this was going to happen? Don't kid yourself, Essie.

I thought about pushing the call button, but thinking about it made my heart race so fast I started to feel dizzy. But my natural curiosity wouldn't let it go. It ticked away in my head like a clock counting down to my very destruction. I pressed call.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

When her answering machine beeped I panicked, wondering what to say. I hadn't thought this far ahead. I hadn't come up with a plan that involved getting Bev, a woman I've never met, to trust me enough to divulge her greatest secrets about Donna. I settled for anything that would grab her attention.

"Hi, Bev," I said. "Uh, you don't know me. My name is Essie. I'm a friend of Patrick's and I'm replacing you in the wedding." I took a deep breath. "I'm sure by now that you've heard about Donna and how she … um … passed away, and I'm very sorry. I uh … I have a few questions. Please, call me back. Okay … thanks." The answering machine beeped again and I hung up.

The minutes seemed to pass in slow motion as I tried on my dress, double checking my phone every time a ray of light shone through the window and bounced of the screen. The red dress fit perfectly, but it was too showy. Lila might have a heart attack if she saw me in it because it accentuated all of my curves. All of them. Besides that, I was most comfortable in my workout gear where my tops weren't so tight you could see what I had to eat for breakfast that day. I took the dress off and laid it on my bed.

My bedroom is plain and ordinary compared to my childhood room at my parents’ house. The walls are beige and the wooden floors make it look clean and modern. I have a large, puffy, white comforter and a few green and baby blue throw pillows. Unlike Joy's room, all my clothes fit neatly in my closet and my dresser isn't jammed so tight with clothes that sleeves and shirt tails are sticking out. Back home, I covered my walls with posters and collages of celebrities. I made the collages with old magazines. That's how I used to spend my time. In my Canyon Street apartment, my bedroom walls are blank. A representation of what my life has really been like the past couple of years. Until now.

Clean but sometimes empty.

As soon as I zipped up my jeans, the door slammed. Wade must have finally left. I guess nothing good was on right now. I shrugged and grabbed a pair of shoes and tights to go along with my wedding dinner outfit. I put the items in a large tote bag and got ready to head to the sheriff’s office before going back to the resort.

"Essie!" The sound of Joy's voice made me jump. My eyes went wide as I grabbed my things and ran to the front room. I found Wade still on the couch and Joy fuming at the front door scowling at her ex. "Who let this rat in?"

"Wade," I shouted. "You said you were leaving."

"That's just great," Joy said through her teeth. She clenched her jaw firmly, biting back her anger. Her cheeks went red and she briskly threw off her coat like she was about to start round one of a caged match. "Put your dirty boots all over our new coffee table, why don't you."

"Calm down," Wade responded with a smirk on his face. "Tables can be cleaned."

"By who? You?" She laughed uncomfortably. "Ha!"

"I can drag a rag across a counter, you know." Wade stood up and began inching towards Joy. The closer he got, the more her cheeks went ruby red. Wade kept a smirk on his face. He knew he was getting under her skin and it gave him satisfaction to watch her squirm.

"Then why don't you? Why don’t you ever clean up after yourself?" she argued.

"I don't clean up after myself?" He chuckled. "Look at this place. Your stuff is everywhere. Need I remind you who unclogged the drains in the bathroom on a daily basis?" He raised his eyebrows and looked at me. "You should have seen the size of the hairballs I pulled out, Essie."

"Wade!" Joy shouted. Their voices were gradually getting louder like whoever shouted the loudest was the winner. Pretty soon they would be in a screaming match and Mrs. Tankle would be up here pounding on the door and threatening to call the sheriff.

"You started it, sweetheart." He winked and it was just the thing that sent Joy over the edge.

"What are you even still doing here?" she shouted. "Get out! I'm supposed to be relaxing before I have to go back to work, not talking to the one person who makes me want to light myself on fire."

"Careful," Wade laughed. "Those are fightin' words."

"Oh shut up." Joy dropped her purse and took off her shoes. She left the front open, letting in a draft that might cause the pipes to freeze up if it persisted. "And leave." She stamped her foot.

"Yeah, I'll leave," he agreed. "But only if you show me your left forearm."

Joy held her wrist and kept the scowl on her face.

"No."

"Oh, so you lied?" He folded his arms. "You swore last time I saw you that you were getting that tattoo removed."

"I did!"

"Well then, let me see," he urged her on, taking a step close to her. "Show me that it's gone and I'll leave."

"What is he talking about, Joy?" Joy had so many tattoos that I'd lost track of all of them. They weren't tattoos that could be seen when she wore a pencil skirt and a blazer, but when she wore a swimsuit she looked like an entirely different person.

"She didn't tell you?" Wade looked at me. "Last year she tattooed my face—"

"Wade!" Joy yelled at him. She rolled her eyes and paused to take a deep breath. "Essie, will you give us a minute?"

"I'll give you more than that," I answered, grabbing my things and heading for the door. "I have a few errands to run. I'll see you back at the resort."

"Yeah, okay." Joy nodded, attempting to change her annoyed expression when she looked at me. The second she turned towards Wade again she couldn't hide her disgust.

"Don't light the place on fire," I muttered. "Oh and Wade, good luck." I carefully closed the door and walked as far away from my apartment as possible. If I didn't hear any more shouting I could act oblivious when Mrs. Tankle knocked on my door in the morning to complain about the noise.

I looked up and down the street. I didn't get the chance to tell Joy about the letter and the weight from the gym missing my head by inches. Judging by the fact that she didn't address it when she came home meant that news of my almost accident hadn't spread across the entire resort yet. For now, I'm sure the killer was content and sipping lattes at the Canyon Street coffee shop or having a swim in the hotel's lap pool. My first stop was the sheriff’s. I wasn't going to end up like Donna. I was going to find her killer before my luck ran out. Only Patrick's ghost cat Snowflake could stop me now.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The sheriff’s office is off of Canyon Street away from Pinecliffe Mountain. It used to be the old firehouse until a new one was built closer to the vacation condos and luxury lodges on the other end of town. Sheriff Williams and his son Murray live only a few blocks away from the station. The lights stay on day and night and the Williams' moved half their stuff into the old firefighters’ bunks. I think last Thanksgiving Mrs. Williams fixed their family dinner in the waiting room using a tiny portable stove just in case they got a phone call.

Murray stood up when I entered the room. He'd been reclining back in his chair with his latest sci-fi novel and a half-eaten bagel was next to his computer. I glanced around the room. No sign of the Sheriff.

"Essie." Murray cleared his throat. His hair was messy like he hadn't even bothered to comb it this morning. "What brings you here?"

"An attempted murder," I answered bluntly.

"Oh." He laughed and quickly ran his fingers through his hair to smooth down the matted parts. "You're joking."

"No," I answered. "Someone tried to kill me, Murray." I waited for him to sit down and start typing on his computer or at least look disappointed. "Well, aren’t you going to take my statement or something?"

"Oh." He hesitated, wiping the grin from his face. "So you are serious? Or…?”

"Murray," I muttered. "Just document it."

"Oh, right." He sat at his computer and turned it on. He avoided looking in my direction as I stood uncomfortably waiting for it to boot so he could actually do some work.

"Did you get anything back on that background check for John Slagger?" I asked.

"About that," he responded. "Dad said that—"

"Murray," I interrupted, shaking my head. "You and I went to school together so I'm going to be brutally honest for a second." I didn't know if telling him to grow up would do him any favors, but Murray had eyes for me. His crush wasn't only a grade school thing. He asked me out last year with a bouquet of red roses on Valentine's Day. I almost accepted them, thinking maybe I could come to tolerate him eventually. But then I noticed he forgot to pull out the card that said to Sharla from Ronald. Sharla is Murray's mother.

"Okay," he agreed. He leaned back, unsure of what I was going to tell him.

"You're an adult," I stated. Murray stared at me with a blank expression.

"Yeah," he lowly chuckled. "So are you."

"So act like an adult. Do what you think is best for once."

"But I do—"

"No," I went on. "I'm not talking about choosing a cereal for breakfast or what program to watch on TV. No woman wants to date a kid who needs to be told what to do."

"Do we have company, son?" Sheriff Williams entered the room chewing on a plastic toothpick. He rubbed the end of his mustache and glared at his son suspiciously as he typed.

"Sheriff," I said. "I was just stopping by to see if you found anything on that out-of-towner John Slagger."

Murray cleared his throat. He glanced at me with wide eyes and casually shook his head. The sheriff exhaled loudly and looked down at his boots before chuckling to himself. The tip of his nose was red and shiny. My gaze wandered down to the liver spots on his hands, a product of the outdoor labor he'd done when he was younger.

"Essie, we went over this," he reminded me. "I told you I've got this under control. I’ve instructed Murray here to keep our investigation confidential until further notice. If I need anything from you I'll be sure to call."

"Really?" I replied, frustrated. My fists clenched as I thought back to the way my entire body had frozen with fear when a forty-five-pound weight dropped from the top floor and landed next to my fragile feet. "You've got it under control?"

"I mean," he chuckled again. "The girl wasn't shot, stabbed or strangled. She fell at the spa. For all we know this was just some sort of freak accident. Don't rule that out."

"I don't think so, Sheriff. It was murder, and I can prove it."

"Oh you can prove it, can you?" He smirked and looked at his son.

"Yes." I lifted my chin and glanced at the bagel on Murray's desk. For a quick second Murray and I made eye contact. "The killer tried to strike again."

"What?" The Sheriff gulped.

"Yes, someone tried to kill me. I'm not making it up either. You can ask Eli over at the resort. He saw the whole thing."

"I'm writing it all down, pop," Murray responded. "And, Essie, I'll call you later about that other thing." He nodded. There was a grin on his face and he sat up straighter in his seat like he were proud of himself for making his own choices without his father interfering for once.

"Thanks, Murray," I said quietly. "I really appreciate it."

*   *   *

The snow started picking up as I walked down the street to the Bison Creek Bakery to inquire about John Slagger. Ada Adley was a distant cousin of the Millbreck's and she had a storefront that faced the center of Canyon Street. She had the advantage of seeing who came and who went on a regular basis, especially since she was always up front in the wee hours of the morning while her mother, a warm and welcoming woman, staid in the back baking up more product.

Ada isn't like her mother at all. Most tourists expect the town baker to be a friendly, jolly, cushy, old woman who sells you a pastry and then tells you a story about how the recipe has been passed down for generations. Ada is none of those things. She's in her mid-thirties, single, and she hardly smiles. Her caramel hair is usually braided and her expression is one of an exhausted mother who has been up all night with a crying baby. Ada is an artist at heart which is probably why she frequently dyes strands of her hair pink and blue. But after spending her twenties in New York City trying to make it as an oil painter and jewelry designer, she realized that she was even more broke than when she left home. Hence the permanent look of distaste on her face when she greets a customer.

"Ada," I said as I entered the bakery. The sign out front had  gone through many name changes before the Adley's finally settled for nothing more than just the word Bakery hanging over their shop. I think they were sick of the grief they got from the town after Ada single-handedly renamed the store Frost This without consulting anyone.

"Essie," she replied. She adjusted her apron and waited impatiently as I looked behind the glass display. "We have the nutrition labels in the back. I remembered them this time, although I don't think the sort of customers we get in here really care how many calories are in their jelly-filled donuts. Although, you might be interested in my Vanishing Vegan Vanilla cupcakes. I call them my "Triple V" cupcakes. Mom thinks baking without butter, milk, or eggs is blasphemous, but they taste just as good hers."

"Maybe next time." I looked past the counter and refused to let my eyes focus on anything fried, sprinkled, or glazed. If I looked for too long than I would give in, and I wasn't the sort of girl who could stop after only one bite. "Do you still have some of that winter spice tea?"

"Our very own blend," Ada recited. "Of course we do." She began making me a cup. Her movements looked robotic like her body was on autopilot while her mind wandered off someplace else. Anywhere but the family bakery.

"Ada, a man came in here yesterday."

"Lots of men come in here, Essie."

"Yes, but this guy wasn't from around here."

"Oh you mean the Cali guy with the receding hairline," she responded.

"Tall, skinny?"

"Yeah, he was here." She handed me a warm cup. "Sugar, milk, honey?"

"No, thanks," I answered.

"Really? You're basically drinking herb water if you take it like that." She watched me blow on the warm liquid and take a sip. The lemon and hint of clove were enough to distract me from the smell of gooey cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice jelly rolls.

"I don’t mind." I took a second sip and pulled some cash from my purse. "So that guy. Do you remember his name?"

"John," she said casually, counting my change. "And he tried to chat me up if you can believe that. His pick-up lines sucked though. I mean, he was all like hi and how are you and what's your name."

"The nerve."

"And then he asked me out for a drink around dinner time," she continued. "Said he was fascinated by my psyche."

"You didn't go, did you?"

"No…" She avoided making eye contact. "Not exactly. Just one drink."

"Did he tell you about himself?" I waited for her to elaborate, but she wasn't the type of girl who discussed her dating dilemmas in detail. She was more of an introvert who needed some prodding. "Where he's from? What he's doing here? Where he's been?" In rehab maybe treating his Lila addiction?

"He said a few things about school." She sighed. "Some other stuff about the beach, but he mostly asked me questions the whole time. It was a lot like being interviewed for a newspaper really."

"What kinds of things did he ask about?"

"Me," she replied. "My background. My family. He wrote it all down too."

"You didn’t find that the least bit odd?"

She paused for a second and processed my question. She nodded slowly, but it didn’t seem to faze her that she could have been having drinks with a murderer. Or at least a murder's accomplice.

"I find this whole conversation a bit odd." She frowned. "You're asking just as many questions, Essie."

"I only have one more." I glanced out the front windows at the spot where Martha Millbreck exited the black BMW. "You see everything that happens on this street. How often do you see Martha?"

"Oh, I don't know. I tend to ignore family."

"Does she normally get dropped off in town so early in the morning, and by that same black BMW that was parked across the street earlier by chance?"

"Sometimes," Ada admitted. "But you know me. I stay out of all the nonsense that goes on in this town. In New York, people come and go as they please and no one goes around asking questions about it." I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to let out a laugh. Sure, Ada liked to stay out of the way, but at the end of the day, her troubles always ended up in the arms of her mother. And her mother was a Millbreck.

"This isn't New York City, Ada. When you get so few people living in one small space, you're bound to know when one of them clogs their toilet."