“Why is this deck even accessible? An orange cone is not exactly sectioning it off.”
“That’s just it. Someone’s removed the caution tape that blocked it off.” His blue eyes squinted and his crow’s feet deepened. “Excuse me, I’d better get this fixed up now before someone really gets hurt,” he said, his voice low and toneless.
He walked slowly to where he’d dropped his tool box, passing Eve, Lucas and me without another word.
“Making friends everywhere, I see,” Eve said, as soon as we were out of earshot.
I ignored the sarcasm. “Who was that?” I asked Lucas.
“The one and only Noel Bluebird—handyman extraordinaire.”
“He’s mysterious. Is he always so fast with a rope?”
“He’s into carpentry and working with his hands. I’m not sure where he learned to lasso like that but it wouldn’t surprise me if he grew up on a farm,” he answered shortly. “Mind you, the only thing I’ve seen him ride around here is a snowmobile.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind taking a ride on that snowmobile. Did you see the size of his thighs?” Eve gave me a crooked smile. “How come my handymen are always balding, potbellied, and have a cigar clamped between their teeth?”
“Because you’re a man-eater and they know if they get too close they’ll wind up married, divorced and drained of all cash.”
“Harrumph. I do not drain their cash, if I did, then I wouldn’t need to work for a smarmy girl like you.”
“Speaking of which, who’s manning the desk at the newspaper this week, if you’re here?”
“I’m on holidays this week, remember? We’re closed.”
“I know that, but since when has that stopped you? I thought the news never sleeps, Lois Lane.”
Eve grinned. “It doesn’t but sometimes you have to follow the story. That’s why I’m here with you, Clark Kent.”
Once Lucas had the suitcase out of the car, we walked without speaking down a snowy path, packed hard by visitors’ feet, passing one of the roped-off buildings. My brain began sorting through the day’s impressions. And suspects. The owners, would they kill to protect their family and the reputation of Sleighs & Slopes Adventure Resort? And how about that handyman, Noel? I shivered. That was some serious roping, and he clearly had access to tools. Which reminded me that I needed to know more about how Holly was killed.
“Did you tell everyone that I used to investigate?” I asked sharply.
Lucas’ cheeks flushed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
We came around a bend in the snowy path and I saw the sign for Candy Cane Lane. Lucas pointed to a tree house.
“There it is,” he said. “My tree house is next door.”
“I’m surprised,” Eve whispered to me. “I figured he would have tried to share accommodations with you.”
I frowned. “You mean like you’re trying to.”
“I am not. I have my own accommodation, thank you very much. Now off I go—I just wanted to see where you were staying first.”
“Eve? What accommodations? Where are you staying? Don’t you want to investigate with me?”
“I’ll see you later, dear. I’m off to find Cookie Cutter Cabin.
“Eve?”
“Really, Penny—don’t be so clingy,” she said with a grin.
“Why is she always up to something?” I turned to Lucas. “I’m going to drop my suitcase off inside and then we are going for a walk. You need to show me where you found Holly.”
The tree house door was painted red. White lights were strung the base of the tree although they weren’t lit as of yet. I looked at the number on my key, went up the steps and unlocked the door to my room.
Good God! This place was sparse—thank goodness it was the luxurious suite. Mind you, it did showcase mother nature rather nicely through the oversized glass window.
Lucas was still standing below when I exited the red door. I heard a woodpecker and smiled. Then I heard a scream. I stood very still. Being an investigator-turned-journalist, my radar was always finely tuned. I was just going through all the terrible scenarios that might have happened to Eve when Lucas called to me.
“Don’t worry.” He reassured. “The call of the red fox sounds very much like a woman’s screams.”
I shivered and locked the door behind me. “I sure hope you’re right.” Eve had left to go to her cottage in that direction and although she was a pain in the behind, she was like a surrogate mother to me. A very crusty, loud-mouthed inappropriate mother figure, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The fox sounded off again and I couldn’t help but think of the reason I’d been brought here. This brought me to my next question.
“How did you feel about Holly?” I asked, turning to Lucas. “Did you really love her?”
He flinched.
“Tell me the truth.”
Four
_____________
L ucas’s eyes went wide, and he shuffled his feet.
“Tell me!” I demanded. “Or I’m leaving.”
“You’re my girl… ex-girlfriend, what do you expect me to say? It’s a weird question.”
“You’re weird. I’m your private investigator and I’m trying to save you from a murder wrap. How about you tell me the truth?”
Lucas abruptly hunched his shoulders and thrust his head forward. “Fine. I was sick to death of her,” he hissed. My body recoiled with the violence of his response. But he didn’t seem to notice, and continued in a low, intense whisper. “Constantly picking fights, flirting, complaining, nagging—it had only been four months, but I wanted out. I realized this weekend that I had rebounded hard from our relationship. All I could think about was you but you kept ignoring my texts and calls. It was a colossal mistake to marry her. So impulsive and stupid of me but I didn’t know how to tell her that—not that she would have cared. She only married me for my money.”
He stopped his tirade as suddenly as he had begun and swiveled his head around to see if there was anyone close enough to hear. There was no one left on the path, only Mateo but he was way behind and out of earshot.
“Let’s find somewhere we can talk,” Lucas murmured in my ear.
I nodded silently, too stunned by his outburst to speak. Lucas marched up one of the paths, his footsteps angry on the packed snow. I plodded along after him and wondered. What if he had killed Holly? It hadn’t seemed a real possibility before. But the unexpected intensity of his whispered words had frightened me. Did I want to know the truth and could I handle it?
Lucas slowed his footsteps and turned to me, waiting for me to catch up. “When I first met her, she acted like a different person,” he said as I reached him. His voice had lost its violence. “She loved hosting the adventure trips with me. She even took up rock climbing—for a while, anyway. And I began skiing with her. She wasn’t really acting too much anymore. She said that she preferred to run the business with me.” His tone went bitter again. “I’ll tell you, all that attention and appreciation was very seductive. You hadn’t paid attention to me in years and I fell for her act.”
“Hold up,” I objected, stopping in my tracks. “I paid attention to you. You were the one who was tired of me.”
Lucas stopped, turned and stared at me, open mouthed.
I stared back. And thought of that year when we had continually separated and reconciled and separated again. I looked into his brown, puppy dog-eyes and remembered his seemingly constant criticism of my ‘closed off attitude;’ my black leather jacket and baseball cap, which he referred to as my dark and dingy P.I wardrobe; and my need for space.
I lowered my eyes, forfeiting the staring match. “Back to your dead wife,” I said, in a tone more harsh than I’d intended.
Lucas lowered his own gaze, and we began to walk again, avoiding, by unspoken mutual agreement, the questions of the past.
“Holly changed,” he said. “When I first met her, she appeared to be this bright, beautiful, adventurous you
ng woman who feared nothing and wanted nothing. But after a while, she wasn’t satisfied accompanying me on my travels anymore and she blamed me for her own dimming career. She was always asking for money. Aunt Eleanor was mad that she’d taken off and was giving her ‘shit-parts.’ At least that’s what Holly said, but who really knows. Holly was a bit of a liar. And Aunt Eleanor—”
“Wait. Who is Aunt Eleanor?” I asked. We had reached the end of the snowy path. I gestured toward the picnic bench overlooking the edge of the mountain. It was a long way down to the frozen lake below.
“She’s Holly’s agent,” Lucas said, taking a seat. “She used to be a big-time actress herself-mostly in B-films. You know the type of movie I’m talking about—smut.” I flinched. Lucas continued, oblivious to my reaction. “She’s also Holly’s aunt. Eleanor watched out for Holly after her mother died. She gave her a job at her theatre company. But she made her start at the bottom: set design, small parts—Holly even did a couple of lingerie shows.”
“I hope not as a kid.”
“Probably—knowing Holly, she liked the attention. She loved the spotlight, especially if it meant people lusting after her.”
“You lusted after her,” I said softly, looking over at his tension-ravaged face with unexpected pity.
Lucas kept his eyes down. “I know. I was stupid. She knew how to play the tempting vixen,” he mumbled. “Anyway,” he went on, shaking his head as if to rid himself of disturbing thoughts, “Holly had had it with her Aunt Eleanor. She was talking about striking out on her own. Another agent had approached her about a big-budget film—A-list cast, lots of bucks—”
“No!” The shout rang out, cutting off Lucas’ sentence.
I looked up and saw Marie-Angelique’s son, Felix, stomping down the snowy path in our direction. The handyman who’d lassoed me on the porch, Noel Bluebird, was close behind him. I jumped to my feet, ready to intervene. But Lucas laid a restraining hand on mine.
“The kid’s not upset with him,” Lucas said gently. As Felix came to a sudden stop midway down the path, I saw that Lucas was right.
The boy put his hands to his streaming eyes and turned to Bluebird. “Why are they always on my case!” he shouted. “It’s not fair. It’s all bullshit! Why can’t I just live with you?” His shrill voice pierced the air. Birds flew up from the trees behind us.
Bluebird put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, murmuring something inaudible as they walked on. The boy shook his head violently. Disjointed pieces of what he was saying floated to us through his sobs. “I hate them… not fair.”
“Good God,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“The joys of adolescence,” Lucas responded. “He’s a troubled kid, to put it mildly. His mother is busy with the resort and his father, Justin, well…” Lucas paused. “I think Justin’s just too obsessed with his own demons to notice much of anything going on around him.”
The red fox call reverberated off the trees again as if to punctuate the sentence. I jumped up and turned to look. But I saw nothing. Then the sound erupted again.
“Seriously, what the hell was that?” I demanded. “It sounded different this time and much closer.”
“Oh, that,” he said, shaking his head. “I think that was probably Justin. He’s always out doing bird calls and making weird sounds. Who knows why he does what he does,” he explained in a voice of forced reason. But then his face grew troubled. “Holly thought he had mental health problems.”
“Tell me about it.” I nodded. Now we were getting somewhere.
“She asked Amélie if Justin was a bi-polar schizophrenic before dinner last night.”
“What did Amélie say?”
“She didn’t answer. The Tremblés had walked up behind Holly right when she asked it. Later, she called Holly a twit and suggested in private that Holly research such terms before openly labeling someone. Out of everyone, I would say Amélie was the most hostile to Holly. She really didn’t like her, but then again, maybe it was just more noticeable because Amélie was so very nice to everyone else.”
“Interesting. And what about the Tremblés? That couldn’t have gone over well with them.” I fixed my gaze on Lucas. “That sounds like motive, especially if she provoked him. Obviously, the police are going to figure out if Justin’s not all there.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lucas admitted. “He was charming enough when he was around them. Intelligent, witty. Perceptive, even. He seems to change from day to day. Besides, if all crazy people were murderers, there would be a hell of a lot more murders.”
“Fair enough, but still, someone must have told them about his personality changes,” I argued. I looked into Lucas’ worried eyes. “Don’t you see? Even if Justin isn’t our murderer, his antics make you look good. They can’t pin this on you if there are other viable suspects.”
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully.
“How did Justin react when he overheard what Holly said?”
“He just laughed and told her she was probably onto something. Dinner went on and it all blew over.” His eyes were wide now. “I know what you’re thinking. But, Penelope, it’s not like people kill each other over insults.”
“We wouldn’t, no. But we can’t speak for anyone else,” I said. “Tell me more about Holly and what she did to upset the apple cart.”
“Are you kidding? It would be easier to tell you what she didn’t do.”
“Details and facts, please,” I reminded him.
“Well, she bitched and moaned non-stop about the food, the sparse accommodations and the lack of shopping at the resort. About me. About show-business. About her aunt. That part really seemed to annoy Amélie. You name it.” Lucas smiled a very tired, self-mocking smile.
A thumping sound came toward us. I looked up and saw Mateo with his cane. Damn. Lucas and I exchanged frustrated glances. With all the paths that webbed the resort grounds, how come everyone came down this one?
I waited for him to pass. “Tell me about the body.”
“What?” said Lucas, his head bouncing back as if he’d been slapped.
“Holly’s body. You found it. What did it look like?”
He took a big breath and I could tell the idea disturbed him.
I changed my thoughts up. “Okay, tell me about the last time you saw her alive, then?”
“The last time I saw Holly was around eight o’clock last night. Before that, we had eaten dinner in the dining hall. Everyone was there. Holly was complaining—same old stuff. Where was the room service? Why couldn’t we have stayed at a bigger resort? She said she was sick of small bit parts. Sick of the casting couch, old boys club, et cetera. Sick of Aunt Eleanor. Sick of me.”
“So, what did you say?”
Lucas flushed. “I told her I was sick of her, too.” He looked down at his lap. “I may have yelled a little.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“Then we came back to our room,” he answered glumly. “And argued some more.”
“About what?”
“Same old stuff. I told her to stop antagonizing people. She told me I wasn’t the man she had thought I was. I may have told her…” His voice trailed off.
“What?”
“That I still loved you. That I made a mistake and wanted out,” he answered in a small voice. He looked up at me, his eyes begging for understanding.
“Did you yell that too?” I asked.
“I suppose. She checked my phone and saw that I’d been texting you. She was pretty upset.”
Great. Had someone heard them fight? “So then what happened?”
“She got dressed in her night skiing clothes. She’d done it the night before too. It was dark by then but the hills and trails are lit up until 11pm. She told me I should get my cheque book out if I wanted a divorce because she wasn’t going to make it easy. Then she grabbed her skis and left.”
“And?”
“And… that was the last time I saw her alive. God, I wish I’d never met
her,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “I mean I didn’t want her to die, but she really was impossible. I shouldn’t have been so cruel, but she just brought out the worst in me and I didn’t know…” His words trailed off into a sob. He put his head into his hands and wept loudly, tears leaking through his fingers.
I pulled a package of Kleenex from my pocket and handed it to him. He blew his nose loudly. Then he went on as if he had never stopped.
“So, I got out my laptop and emailed you. You ignored it of course and then I did some more work. After a couple of hours had passed I began to worry, but I figured she was just staying out to bug me, so I pulled out a book and read it. It was almost eleven o’clock by the time I looked up. I knew the trail lights would go out, so I went out to look for her. The moon was bright, so I could see fairly well. I walked the trails closest to us and then I grabbed my skis and checked the perimeter of the resort, calling her name—not very loud because I knew I’d feel like an idiot if she had company. The second time I passed by the trail leading to the spa area, I paused in case she was in the hot tub or something and that’s when I saw her in the snowbank. Her hair was shiny under the lamplight.
“I called her name, but I could see right away that there was something wrong with her body. It was face down… and crumpled. I moved closer. Her neck looked wrong. Then I bent down and touched her face. Her skin wasn’t warm enough.”
He stopped speaking and stared into space with glassy eyes. I shivered.
“Lucas,” I said gently after a few endless moments had passed.
His eyes came slowly into focus.
“Sorry,” he said and resumed his story. “I guess I panicked after I realized she was dead. I skied back to the chalet and rushed inside. You know the rest.”
“The police came,” I prodded.
He said, “yes,” but he shook his head violently as if clearing it of bad thoughts. Then he continued. “By the time it was daylight the coroners had taken Holly’s body away. Then the detective questioned me again. It went on forever.” Lucas looked up at me with a grey face. “Is that enough?” he asked wearily.
Murder, She Slopes Page 4