Chapter Seven
By the time Gemma left Ross, it was getting late. She could hardly wait for the day to be over.
Holly and her mother brought their bags in and took them upstairs to their room while Gemma talked to the few remaining conference attendees and some of the presenters as well. But her heart wasn’t in it and it showed. She mentally berated herself for letting this murder get in the way of her presentations, but her thoughts and emotions were so scrambled she could barely think straight.
Nick came by once or twice but it was obvious he was busy interviewing people from both conventions. He even talked to Bilker, who tried to sell him a copy of his book. At the same time, Nick was trying to keep up with developments on the murder. Again, here was a man she cared about in his element, doing what he loved best. And Gemma just couldn’t think past General Loden West tumbling off that sofa dead as a doornail.
Finally, the long, long day was over. Mitch arrived to have dinner with Holly and offered to drive her mom home afterward, telling them that he’d had to bring his four-wheel drive pickup just to get there. The snow storm had finally hit and was expected to be stalled in the valley for a while. They tried to talk Gemma into eating with them but she was simply exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and to be alone to collect her thoughts.
With their jewelry locked up tight for the night and everything as secure as she could make it, Gemma took the elevator up to the third floor. The elevator was beautifully done in rich wood and gleaming mirrors with the same creamy plush carpet on the floor. Her cell phone rang just as she reached her floor and she fished it out of her pocket. It was Nick.
“Hey, I’m calling it a night as far as the convention is concerned,” he told her.
“I already threw in the towel. I’m almost to my room and ready for a hot bath,” Gemma told him, holding the key to her room tightly in her other hand. She was famous for losing keys and she didn’t need any more mistakes today. Gemma had been surprised when she’d been handed an actual key to her room instead of one of those electronic cards. She wondered why they hadn’t changed over to the electronic card locks and then finally decided they just liked the charm of a real key.
“What are you doing for dinner?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m not even hungry,” she told him.
“At least let me bring you a sandwich,” he insisted.
Gemma smiled. Nick was always trying to take care of her. “Okay, okay. But let me get a hot bath and changed into something more comfortable.”
“Ummm, I like the sound of that,” Nick teased.
Before Gemma could respond with what she hoped was a witty comeback, she saw a uniformed police officer sitting in a straight backed chair near her door. “Nick, I gotta go,” Gemma told him and ended the call.
“Can I see some identification, please,” he asked politely as he stood up.
“Of course,” Gemma said, digging her wallet out of her purse.
The young officer with the neatly trimmed dark hair, checked her ID, smiled and handed it back to her. “We were told to check everyone, Ms. Stone,” he explained.
“I understand. As far as we know there is a murderer in the building,” Gemma said. “Are there officers on all the floors?”
“Yes, ma’am. And we’ll be trading off shifts several times during the night. So don’t be alarmed if you hear us out here,” he said.
“I appreciate the warning,” Gemma replied.
“We want to make sure everyone stays put but we want to make sure everyone is safe as well,” he told her as he moved aside to let her pass.
The room assigned to Gemma and Holly was as gorgeous as the rest of Northlake Manor. The beautiful furnishings and almost regal looking décor took her back in time maybe a hundred years. Gemma decided that there was probably a million dollars’ worth of antiques at Northlake Manor.
She opened her suitcase and found her favorite pajamas right on top just like she’d packed them. They were flannel with pink, red and black stilettos scattered over the white background. Not the sexiest thing, she knew, but they were soft, comfortable and warm and they were the last gift she’d gotten from her mother. Now, looking at them, she smiled a little.
The tub was a big, deep claw-foot affair and while it filled with hot water, she pulled her hair up out of the way with a clip, sprinkled some soothing lavender and chamomile oil into the water and sank down into the steamy bath with a contented sigh. This, she decided, was heaven.
While Gemma soaked, she thought about Mrs. Northlake and made a mental note to check on her if she didn’t see her soon. It appeared that the commotion at the front desk had upset her and Gemma hoped whatever it was had gotten settled. Then she remembered the disruptive noises she’d heard in the kitchen earlier that day and wondered if Victoria Northlake was always so volatile. She decided to ask Ross, just out of curiosity, if he knew anything about the family dynamics there.
So far what she knew for sure was that there were three children. Benjamin looked like pictures of his deceased father - tall, dark, regal looking. Vincent Northlake was just as tall but beefy. Victoria was the only girl and was almost as tall as Benjamin. As far as she knew she’d never heard whether there were spouses or children.
None of them even resembled petite Mrs. Northlake, their mother. Simone was her name. Gemma remembered thinking how it suited her and that soft little accent she had.
After all of this was over it would be fun to do a little more research on the Northlake family. They had owned Northlake Manor for several generations. Nick might be able to use it to do a story on the place, maybe draw some much needed positive attention after the news of this murder got out.
The worst part was that she was a prime suspect, according to Ross. The thought was too much, and since there was nothing she could do about it tonight, she pushed the fear out of her mind. Ross would fix it, she hoped, and right now she really needed to relax.
Thinking of Nick reminded her that he would be there soon. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the tub, dried off and stepped into her pajamas, smiling as the soft fabric caressed her skin.
“Did the police officer check your ID?” Gemma asked when she let Nick into her room.
“He did,” Nick assured her and then he grinned. “And, my goodness, did you get all dressed up for me?”
“Hush,” Gemma said, taking the sandwich he offered and sitting cross-legged on the bed.
“I’m just teasing. You know I think you look good in anything,” he said with a laugh. Kicking off his shoes, Nick placed their drinks on the little table in between the two beds and mimicked her pose on the other bed.
“You’re sweet,” Gemma said as she unwrapped her sandwich. Inside she found one of her favorites, tuna salad on whole wheat toast and a dill pickle. “Yum,” she murmured as she took a bite.
“Yum is right,” Nick agreed and they ate in silence for a few moments.
“So have you talked to Ross in the last hour or so?” she asked.
Nick shook his head. “He’s been talking to the CID - who are still stuck in DC by the way - and doing interviews.”
“Has that drawing on the white board in the conference room changed any?” she asked, shivering when she remembered her name there, circled and attached to General Loden West with a straight line.
“Honey, Ross is not going to let anything happen to you. He’s a good detective. He’ll find out who killed the general but he’s going to need a little time,” Nick assured her.
“I know he will,” Gemma said, swallowing the last of her sandwich. “It’s just scary.”
“Oh, I do have one little piece of information,” Nick said quickly. “The money in the briefcase wasn’t specially marked in any way.”
“A briefcase full of unmarked bills. Sounds like ransom money,” Gemma mused.
They both looked at each other.
“No one has been kidnapped as far as we know,” Nick said.
“And why would he
carry ransom money around with him in a public place like this. No - that just doesn’t add up,” Gemma said, shaking her head.
“Hey, Ross is the detective here. Let him do the detecting,” Nick said, pointing his pickle at her. It held firm for a moment and then drooped to one side.
The sight was enough to send her into a fit of giggles and soon Nick joined in, their laughter filling up the space. It felt good to laugh.
When they calmed down he stood up, stretched and then leaned forward and kissed her.
“You taste like a dill pickle,” he said and then kissed her again. “I like dill pickles.”
“You are so crazy,” Gemma whispered. Looping both arms around his neck, she kissed him back.
“Have you given any thought to whether you’re going to accept my Christmas present or not?” Nick asked, tracing around her lips with his fingertips.
Nick had surprised her with reservations for a weekend getaway at a mountain lodge for Valentine’s Day weekend. Like the gentle man and good friend that he was, he had told her to take her time and think about it. Gemma had tried to think about it but the decision was difficult with handsome, Ross Ferguson filling up her thoughts and her senses more than she wanted to admit.
“Tell you what. Why don’t I change the reservation and get us separate rooms for that weekend?” Nick offered, kissing her forehead, her eyelids and then the tip of her nose. “I just want to spend time with you, Gemma. The sleeping arrangements do not matter to me.”
Gemma’s heart melted. “That, my friend, is a deal no girl in her right mind could pass up,” she said, hugging him tight. “If I’m not in prison.”
“You won’t be,” Nick promised. “Ross and I will not let that happen.”
“I believe you,” Gemma said.
“Now, I’m going to see if there’s any development in the murder investigation.”
“Good night,” Gemma said, walking him to the door.
He kissed her one last time and then left.
In the hall, directly across from her room, was a different police officer sitting in the chair.
Gemma pulled back the brocade bedspread, folded it at the foot of the bed and then crawled into the soft, cool sheets and groaned. The bed seemed to cocoon her and in spite of her nervousness, she was lulled to sleep within just a few moments.
It could have been hours or only minutes later but Gemma awoke knowing someone was in her room. She could hear them moving around slowly, quietly. Keeping her eyes closed, she lay perfectly still, holding her breath and her mind frantically searched for a weapon. The only thing she could come up with was the brass lamp beside her bed. It had to weigh fifty pounds.
There it was again. The whisper of footsteps on the carpet. Something being moved around. And then she remembered that the police officer in the hall had been different the last time she looked.
What if he wasn’t a police officer?
What if he was the killer...?
There was a grunt and someone fell.
Gemma sat up and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Chapter Eight
There was another grunt and someone was on the bed. A hand covered her mouth.
“Gemma, it’s me,” someone was saying. “Stop screaming, it’s me. Holly.”
Realization set in and Gemma stopped struggling. Holly removed her hand, knelt on the bed beside her friend and turned on the lamp.
“You scared the life out of me,” Gemma gasped, still shaking.
“Well, you scared me, too,” Holly said.
There was a loud knock at the door. “Ms. Stone? Ms. Blake?”
“And I think we might have scared him, too,” Gemma said, stifling a nervous giggle.
Holly opened the door. “It’s okay, officer,” she said, allowing him into the room while she explained the commotion. “We just scared each other. I think all of our nerves are at the breaking point.”
“Yes, sir,” Gemma assured him. “We’re okay.”
The young officer that Gemma recognized from earlier looked around the room and even in the bathroom before deciding it was safe to leave them alone.
“Thank you for checking on us,” Holly said, closing the door behind him.
“Oh, God, he probably thinks we’re idiots,” Gemma said, pulling the covers up over head. “I am so embarrassed.”
Holly laughed as well and crawled into her bed. “So, we’re all good now, right?”
“All good,” Gemma said, sinking back down into the warmth of the bed. “Did you and Mitch have a good dinner?”
“Yes. Hey, when are we going dress shopping? I want you to help me pick out bridesmaid dresses. And, your dress, of course,” Holly asked.
Gemma smiled. “Remember when we were little girls and how we talked about being the maid of honor in each other’s weddings?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Most people never get the chance to live out that kind of fantasy,” Gemma told her friend. “We’re so lucky.”
“We are indeed,” Holly agreed. “Best friends. A successful business and I’m getting married in six months.”
“To a wonderful guy,” Gemma added.
“To a wonderful guy,” Holly echoed, her voice taking on a dreamy tone.
They were quiet for a while.
“You know all you would have to do is say the word and it could be a double wedding. Nick would jump at the chance,” Holly said, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at Gemma.
“I know but I want to be sure,” Gemma told her. She’d been over that a thousand times in her head.
“I’m sure it’s hard to decide with hunky Ross Ferguson in the picture as well,” Holly added.
“It is. But if I was meant to be with Nick, then Ross wouldn’t even be on my radar,” Gemma said.
“Or your Hunk-O-Meter,” Holly said and burst into giggles.
Gemma joined her and it was a long time before they finally settled down. She turned out the lamp and soon she heard Holly’s soft, even breathing as her friend drifted off into sleep, no doubt dreaming of her upcoming wedding.
Lying there in the dark, Gemma’s thoughts returned to the events of the day and what she knew about the murder so far. The wrong number on the back of her business card had simply been a fluke, but it was one that might get her in deep trouble. There was nothing she could do about it, though.
She thought back over all the places she’d seen General West that day. He had been arguing with Conrad Bilker. He had been talking about some kind of a meeting with Benjamin Northlake.
Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. They’d been talking about some sort of meeting that involved both Victoria and Vince Northlake as well as Benjamin. As she searched frantically for her phone, she thought of something else she’d forgotten to tell Ross. Just before the family with the stroller came into the main lobby, Bilker and the steampunk guy raced past her, almost knocking her down. That might have been them arguing in the office right after the murder when they thought they were alone.
Finally, she found her phone. To keep from waking up Holly, she raced into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. Her fingers were shaking when she dialed Ross’s cell number. It rang and rang and then his voice mail kicked in.
“You have reached the voice mail of Detective Ross Ferguson...”
Too impatient to wait for the greeting to finish, she ended the call and dialed again. Again, it went to voice mail. Groaning, Gemma left him a message, ended the call and crawled back into bed. Her thoughts, the possibilities whirled around and around in her head and it was a long time before Gemma was able to go back to sleep.
When she awoke, the floor to ceiling window beside her bed was filled with first hint of soft gray light. Unable to lie still, Gemma hopped out of bed, being sure to keep quiet, and looked outside. Snow covered everything, reminding her of the past Christmas. Shivering, she pulled jeans, a sweater and her sneakers out of her suitcase and stepped into the bathroom. After dressing, she ran
a brush through her hair, amazed at how some days her red curls seemed to be wilder than others. Today they were ferocious but that was the least of her worries. She had to find Ross and tell him what she’d forgotten the day before when he’d interviewed her.
Gemma checked her phone. Ross had not returned her call from the night before but she felt sure he was still there at the hotel. Sliding her phone into her back pocket, Gemma opened the door quietly and stepped out into the hall. A different police officer was sitting in the chair outside their door. This one was big and looked very capable of taking care of both of them as well as himself. He looked up from the magazine he was reading when she opened her door.
“Good morning,” Gemma said.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, with a slight nod.
“I’m just going down to get some coffee,” she said and then wondered why she was explaining this to him. He was there to keep people out of their room, not keep her in.
He nodded again but she was already on her way, walking as quickly as she could to the elevator. She punched the button for the first floor three times before the elevator could begin its downward descent and then cautioned herself to relax. Telling Ross would get them looking in a new direction and she would at least feel safe again. The elevator bumped softly, came to a halt and the doors opened.
As the elevator doors slid closed, Bilker stepped into the elevator with her.
“Good morning,” he said, politely. His eyes looked owlish behind his glasses.
“Good morning,” she answered, glancing at his disheveled clothing, unkempt hair and dirty, ratty looking sneakers.
“I certainly hope the weather doesn’t keep people away from the convention today,” he said. “That and the unfortunate incident yesterday.”
“I hope so as well,” Gemma said.
“Can you believe there is a murderer loose here in the hotel and, as far as I know, we all made it through the night alive,” he said.
“Well, there is a police presence on each floor,” Gemma reminded him.
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