Текст книги "Powdered Murder "

Автор книги: A. Gardner

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Prepare for the worst," I said as I unlocked the door to my apartment. There had been no sign of Joy on our drive into town. There were no signs of any accidents either. Patrick and I were surprised to see that Mrs. Tankle's lights were still on in The Painted Deer Bookshop.

"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.

"Oh there you are. Finally!" Mrs. Tankle hustled out of her shop at just the right moment.

"Mrs. Tankle," Patrick said, taking her arm. "You shouldn't be running around like that when there's ice all over the place. You might slip and fall."

"Well, I didn't," she barked at him. "I still have some fight left in me." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "Go on and open the door, Essie. I heard those two yelling and screaming. I called the sheriff but he hasn't shown yet. I warned you about letting that bum Wade Porter into your apartment."

"Yes, I know, Mrs. Tankle." I nodded apologetically. "I am so sorry."

"Don't make it a habit," she scolded me. "I could have lost business because of it. Lots of my customers like to stay and do some reading after they make their purchases, especially the ones on couples' retreats who are looking for an hour alone in peace and quiet."

"Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose of a couples' retreat?" Patrick chuckled. I immediately shook my head.

"What was that?" Mrs. Tankle asked snidely.

"Nothing," he lied. "I mean, I too am very sorry for the noise."

"Well…" She took a deep breath as if accepting our apologies. "It's not your fault, Patrick." She looked at me. "Or yours, Essie."

"Let's sort this whole thing out, shall we?" Patrick gestured towards the door, and I quickly pushed it open. What I found looked like a crime scene.

The coffee table was overturned and all the sofa cushions were on the floor. Some even looked like they had been tossed at the television. The kitchen was a mess. Food was all over the counters and a couple of empty water bottles were on the kitchen floor. Mrs. Tankle jumped when a loud bang came from one of the bedrooms.

"That's it!" she shouted. "I have had it!"

Patrick and I looked at each other as more noises came from Joy's bedroom. My eyes darted from the empty liquor bottle in the kitchen to the trail of clothes leading towards the door where Mrs. Tankle was standing.

A pair of jeans.

A skirt.

A blouse tangled with a lacy push-up bra.

"Mrs. Tankle," I shouted. "Mrs. Tankle, don't!"

But I'd yelled my warning too late.

Naively, Mrs. Tankle pushed open the bedroom door ready to give my sister a piece of her mind. What Mrs. Tankle saw was enough to give her a heart attack instead. The noises grew louder and Mrs. Tankle clutched her chest, letting out a blood-curdling scream. My eyes went wide enough to pop out of my head. Joy and Wade were intertwined so tightly on her bed I couldn't tell what belonged to who. Joy's bare skin looked tan compared to Wade's nude complexion.

"Mrs. Tankle," I gasped as she fell to the floor. As I ran to her aid, Joy jerked herself away from her ex-husband and covered herself with a sheet. Wade, who had no shame that he had been caught in the act or in his nude appearance, rushed to her side. His abs contracted as he tried to catch his breath.

"Mrs. Tankle, are you okay?" Wade said loudly as if she was deaf. He knelt closer to her. Mrs. Tankle's eyes were closed, but her chest was rising up and down. She must have just fainted. I confirmed that she still had a pulse and cringed when I happened to look in the wrong direction at the wrong time.

"Wade," I said through my teeth, shying away from his exposed crotch. "Put that thing away! You're only making it worse."

"If you say so." He smirked and stood up. I would have been more upset with him if this hadn't already happened to me before. During the times when Joy and Wade were together, I would often have to remind him that he needed to be fully dressed when I was around.

"And you," I said, glaring at my little sister. The look on her face was more of what I expected in this situation. She was shocked, ashamed, and strategically hiding herself behind a dresser in embarrassment. "You are minutes away from losing that promotion and maybe even your job."

"Oh crap," she muttered to herself, grabbing her clothes that were strewn across the front room. "Essie, I am so so so so—"

"Later," I interrupted her. Mrs. Tankle blinked. "Your boss is looking for you."

Patrick knelt down beside me and helped my landlady sit up. She looked drowsy, squinting in order to see like her eyelids were fitted with tiny hand weights. She yawned like she was just waking up from an afternoon nap. Wade took a step closer to us, but I waved at him to stay back.

"Mrs. Tankle," I said softly. "Are you feeling alright?"

Patrick leapt to his feet and filled an empty glass with water. He carefully walked back from the kitchen and gently handed it to her. She accepted his offering and took a sip. I brushed a strand of gray hair from her face, and assisted her with standing. She was wobbly on her feet at first, but Patrick helped steady her.

"Oh my," she breathed. "What happened, dear?"

Joy, now fully clothed, took Mrs. Tankle by the arm to apologize.

"I believe you fainted when you saw me and—"

"Wade," I butted in. The sight of him made Mrs. Tankle red in the face. She rubbed her forehead and teetered backwards.

"Come on, man," Patrick said calmly. "I think Mrs. Tankle has seen enough of you for one night?"

"Right." Wade grabbed his coat and nodded as if tipping his hat goodbye. "Essie. Patrick, good to see you again. Mrs. Tankle, I'm very sorry about the noise." He shut the door behind him and loudly trotted down the staircase. I rolled my eyes.

"That man is the Devil," Mrs. Tankle said under her breath. She took another sip of water. "I am going to report him to Sheriff Williams."

"For what?" Patrick asked. I quickly nudged his shoulder. "I mean, that won't be necessary. I think Essie can get him the message that you don't want to see him anywhere near your shop, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, helping her to the door.

Mrs. Tankle still looked flustered as Patrick and I led her to the doorstep, leaving Joy to prepare for her big apology to Mr. Kentworth. I closed and locked the apartment door, and cautiously walked with her back to The Painted Deer Bookshop. More snowflakes flew through the night and landed gracefully on the sidewalk. Mrs. Tankle opened the door to her store and Patrick escorted her inside where she'd been reading one of her mystery novels on the sofa. The Painted Deer was a calm and cozy sort of place with bookshelves that reached the ceiling and a display table near the front showcasing local arts and crafts. There were a couple of colorful quilts displayed on the walls. Mrs. Tankle quilted in her spare time and used her finished products to brighten up the place.

"Do you need us to help you get home?" Patrick asked.

"Oh no," she insisted. "I'm fine." She looked at the two of us and sighed. "You know it's a pity you couldn't find a nice girl here in town to marry. Then Bison Creek wouldn't have to deal with all the publicity."

"What?" My jaw hung open. Patrick's secret was out. He was getting married to Lila Clemton tomorrow at the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort, and the news had spread as far as Mrs. Tankle. "How do you know about the wedding?"

"Don't be silly," she said casually. "The whole town knows."

"It must have been my mother," Patrick commented.

"No dear, your mother has kept quiet and I have no idea how. When my little Kristen got married, I couldn't keep my mouth shut about it."

"Well," Patrick confessed. "I asked Mom not to tell anyone." He glanced at me for brief second.

"So it must have been someone else," I added. "Who else knew about the wedding besides our parents and…?” I stopped when I realized exactly who had blabbed. It was the same person had who had threatened me. "Of course. Martha Millbreck."

"The mayor’s wife?" Patrick asked.

"Knowing her, you can expect a full blown caravan of paparazzi tomorrow."

Patrick looked down as he shook his head. He slumped his shoulders and paused to stare at a tiny crack in the wooden floor Mrs. Tankle couldn't afford to have refinished. Patrick looked defeated. I placed my hands on his tense shoulders, feeling his deltoids contract from the stress. They were rock solid.

"Lila won't mind if there is a press invasion," he confessed in a low voice. Mrs. Tankle and I leaned in closer so we could hear him clearly. "She wanted the cameras, the camera crew, and the A-list guest list. The quiet mountain ceremony with no publicity was my idea."

"Maybe nothing will happen?" I suggested. But I knew I was only dreaming. Lila Clemton was a tabloid regular. The papers loved her and they hated her. Anyone who missed out on the opportunity to film or snap pictures of her secret wedding to the pro snowboarder Patrick Jaye would surely be fired.

"It's bound to happen." He finally looked up and smiled at Mrs. Tankle. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Tankle." He pushed open the shop door, letting in a rough breeze. "I should head back to the resort." He stepped onto the sidewalk and shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way back towards Pinecliffe Mountain. The resort was within walking distance, but it wasn't a walk anybody made late at night and in the snow.

"Bye, Mrs. Tankle." I opened the door to follow him down the street. "And sorry again."

I jogged to catch up to Patrick.

"Patrick," I said.

He kept walking.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Essie," he quietly replied. Patrick wasn't the kind of man who gave up easily. That was obvious from the moment he moved here and set foot on a snowboard for the first time in his life. He knew what it took to continually fail, and then pick yourself back up again. Seeing him this way hurt.

"It's okay." I offered words of encouragement, but I had no idea what was the right thing to say. "Things will work themselves out."

"I don't know." When he exhaled, his breath lingered in the air. The snow started falling even heavier until I glanced behind us and could no longer see our footprints. "No matter what happens tomorrow, someone is going to end up hurt."

"Huh?" My heart dropped.

"Essie, I have a confession to make."

"Okay." I gulped, knowing that any sentence starting out that way wasn't going to end well. I stopped under a street lamp and casually looked into the light at the flittering flurries above our heads.

"Throughout my career," he said. "I always meant to visit Bison Creek more often than I did, and now that I'm retiring and moving back I find myself in the same predicament that I can't seem to overcome. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Not really." I folded my arms and rubbed my hands against my coat for warmth.

"I love it here but…" He sniffled and dug the heel of his boot into the snow. "It's too hard. I thought that getting married would make things different, but it has only made everything worse."

"Patrick, you're not making any sense."

"Essie, I know I can trust you," he continued. "I've always trusted you." He paused and grinned. "Since the time you lied to my mom about that stray coyote in our backyard that I tried to make my pet, I knew I could trust you."

"I was young and dumb," I snickered. "And we were lucky that thing didn't eat us for breakfast."

"Yeah well…" He raised his eyebrows and paused to laugh with me. His face went straight again and this time before he spoke, he looked at me. His eyes were glassy. "My mom is sick. She's been seeing a specialist in Denver, but she doesn't have much time left."

"Cancer?" The street fell peacefully silent. Patrick nodded. As he did a snowflake rested gently on his cheek and dissolved into a bead of water against his warm face. "I'm sorry, Patrick."

"She been fighting for years, but she's exhausted. It has been too hard to see her this way so … I've been avoiding it altogether. Does that make me a terrible son?"

"No." I shook my head and instinctively wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I think that just makes you human."

Patrick did something he had never done before. He pulled me close to him and held me tight. His sharp chin rested on my shoulder and his muscles move as he squeezed me tighter. At first, he took me by surprise. I slowly placed my hands on his back and let him find comfort he needed. I couldn't put myself in his shoes, but I did understand how it felt to feel so confused about life that you think you'll never find clarity. I love my mom and I was lucky that she adopted me when I was a baby, but some days I can't help but wonder about my birth mother. Where she is. What she's doing. If I should keep searching for her. The whole situation makes my life feel more complicated than it probably is.

I slowly rubbed the middle of his back and gently squeezed his shoulders. The warmth from his core was now radiating through me. My chest felt like a fire being kindled until it was ready to roar from the fireplace. I pulled myself away from Patrick and let the freezing wind cool me off.

Our eyes connected again and it was like time had rewound and left me staring at Patrick, the boy down the street. I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried. A part of me had wanted this for far too long. The street was still silent and all that could be heard were the distant trees rustling in the wind. Entranced by the look on my face, Patrick closed the gap between us. He brushed the side of my cheek with his hand and moved closer. His lips pressed against mine, and mine against his.

Under different circumstances, the moment would have been prefect. Patrick kissed me and I let him do it. Everything around us faded away in a haze of smoke and fog. I wanted him to hold me forever because the moment he let go, I knew nothing between us would ever be the same.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Patrick and I walked hand in hand towards the Grizzly, both of us aware that the moment we were in eyeshot of the townsfolk things would go back to the way they were before we'd kissed. In a few minutes, Patrick would go back to waiting on Lila and I would go back to trying not to get killed.

The Grizzly was the local bar in Bison Creek where the majority of the seats were filled by residents rather than tourists. It was the place to stop after work to wind down. It was also the place to go to hear what your neighbor was up to. The noise of the bar grew louder and the glow from inside brightened up the night sky.

"I know what I have to do," Patrick said quietly. "I've been too afraid to do it."

"Whatever you decide, do it for yourself. I don't want to be the cause of anything."

"My mom was so excited at the thought of being a grandma," he admitted. "I thought that I could at least give her that before she dies. Lila's temper … she's so fragile sometimes that—"

"You only want what's best for everyone," I interrupted. "Who knows, maybe Lila feels the same way?"

"Maybe."

I glanced down at our hands. It pained me to break what we had, but I had to be realistic. He was engaged and I was in the midst of a witch hunt. Just because Joy had gotten a second chance at her promotion, that didn't mean the hotel wasn't still in jeopardy. If this town truly would be swarming with media tomorrow than I needed to clear the resort's name once and for all. Otherwise, their reputation could be stained on a national level. The people of Bison Creek would be the ones suffering the consequences of the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort's lost business. People of importance don't vacation in places with poor reputations.

"Good luck, Patrick." I broke our grip and reached out to shake his hand, showing him we were nothing more than good friends taking life one step at a time.

"Thanks," he replied. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would still figure things out. You have a guardian angel cat named Snowflake, remember?"

"Thanks." He placed his hands in his pockets and glanced at the pathway leading towards the resort. "I'll see you in the morning. You take care of yourself until then."

"Yeah," I responded.

I watched him walk down the street and make the climb up the hill towards the guest parking lot. Ten years ago, letting him go off and marry someone else might have killed me. My chest was heavy like a weight was sitting on it and a tiny tear ran down my cheek. But if Patrick wanted to be more than friends, he needed to choose me. I wasn't about to become the girl who sabotaged the famous Lila Clemton.

When Patrick's figure disappeared into the snow, I looked at the front door of the Grizzly. It beckoned me to come in and have a drink. After the night I'd had, I was seriously considering it. I touched the door and pushed it open, realizing that I had another excuse to stay and have a chat with some the bar's regulars. The rumor had it that John Slagger was here last night.

The Grizzly looked as it normally did. It was set up to look like an old saloon for the tourists, but not many tourists came here. The bar hadn't changed much since it opened back in the early 1900's. The actual bar area consisted of a long, wooden counter in front of a framed mirror. Antique bottles were displayed along a shelf hanging in front of the mirror and the bottle's reflections made it look as if there were far more bottles than there actually were. There were wooden tables matching the color of the bar set up tightly around the room. All of them were for two to four people. An arched doorway was in the corner with stairs leading down to the cellar and a couple of private rooms. Joy and I had this theory in high school that a secret cult held meetings down there during full moons.

"Look who it is." A man tapped his shot glass on the counter and laughed a wheezy laugh when I approached the bar. He was in here every night, and if he missed it was because he had a deadline to meet at work. Booney was a columnist for the BC Gazette. The whole operation was run by him and about two other people. I was amazed at his ability to find interesting things to write about in such a small town. My favorite piece of his was the article he wrote on my high school principal's haunted shed. It had half the kids in town sneaking around her place at night to see if it was true. Judging by the way I'd seen Booney cower when she was around I suspected she once rejected him, and he wrote the article as payback. No single, middle-aged woman with men like Booney as dating prospects wanted teenagers trying to hold séances in her backyard.

"Hey, Booney," I greeted him. "How are you?" I took a seat next to him and Stella Binsby, the woman who ran the corner market. Stella had a glass of red wine and Booney was already half way through his craft beer.

"I haven't seen you in here for years," he stated. Booney usually smelled strongly of aftershave and spearmint. He used an excessive amount of it to hide the scent of his smoking and drinking habits.

"Well, I was training for a marathon, and then—"

"Always excuses," he butted in, his speech was already beginning to slur. "How about a cold beer on me, huh?"

"Actually I'm not here to stay," I replied. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about last night."

"Last night?" he repeated, confused. "What happened last night?"

"A man came in here with Ada." I ignored his question. "Did you see him?"

"Oh yes," he responded right away. He glanced at Stella and chuckled. Stella returned his look and let out a small laugh of her own. Her frizzy hair had streaks of gray in it that was the same color as the stubble on Booney's chin. "He was here."

"For how long?"

"His date didn't last too long," he answered. "He's not exactly a smooth talker with the ladies."

"Like you're such an expert," Stella joked. "He asked just as many questions as you." Stella nodded at me. "You should have seen it, Essie. He gave Booney here a run for his money."

"Is that a fact?" I responded.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say that he was a fellow journalist," he muttered.

"He is a journalist," Stella confirmed. "Probably doing a story on that wedding at the resort tomorrow."

"You all know about that too?" I asked.

"Of course we do," she continued. "It's happening on our front doorstep."

"Did John tell you that's why he is here?" I asked Stella. She wrinkled her nose.

"That's what his name was. I was trying to remember it." She took a tiny sip of her wine. "No, but he didn't have to. He asked Booney a bunch of questions about Patrick and the Jaye's."

"What did you tell him?" I turned back to Booney who was passing his empty beer bottle to the bartender.

"Just the usual," he chuckled. "All about Patrick's rise to fame and how all the little fellas in town want to be pro boarders just like him." The bartender, one of the Collins' boys who was on his semester break from college, raised his eyebrows as he passed Booney another. "He wrote it all down."

"And you didn't think to ask why?" I exhaled, frustrated.

"He did it secretly." Booney sensed my disappointment and gave me a light slap on the shoulder. "These young’uns think they have the world figured out. I may be old, but I still know a reporter when I see one typing his notes into his phone like he was checking missed calls. I knew what he was doing the whole time!" He chuckled again and his laugh quickly grew louder and louder. He held up his beer to Stella with a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Oh no," I muttered. "What did you do?"

"I told him where he could find good ole Mr. and Mrs. Jaye." He covered his mouth when one of his loud laughs came out as a wheeze. He coughed and took another swig of his drink. "Up at the top of Pinecliffe Trail."

"What?" I blurted out. "That road leads up the mountain to the abandoned mining cabins."

"I know," he proudly replied.

"You better hope he doesn't try to come back down while it's dark." I crossed my arms.

"Oh, I'm sure he turned around after the first mile of rocks and potholes." He ran the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe away the foam from his drink. "Serves him right for poking around in Patrick's business. The Jayes have had enough of that all these years."

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked the caller ID and saw that it was Joy, probably calling to apologize again. I nodded at Booney and Stella and quickly stepped outside where there wasn't clinking glasses and cackling.

"Joy?" I answered the phone.

"Before you ask," she began. "I haven't been fired. Mr. Kentworth said the dinner was a success and he's looking forward to seeing how the wedding turns out tomorrow."

"Good."

"But that's not why I'm calling," she added. Joy cleared her throat. "None of it matters anyway because I have decided to cancel the whole thing."

"Mr. Kentworth won't let you do that," I informed her. My pulse quickened as I waited for her to explain why she was willing to throw away everything she had worked so hard for. Patrick's face flashed in my mind and I forced myself to push it aside. Has he said something?

"Then I'll resign." She spoke clearly and confidently. Joy wasn't kidding around. She was serious. "I would rather be jobless than have to plan my only sister's funeral. I can't believe I was the last to know about what happened this morning. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were so busy that—"

"You told Sheriff Williams, right? I can't believe the geezer hasn't made an arrest yet."

"He won't admit it, but he's a little out of his league on this one," I answered. I brushed a few flurries from my face and warmed my frozen hand on the back of my neck. I dragged my feet in the fresh powder as I gradually walked away from the Grizzly and onto the open street.

"I'm calling it," she responded. "As much as I wanted that promotion, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if the killer knocked off one of my family members."

"And here I thought that you were calling to say how sorry you were for what you did in my apartment." I attempted to lighten the mood. I heard the tension in Joy's voice when she'd spoken of canceling the wedding. Too much of her life had been spent trying to climb the ladder at the resort. I couldn’t let her cancel, not when I was close to finding the killer.

"Right," she gulped, lowering her voice. "I still can't believe I did that. Wade is … well, he should be locked up."

"Uh-huh." I knew she was only trying to draw attention away from the truth. She still had feelings for him and she probably always would.

"Back to the wedding," she casually changed the subject. "Mr. Kentworth just left so … I'll prep some client files tonight and then march into his office first thing tomorrow morning ready to resign."

"Whoa," I replied. Joy was so hot or cold that I would often find myself being her voice of reason. With her, it was either one end of the spectrum or the other. "Slow down, sis. I appreciate the gesture, but I can't let you ruin your career because of me."

"Essie," she shouted into the phone. "Someone tried to kill you!"

"And if you give me until tomorrow I think I know who."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I swear." I glanced up the road at the snow-capped mountains. There was one person who was at the hotel when Donna was killed. Someone who had all the resources he needed to slither around and do things like pick up an anonymous cupcake order, and break into Lila's suite. Someone who was close to us all, yet distant.

Franco.

"I don't know," Joy hesitated. "I know I asked you to help me, but I never thought it would go this far."

"Just tell me one thing," I continued. I knew that with more time I could finally figure out who was stirring up trouble trying to stain the town's reputation and put my sister out of a job. "Where is the wedding party now?"

"It's late," she answered. "The Millbrecks and Patrick's parents went home. I just missed Mom and Dad when I got here, and Lila and the others are in their rooms."

"What about Franco?"

"No." She paused and chuckled to herself. "He's in the bar as usual. Working for Lila is the sort of job that makes you want to hang yourself so he usually gets plastered before bed."

"Plastered?"

"Okay," she admitted. "I'm exaggerating, but he takes his time and enjoys himself after work."

"Is there any way you can make sure he stays put for the next hour or so?"

"What do you have in mind?" Joy curiously asked.

"It's probably best if you didn't know."

I started the journey back to my apartment to warm up my car. I wasn't going to risk wandering through the dark and the freshly fallen snow when somebody wanted me in a body bag. Hopefully that someone was currently sipping martinis at the hotel bar.

"I guess I could give him a couple of free drink vouchers, valid tonight only."

"Perfect." I hung up and jogged the rest of the way.

I had a gut feeling that Franco was hiding something, and his secret could be that he was a stone cold killer.