by Kathi Daley
“I’m afraid my interviews didn’t net me a lot of information that I didn’t already have,” Colt went on. “I checked Karen’s financials and there wasn’t any unusual activity in the weeks leading up to her fall, and I took another look at her phone records, which seemed normal as well. There was one charge on her credit card for a plane ticket, but I later learned that she had bought the ticket for a friend who was broke and needed to fly home to see her mother, who was in the final stages of cancer.”
“Aw, that was nice.”
“So what do you think?” Colt asked.
Think? I was breathing so hard, I couldn’t even ask what he meant, but then I looked ahead and what breath that remained in my lungs, which wasn’t a lot, escaped. “Wow.” We’d made it to the top of the falls. There was a layer of ice on the outermost surface of the falls, which made it appear as if the whole thing was frozen clear through, but I could hear water running beneath the ice, which created a beautiful yet sort of eerie sound.
“Isn’t it something? The water on the exterior of the falls freezes, but the water beneath the ice continues to flow.” Colt pointed to the river below. “It too appears frozen, but only on the surface. If you punch through the ice, you find the water. If you follow the stream down a bit, you will come across a beautiful little lake with fantastic ice fishing.”
Ice fishing? Regular fishing was bad enough, in my opinion, but who in their right mind would want to sit on the ice trying to catch a fish?
“It’s beautiful,” I managed, now that we had stopped hiking and my heart rate was beginning to slow.
“It’s one of the most beautiful spots in the area in my opinion. I come up here every winter, even when I’m not investigating a case.”
“It is really lovely. Thank you for bringing me.” I looked over the edge of the falls, hoping that my feet were planted solidly enough that I wouldn’t be the next casualty of the steep drop-off. “It’s a ways down. Seems like it would be hard to survive the fall.”
“There are rocks beneath the water, so surviving isn’t likely,” Colt agreed.
“If Karen was pushed, what do you think happened? Did someone sneak up behind her or did she hike up here with someone who turned on her?”
Colt’s lips tightened. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
He looked around the area, then took off his snowshoes and walked to the edge of the steep drop. Too close, as far as I was concerned. I wanted to yell for him to be careful, but I didn’t want to startle him, so I just held my breath until he took a step back toward me. It wasn’t that I was afraid of heights exactly; it was more that I was afraid of falling.
Colt took out his phone and began snapping photos, focusing mainly on the ground. He paused and took a look at what he had taken, then took a few more.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” I asked.
Colt pointed to the trail as it led to the edge of the falls. “The tail levels off after the climb and is flat as you approach the falls and then climbs just a bit at the edge. The incline forms sort of a lip. It seems to me that unless someone stood right on the edge, which isn’t likely when the water is flowing, they wouldn’t fall into the water below but backward had they stumbled.”
I looked at the trail and nodded. “That seems right. Or if you did fall forward, you wouldn’t fall far. Do you think this means Karen was pushed?”
Colt turned and looked toward the edge of the falls, although this time he looked only with his eyes and didn’t move forward, for which I was grateful. “Now that I am really looking at things, I think it is likely that she was pushed. Unless, of course, she jumped.”
“Jumped? You think she committed suicide?”
Colt shrugged. “I really don’t know. I didn’t know her well enough to make a statement about the state of her mental health at the time she died. Suicide would, however, make more sense than a slip and fall, and her friends did say she had been living in a state of distress.”
“What about the broken arm?”
Colt walked back to me. “The defensive wound to the arm does make it appear as if she was attacked. I’ve been up here a bunch of times but never really noticed the incline at the end of the trail. It makes a natural wall of sorts, which, I would be willing to bet, is why there haven’t been more slip and falls here.”
He sat down on a rock and began pulling on his snowshoes. “It took longer than I estimated to get up here. We should head back.”
“Already?” I’d hoped to rest a bit longer.
“We’ll want to get back before it gets dark and we will need to stop along the way to pick up your wardrobe.”
I let out a soft groan.
“Don’t worry, the trip back will go a lot quicker than the one up.”
I had no doubt of that, especially because I’d probably end up sliding down the hill on my backside at least part of the way given the steepness of the terrain.
Chapter 7
When I woke the following morning, I couldn’t move. I mean, literally couldn’t move. Colt hadn’t mentioned that paralysis was going to be a side effect of hiking five miles on snowshoes the very first time I’d tried the dang-blasted things.
Georgia knocked on my door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I called back.
“It sounds like you’re dying or something.”
“I am dying.” I tried to sit up but ended up flopping back into the pillows. “I definitely think I’m dying. Come on in.”
Georgia poked her head around the door. “Can I help?”
“I think I may be paralyzed. Maybe you should call 9-1-1.”
Georgia chuckled. “I guess you are feeling the effects of your outing yesterday.”
“Effects? Are you trying to tell me this is normal?”
Georgia made her way over to the bed and held out her hands. “Your legs will feel better once you start moving around a bit.”
“I don’t disagree, but I really can’t move.”
“Take my hands. I’ll pull you up.”
I did as Georgia suggested. She pulled on my arms until I was sitting up and then turned me so my legs dangled over the side of the bed. She slid my slippers onto my feet and pulled me into a standing position. She handed me my robe, which I slipped over my pajamas, then offered her arm in support.
“Just take small steps,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“I made French toast.”
French toast did sound good and I was hungry. I put my arm around Georgia’s shoulder and took a step. Did it hurt? Heck yeah. But then I took another step and another, and before I knew it, I’d made it to the living room, where she had a warm fire, hot coffee, and delicious French toast waiting.
“After you eat you should take a long soak in a hot tub and then you should walk around a bit. Once you loosen up those muscles, you will start to feel better.”
I knew Georgia was right. Ben and I had run a marathon when we were in college and I could remember similar pain the following morning.
“Lacy called this morning,” Georgia said.
“She did?” I spooned fresh berries onto my French toast. “What did she want?”
“She said that an antique store that she absolutely adores is going out of business so they are having a huge sale. She wondered if we would want to go with her to have a look. I told her I wasn’t sure what your schedule was like for today, but that I’d ask you about it and call her back.”
I glanced at my bedroom door. I had been planning on a full day of wallowing in self-doubt and yelling at my laptop, but it was possible a break from my manuscript could give me the new perspective I needed. Of course I was going to need a wheelchair to get around, but I was sure that could be arranged. “We do need to start thinking about furniture for the inn. I figure if we find stuff, we can store it in the basement until the remodel is done.”
Georgia poured me a second cup of coffee. “So, should I tell her we’ll join her?”
“Sure. Why not? You may have to carry me out to the car, though.”
Georgia tilted her head just a bit. “I’ll run that hot bath for you. I promise, once you get everything warmed up, you’ll be good as new.”
******
I wouldn’t say I was as good as new exactly, but I did feel better, and I even managed to get myself dressed. I did some stretching exercises while Georgia took Ramos out for a quick walk, and by the time Lacy showed up, I actually felt halfway human.
“What a cute jacket,” Georgia said to her after giving her a hello hug.
“I got it on clearance when I was in Portland a few weeks ago.” Lacy ran her hands up and down the arms of the worn denim garment. “I’d been wanting something cute but causal that didn’t scream mother of six, and when I saw this, I knew it had to come home with me.”
“Well, it is adorable, and it screams college coed rather than mother of six.”
Lacy smiled. “Thanks. That is exactly what I was going for.” She glanced at me. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I limped toward the car.
Lacy held the back door open for me. “Lonnie told me about your outing with Colt. I can’t believe he dragged you all the way up to the falls your first time on snowshoes. I think I may need to have a chat with him. He can be so clueless sometimes.”
I slipped into the car and buckled my seat belt. “That’s okay. I am feeling the effects of our climb today, but it was really beautiful. I’m glad I went. I had no idea that falls could freeze.”
“It is pretty spectacular,” Lacy said. “Lonnie and I used to snowshoe up there before we had the kids. Now when we get a free day, we are more about relaxing. Or shopping.”
“Is Lonnie watching the kids today?” I asked.
Lacy nodded. “He is settled in with basketball and some snacks, so the three of us have the entire day to shop till we drop.”
“Shopping till I drop shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.” I chuckled.
It was nice spending the day with friends. When I’d lived in San Francisco, Ben and I had a couple of friends, but I can’t say I had girlfriends who were just mine. He and I started dating during our third year of college, and looking back, it seemed as if being a couple pretty much defined our lives from that point forward. Not that building a life as a couple hadn’t been important to me at the time, but looking back, I realize I’d forgotten how fun having girlfriends could be.
“The antique barn we are going to be visiting has their antiques mixed in with the rest of their secondhand wares,” Lacy informed us. “The first time I went there, I was certain I wasn’t going to find anything of real value, but I was with a friend who was looking for something specific, so I took a look around, and once I really started to concentrate, I started finding real gems among the trash.”
“I don’t mind digging through a bunch of junk to find a gem,” Georgia said. “I know it can be aggravating, but when you do finally find that jewel, it seems all that much sweeter.”
Lacy turned her head slightly. “I know what you mean. You know that federal drop-front tambour desk I have in my entry? I found it wedged between an old desk I was sure originally came from a big-box store and an old oak table that definitely had been mass-produced. Even in the condition the desk was in when I purchased it, it would have gone for over two thousand dollars in an upper-end antique store, but I wound up getting if for four hundred dollars.”
I raised a brow. “Seems like quite a find.”
“It was.” Lacy agreed. “I had to kiss a lot of frogs to find my prince, but it was worth it.”
Lacy pulled off the highway onto a narrow country lane. The road had been plowed, but from its width, if another car approached from the opposite direction, someone would have to pull over while the other car passed. After a couple of miles the road widened and a large red barn appeared. The parking area was more of a pasture than a lot, but I found the whole thing charming.
“Wow, I love it,” Georgia said. “It’s too bad it is closing.”
“The owner decided to sell the land and move to Florida. I guess he is tired of the cold. There are times I can understand that sentiment, but most of the time I wouldn’t live anywhere but here. Like I said, I have always found treasures here, so don’t get discouraged if you encounter what looks to be someone’s messy garage when you first walk in. The wooden chair behind that stack of plastic ones could be a big-lot special, or it could be a hundred-year-old antique.”
“Speaking of chairs, I still need some for the table you refinished for me.”
“We will have a hard time finding enough that match, but I’m thinking that maybe sixteen high-back chairs that don’t necessarily match but all are old enough to be considered antiques would look great,” Lacy replied. “I’ll keep my eye out.” She looked at Georgia. “How about you? Is there anything special you are looking for?”
Georgia shook her head. “No. I have everything I need. I just figured it would be fun to come along for the ride.”
I knew that Georgia had been pinching pennies since she’d been living with me. I guess I understood that. Life had certainly proved itself to be unpredictable, and I could understand the desire to stash a few dollars away for a rainy day.
The first thing I noticed when I walked through the door of the old barn was that it was crammed so full and things were stacked in such a random fashion that there didn’t seem to be any clear path to make your way from one end of the building to the other. Leaning on the wall near the front door was a rusty old bike that I was sure was pretty much worthless, but against the bike was an old toboggan that was quite charming. I’d never been around snow much as a child, but I had seen movies where all the kids from a neighborhood would pile onto one of the wooden propulsion devices before flying down a snowy hill, and I had to admit that it looked like fun, if not somewhat terrifying.
“Oh look, chairs,” Lacy said, taking my hand and pulling me forward.
I tried my best to keep up with the tiny imp, but because every step was a challenge, I found myself lagging behind.
“These four here are just old,” Lacy walked right past the first grouping we came to, “but these,” she ran her hand over one of four matching chairs with peeling stain and a whole lot of scratches. “These are magnificent.” Lacy bent down and looked beneath the seat of the chair. “I would say they were built in the early twentieth century. There is some warping, which seems to indicate that they were stored in a damp location. But I think I can fix that.” Lacy ran her hand down one leg and up the other. “The craftsmanship is exquisite. I would be willing to bet these chairs were originally commissioned by someone with the money to insist on only the best.”
“So you think they would be a good match for the table?” I asked.
Lacy grinned and nodded. “I do. I know we need sixteen chairs, but four is a start, and I think we can find twelve more in a similar style.”
“If you are willing to refurbish them, I’m game,” I said.
“Great.” Lacy looked around. “I’m going to have a chat with Mr. Thompson to settle on a price. I’ll see if he will store them, along with whatever else we find. Lonnie can come by with his truck to pick everything up.”
“I hate to bother Lonnie with the pickup,” I said. “I’m fine to pay for delivery.”
“Nonsense. Lonnie won’t mind a bit. You go ahead and keep looking and I’ll find you once I make a deal for the chairs.”
It was clear that Lacy was in her element. I wasn’t really the sort to want to barter, but she seemed to think it was part of the game, so I left her to it. I tried to imagine my table with sixteen chairs of a similar style that didn’t necessarily match and realized that was going to be just fine.
Georgia had disappeared, so after Lacy walked away I began to meander. I wasn’t sure that shopping in a store that was quite this cluttered was my thing, but a bin filled with watercolors, prints, and sketches caught my eye. Some had obviou
sly been mass produced, but others looked to have been hand drawn or painted. There were quite a few watercolors of the marina, several sketches of the landscape in full fall color, and even a small oil painting of the old church that had been built in the late nineteenth century and still stood on a bluff just up the coast. I wasn’t really in the market for artwork and was about to walk away when I happened to notice a colorful sketch of the house. My house.
I pulled it out of the pile and then removed it from its frame to take a better look. The sketch was drawn on thick paper that appeared to have aged. The house stood alone on the bluff, so it must have been drawn before the cottage was built. The house was in perfect repair, so I had to assume the drawing had been done soon after it was built.
“Wow, that’s the house,” Georgia said from behind me. “It’s wonderful.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Georgia pointed toward a small but legible signature. “ʻCW, 1896.’”
I frowned. “CW? As in Chamberlain Westminster?”
“Perhaps,” Georgia said. “He was, after all, the man who built the house.”
“Yes. In 1895. Lonnie told me that his wife, Abagail, died just four months after they were married, and Chamberlain left the United States for England. According to what Lonnie said, he never returned.”
“Do you know when Chamberlain and Abagail were married?” Georgia asked. “I mean the month?”
“No.”
“I suppose they could have been married in November or December, which would mean that Chamberlain could have done the drawing in January or February of the next year, just before Abagail died.”
“I suppose it could have happened that way.” I held up the sketch. “Whether CW is Chamberlain Westminster or not, the sketch is perfect. I’m going to have it reframed and then hang it over the fireplace in the living room once the mantel has been refurbished and the room is finished.”