Off Season: A Last Resorts Mystery
Last Resorts Mysteries, Volume 1
B. Allison Miller
Published by B. Allison Miller, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
OFF SEASON: A LAST RESORTS MYSTERY
First edition. June 1, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 B. Allison Miller.
ISBN: 979-8201233334
Written by B. Allison Miller.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
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PROLOGUE
“Fear defeats more people than any other one thing in the world.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
THE CALL CAME IN JUST after ten in the morning. A gunshot fired inside Variety Bank of Colorado. Jed Link is the nearest first responder. He drives his cruiser less than a mile and is at the bank in under a minute. When he arrives, people are pooling out of the bank in a stream of chaos. Jed throws his Kevlar vest on, slips his earpiece in, and checks his sidearm. He doesn’t need this. Not today. Not ever. He steps out of his vehicle into the cool January air. It is so cold, his nose prickles when he breathes. He waits to see the backup officers, including armed snipers, arrive and give him the go-ahead signal before he heads inside of the bank. The small village police force has access to trained snipers, but they don’t have a trained negotiator. That job falls on Jed’s shoulders this morning. He needs to talk to the Chief about making sure someone receives negotiator training once he gets out of this mess. If he gets out of this mess. Jed takes a steadying breath. He feels a tingling sensation in his fingertips.
With stealth, Jed slips into the bank. The gunman, a local man, Darren Abelman, stands against the counter with his pistol raised, his arm is shaking. Jed sees the victims of the man’s gunfire. The once giant freshwater aquarium that resided by the bank’s doors is reduced to shards of glass on the carpeted floor. The community fish that once lived in the aquarium are flopping helplessly on the carpet. Three bank employees and two customers are on the floor as well, faces down, hands placed defensively over their heads. Someone is whimpering. Jed directs his attention to the gunman. The fish need to be the only victims today.
“Drop the weapon, and put your hands up,” Jed commands. His weapon is raised.
“I can’t,” the armed man yells. The hand holding his gun is shaking anxiously. “Not now.”
“You can. Just drop your weapon. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone,” Jed’s breathing quickens, but he keeps his voice calm, low. “Drop it.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t let you take me in.”
Jed levels his voice. “Darren, I know about your wife and kids. This isn’t the way. If you don’t drop your weapon, those snipers out there? They’re going to shoot you. Your family doesn’t deserve that.”
“I can’t. It’s too late,” the armed man, Darren, argues. Jed doesn’t know Darren, but he knows of him. He was given the intel when he arrived at the bank that morning. The standoff has been going on for several minutes now. If they aren’t careful, it could go on for hours, or it could end in a tragic instant. Jed needs it to end without anyone dying.
“It’s not too late, Darren. Drop your weapon. Meet me halfway, okay? I know you don’t want to shoot anyone, and I promise you, none of those guys out there wants to shoot you. I don’t want to shoot you,” Jed’s breathing is getting heavier. He feels the familiar shock of anxiety creeping up his legs, through his torso, settling in his chest. Nausea begins to wash over him. Bile rises in his throat. His ears start to ring. If the dizziness sets in, Jed will be in trouble. A panic attack now means he puts everyone in the bank at risk. If someone dies today, it will be his fault. Jed tries to regain his composure. He takes another deep breath, relying on the methods that he developed years ago to soothe his anxiety. He can’t let this event turn into a tragedy.
Jed takes another deep breath. “You don’t know me, Darren, but I served too. I saw a lot of bad stuff over there, Darren. I don’t want to relive that. I don’t think you do either. Let’s promise each other not to open fire today, okay?”
“How can I trust you?” It is a valid question. If Jed apprehends Darren, he will go to jail. There is no question about that. If he doesn’t apprehend him, someone will most likely get shot. Jed takes another deep breath.
“You have to have faith, Darren. You don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?”
“No.”
“This isn’t the way to solve your problems, Darren.”
“His wife is Tammy and his kids are Jacob and Ashley. He just lost his job.” The tinny voice comes through Jed’s earpiece giving him some more information about the armed man. Jed will use this information to try to take control of the scene—to talk the man down.
“Darren, Tammy and your kids, Jacob and Ashley, what will they do if you never come home again? Because, Darren, I promise you, if you pull that trigger, you won’t be going home again.”
“What can I do?” Darren sobs.
“Drop the gun, Darren.” Please.
ONE
“Surround yourself with people who take their work seriously, but not themselves, those who work hard and play hard.” – Colin Powell
I RUSHED TO WORK SO fast that I didn’t realize I pulled my underwear on backward until I arrived at my office and tried to sit down. I’ll spare you the details. No, this wasn’t a walk-of-shame-scenario. Backward underwear is a real-life job hazard for people who go to work before the sun rises. For the record, mismatched shoes are also something that happens with regularity. After discovering my wardrobe malfunction, I hustled from my office to the staff bathrooms, entered a stall, and righted my underwear thankful that I was wearing a skirt. I couldn’t fully blame the darkness for my wardrobe malfunction that day. I happened to know that things would be extra hectic at work and that is why I was at work so early and also why I rushing.
I began my job as day manager of The Chalet at Silver Powder Resort three years ago when I changed careers after I incurred a career-ending injury. I no longer speed down mountainsides for a paycheck. These days, I spend most of my waking hours making sure that the Chalet guests get five-star service. Whereas I used to openly compete against my old friends for ‘the win,’ many of my current friends work alongside me toward a common goal. I have grown to love my work—especially during the off-season when things are still busy but a little less hectic than our winter season.
Many popular vacation resorts have an ‘off-season.’ Silver Powder, Colorado’s off-season usually begins in late spring and runs through October. That’s when we enter peak season and there is enough snow to make snow skiing and snowboarding feasible. What you might not know is that resorts like Silver Powder also have a fairly active off-season too.
The warm summer sunshine and picturesque surroundings of Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, make them an ideal place to vacation. Silver Powder Resort offers the usual sightseeing, hiking, kayaking, and mountain biking in the warmer months. Our small community, The Village at Silver Powder, offers street fairs, live music, beer festivals, world-class dining, and shopping as well. One might argue that snow sports are the bread a
nd butter of our small resort community, but the truth is, we couldn’t make it without the jam of the off-season visitors.
One of the busiest times for those of us in the American hospitality industry is the Fourth of July weekend. Presently, it was Thursday, July 1st, and I ensured that the ten guest suites at the Chalet were ready for our visitors. The Chalet was fully booked for the entire holiday weekend. Our newest employee, head housekeeper, Esmeralda, finished inspecting the rooms, and I went through the daily checklist to make sure everything was just right. I tried to maintain a cool attitude because I knew that we were expecting a VIP guest that weekend and I didn’t want the staff to freak out when they discovered who was staying with us. Rather than holding a staff meeting, I decided to tell each employee individually about the VIP booked in at the Chalet.
“Esmeralda,” I said to the head housekeeper. “I just wanted to let you know that we are expecting a VIP this weekend. He will be staying in suite ten.”
“VIP, Miss Mandy?” she replied. She sounded a bit confused by my use of the acronym.
“Very important person,” I explained.
“All of my guests are treated as very important, Miss Mandy, okay?” the affable woman replied.
I liked Esmeralda the first time I met her. She is probably about twenty years older than me, which would make her somewhere in her late forties. She’s married with two teenaged sons, she has a penchant for romance novels, she’s worked in hospitality for over twenty years, and she has a kind disposition. Esmeralda is a hard worker and she takes pride in what she does. Esmeralda is exactly the kind of person I like to have working with me.
“You’re right, you do treat everyone like they are important,” I agreed. “Only this important person is a celebrity, so he might believe that he’s more important than the other guests. We just have to keep that in mind when we encounter him.” The irony of my statement didn’t escape me. I wondered if there was a time when people said that I believed I was more important than other people. I certainly hoped not.
“Ah, I see,” said Esmeralda as she mimicked a pumped-up person. Like a comical bodybuilder, she flexed her arms and blew out her chest.
“Right,” I agreed with a laugh. “Someone just like that.”
“Who is he?” she asked. Honestly, I couldn’t be sure if Esmeralda would know who Crater McMurphy was. She didn’t seem like the type to watch trendy outdoor adventure shows.
“He goes by the name of Crater McMurphy. He’s a celebrity extreme outdoorsman and survivalist.”
Esmeralda gave me a confused look. I knew I liked her for a reason. Personally, I kind of hate the ‘reality television’ universe that’s thrived for a couple of decades. The reality programs are all so fake to me. I mean, in what world would I ever get stuck on an island with nine strangers and compete against them for prizes like showers and a fishing line? Give me an intriguing murder mystery or a hot-sexy mini-series any day—I’ll even make the popcorn.
“Crater McMurphy makes television specials where he climbs mountains and crosses rivers and things like that. He hunts and eats his own food—sometimes he eats slugs and bugs,” I tried to explain the concept to Esmeralda. Honestly, I’d only seen one or two of McMurphy’s programs myself so I wasn’t too sure I was doing a good job conveying who Crater McMurphy was.
“Oh, an outdoorsman? Like a boyfriend for you,” Esmeralda said with a wink.
“Erm?” I guess I hadn’t done such a good job of explaining the Crater McMurphy persona after all.
“You like the outdoor sports,” said Esmeralda with a smile. “He could be the right man for you. No?”
“Ha-ha, no. I don’t think that Crater McMurphy will be my boyfriend, Esmeralda,” I replied feeling my face pinken for no good reason. A 28-year-old woman really shouldn’t blush the way I sometimes do.
“No?” she asked, her eyebrow raised as if it made no sense to her that I had no desire to make Crater McMurphy my potential love interest.
“No. I suspect Mr. McMurphy is married,” I replied. In truth, there was no Mrs. McMurphy on my guestlist, and I had no idea if Crater McMurphy was married or not. Honestly, I just wasn’t interested in the celebrity. While I do enjoy an occasional adventure, there’s something to be said for a quiet evening at home with a normal guy. Celebrity relationships are over-rated.
“Ah, you will find someone,” said Esmeralda with a note of pity in her voice as she touched my arm and walked away. Really?
I ditched the urge to perform the I don’t need a man dance, and I glanced at my watch. It was just after 8 in the morning. I decided to head to the onsite bar, Slopes, and check-in with my friend and bar manager, Tate Svenson under the guise of making sure everything was perfect for our VIP. In the morning, Slopes served coffee drinks, tea, juices—your normal morning beverages, and beginning in the afternoon, it became a full-service bar. Tate joined the Silver Powder family the previous winter as bar manager and has proven to be a big asset to our staff. He is a friendly guy but can keep order and manage the small bar team well. People seem to really like and respect Tate. The fact that Tate is easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt either.
“Mandy, how are you?” asked Tate in his slightly accented voice as I walked into the bar. He was doing his morning checks as well. Tate wore gray dress slacks and a white collared shirt with the first two buttons undone. Don’t judge me, I think you would notice too if Tate Svenson stood before you.
“Great Tate,” I replied as usual. The first time I said ‘great Tate’ to him, Tate chuckled and insisted that I had to address him that way from then on, and I do. Tate is a great guy. He’s smart and funny and as I mentioned before, he does a good job of managing Slopes. He’s also crazily good-looking in a retro ancestor-of-Scandinavian-gods sort of way—he is tall, blond, blue-eyed, and very well-muscled—not that I’ve noticed or anything. I also know that Tate is in his mid-thirties and has an 8-year-old daughter named Skye. His wife or ex-wife (I wasn’t sure) is not in the picture, but I don’t know all of Tate’s backstory yet. I’m working on it.
“I hear we’re going to be graced with Crater McMurphy’s presence this weekend,” said Tate in a low voice. I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm there, but Tate is so subtle at times, it was difficult to be sure.
“It’s true. He’s staying all week. I don’t know if it’s just a vacation or if he has a crew that will be doing any filming while he’s here, although, he is a single booking so it sounds like it’s just a vacation. I think we’re ready for him. I’ve been doing checks all morning. That’s why I’m here—checks!” My face flushed a bit, and I was thankful that not all of the bar lights were lit. I always found myself rambling when I spoke to Tate. It was so embarrassing. I made a mental note to be more succinct in my future responses. Blabbermouth!
Tate nodded. “What do you know about him?” Tate set his hands on the bar and leaned towards me.
I shrugged. “What do I know about Crater McMurphy? Honestly, I probably know less than most people. I think I watched one of his specials a few years ago. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but then again, I’m not really into the whole fictional ‘reality show’ genre.” I shrugged.
“Well, I do know a little about him,” said Tate. “We should probably talk.”
“Oh?” I asked in surprise.
“Got a minute?” asked Tate, his blond eyebrows lifting. Tate meant now.
“Of course,” I replied, and I pulled a barstool out and sat down on it. Tate brought out a pot of coffee and poured me a cup. I guessed that whatever he was about to tell me was serious.
“Thanks,” I replied as he set the cup of hot coffee down for me. Tate didn’t bother with cream or sugar—he seemed to know that I like my coffee black. The Chalet’s coffee is the best. It is roasted and bagged specifically for the Silver Powder Resort and comes from an Italian roasting company. Chalet’s coffee is like having a black diamond in your coffee cup—a bit dangerous but once you’ve had one you just want more.
“I
don’t want to cause any alarm, but Crate McMurphy has a reputation for being a bit of a hothead. He’s been known for picking fights, and destroying property,” Tate explained as he leaned against the bar towards me.
“What? He destroys property? Does he think he’s an eighties rock star or something?” I asked in shock.
Tate straightened and placed his large hands on his slim hips. “That’s not all.”
“Oh no, what else?” I asked not sure if I wanted to hear Tate’s response. Crater sounded bad enough already.
“He has a bit of a reputation with the ladies too—a bad reputation—although, I think I heard he got married some years ago,” said Tate.
“A reputation with the ladies? What exactly do you mean by that? Is he flirtatious or handsy or something else?” I asked. I wasn’t overly concerned about the staff of The Chalet fraternizing with guests. Most of the employees were well-seasoned like me. We were all mature enough to know better than to mess around with customers and we all have experience handling troublesome guests. Trust me, you cannot work in the hospitality industry without someone hitting on you.
“He’s a bit of a womanizer, at least, he used to be,” replied Tate as he pulled a wine glass from the rack on the ceiling and inspected it before polishing it with a white cloth. “And he doesn’t seem to care if the women are single or not.” He placed now shining glass back in the rack.
“I’m pretty sure we don’t need to worry about that, Tate,” I replied. “The staff, as you know, are all too professional to be fraternizing with the guests.”
“I know, but I just thought I should warn you. I’m not saying you’ll have a problem, I’m just saying, be aware,” replied Tate. He reached for his clipboard and a pen.
“Sure, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. How do you know so much about Crater anyway?” I asked truly curious to hear his answer. Tate certainly had a lot of information on the celebrity. I wondered if Tate was a fan. “Are you a Crater McMurphy superfan or something?” I asked. I stifled a laugh when I said this because, honestly, Tate was the kind of guy who should have a fanbase himself. I couldn’t actually see Tate fanboying over anyone.
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