Murder, She Slopes

by Rachael Stapleton

  As soon as I reached them, Gloria chirped, “Is there another body? We heard it on the radio.”

  “Police scanner,” explained Eve in a curt whisper.

  “Someone pushed Amélie off the mountain but she landed on the ledge below. She’s alive—”

  “Out!” boomed a voice from behind the women. “Those women are not staying at the resort so they need to leave.”

  I jumped, then looked up into Detective Bumble’s angry face. I had been so intent on my explanation that I hadn’t heard his approach.

  Denise was not intimidated. “Detective Bumble,” she growled, pointing a beefy finger in his face. “Don’t you speak to me that way. I’m your elder. I’ve known you since you were wetting your bed. And actually, we are staying here this week. We’re in Santa’s Shack on Roasted Chestnut Lane.”

  Bumble rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. When he brought them back down, he turned on the man with him.

  “Don’t leave these people alone again,” he snapped.

  The police officer flinched but managed a quick nod.

  Then Bumble turned back to Eve, Denise and Gloria. He drew back his lips and grinned. “Would you ladies be so kind as to accompany me?” he asked, sweeping his hand toward the lobby.

  Denise narrowed her eyes, and I watched them all disappear out the front doors.

  Another officer brought in Cody. He was covered in snow and looked worried.

  Cody moved quickly to my side and pulled me tight to his chest. “You okay?” he asked. “I’ve been all through those woods looking for you. The police wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  I leaned my head against his chest and relaxed, catching a glimpse of a frown on Lucas’ face as my eyes closed again. After I relayed what happened we took a seat on the floor in front of the fire. I curled into Cody but I didn’t fall asleep right away. I could hear the squeak of couch springs as bodies shifted and then an image of Amélie’s snow-covered body floated into my mind.

  I awoke to my name being called. I blinked and saw Detective Bumble before me. It seemed to me that I had been dreaming about him too. But the dream was gone.

  “Your turn, Miss Trubble,” Bumble said softly. At least he wasn’t shouting. Something must have improved his temper. I stifled a yawn and returned his smile as I rose to follow him to Marie-Angelique’s office.

  Bumble began his interrogation as soon as I was seated across from him at Marie-Angelique’s desk. He wasn’t posturing this time. Just asking straightforward questions. Maybe he was as tired as I was. It was nearly two in the morning by the clock behind him. On the other hand, maybe this was a new trick to gain my confidence.

  We went over what I had told him at the ledge earlier. Then he asked me where I had been previous to finding Amélie. The tension in his face told me that this was an important question.

  “I was walking,” I answered hesitantly. From the look on Bumble’s face that wasn’t the right answer.

  “Where were you walking from?” he asked patiently. A forty-watt bulb turned on in my tired brain.

  “From my room,” I answered eagerly. “Lucas, Cody, Eve, Denise, Gloria and I were in my tree house!” An alibi. All six of us had an alibi! “Lucas and the ladies left to go back to their own rooms, and I realized Eve had left her purse so I hurried after her,” I added.

  I frowned at a sudden thought. Lucas had showed up right behind me and had said he’d followed me, but could he have been there already? Had he attacked Amélie in the few minutes that I wandered around the resort looking for the women? Not likely, I assured myself.

  “What time did you leave?” asked Bumble.

  “Somewhere after twelve,” I guessed, looking at my lap and figuring. “Just a little while before we found Amélie.”

  With a jolt I remembered actually finding the doctor. I sucked in my breath, seeing her twisted legs on the edge of the ledge once more, and her still body being carried away on the stretcher. I lifted my face to Bumble’s.

  “Was the phone call you got earlier about Amélie?” I asked. I didn’t expect Bumble to answer, but I had to ask the question.

  He nodded, surprising me.

  “And?” I asked as meekly as possible.

  “Belle’s regained consciousness,” Bumble replied. His eyes were intent on my face as he spoke. Looking for a guilty twitch of surprise?

  I sat back in my chair and let my breath out in relief. Amélie was alive. Warmth came into my cold hands.

  “Will she be all right?” I asked quickly. Consciousness was not necessarily good health.

  “Probably,” answered Bumble softly. “Whoever tossed her over the mountainside was either in a hurry or they didn’t realize there was a ledge. Either way it’s good news for us and for Amélie.”

  Twenty Three

  _____________

  I clapped my hands together in an instant of celebration. Then I slumped in my own chair, exhausted by relief. The strings of tension holding me up like a puppet had been cut. I could relax now. The murderer had failed. And Dr. Amélie Belle would live.

  But would she be able to identify her attacker? Tension pulled me up straight in my chair again.

  “What does Amélie remember?” I asked, taking advantage of Bumble’s talkative mood.

  Bumble shook his head in disgust. “Dr. Belle remembers walking Eleanor Frost to her room around eleven o’clock,” he recited, “then starting back to her own room.” Bumble bent forward again, peering into my eyes. Finally, he nodded his head as if having made a decision. “That’s all she remembers,” he finished brusquely.

  “That’s all?” I repeated, unbelieving. “Doesn’t she even remember Lucas and I talking to her?”

  Bumble shook his head. “Concussions can do that,” he told me. “If you’re telling the truth, then you and Lucas saved the woman’s life. She would have surely frozen to death left out there all night. We can only hope she’ll remember more later, but for now that’s all we’ve got.”

  “Hey! You said she walked Eleanor to her room at eleven o’clock and then we can assume she was most likely attacked on her walk back, right?”

  “Yes, what’s your point, Miss Trubble?”

  “Well, we were all together at eleven o’clock! Which means none of us could have done it!” I burst out triumphantly.

  “You sound surprised,” said Bumble, raising his eyebrows.

  “No, no. Not surprised at all,” I sought to assure him. I calmed my voice. “Just pleased that the evidence clears Lucas—I know he’s been your prime suspect.”

  “Whoa,” Bumble warned. “The evidence doesn’t clear Mr. Vallerand.” Bumble watched me intently as he spoke. “You’re assuming Belle was attacked the second she left Eleanor. Maybe she was. But maybe she wasn’t. She could have met her assailant at 11:45, right before you got to the edge. That’s enough time for your ex-boyfriend to push her and hide.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “How about me?” I asked nervously. “Am I cleared?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, “you can go to bed for now.”

  I strolled out onto the lit porch to wait for Cody to finish up with his interrogation. The snowstorm was in full swing and I certainly wasn’t walking back to my room without him.

  I sat down on the porch bench and thought. Why had Dr. Amélie Belle been attacked? What did she have in common with Holly Biltch and Noel Bluebird? Questions I should have considered from the moment I saw her body on the ledge.

  The sound of movement in the nearby trees distracted me from my belated consideration. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable on this lit porch. I rose to go back inside. Then I heard a sharp, “Psst.”

  Eve hurried out from under the cover of the trees. Denise trailed behind her. I let out a relieved laugh. “Get up here, you kooks.”

  I heard a new set of footsteps. Damn. Denise scurried back into the evergreen trees. My shoulders tensed.

  “It’s just me,” came the voice before I could see the body attached to it. I flopped back down o
n the bench. Gloria smiled at me serenely as if sharing my amusement.

  Eve and Denise moved stealthily up the stairs and sat down next to Gloria and me. Eve’s eyes were glistening with excitement. “So, give us the juicy details. What happened after we left your tree house last night?” she asked, her voice low with pleasure. “There’s a whole herd of crime-scene people down at the mountain’s edge, and cops crawling all over the resort.” She thrust her glaring face at me.

  So I told them. After fifteen minutes they had squeezed all the details from me and chewed them over thoroughly.

  “Who do you think did it, Penelope?” Eve asked.

  “I wish I knew,” I answered slowly. Holly, Noel, and now Amélie. If Noel had been a woman, it might have made more sense, but it all appeared so random. “What if Noel was incidental—” I began. Then I heard the door open behind us.

  I turned and saw Cody walk through. He looked at me and winked, and I closed the distance between us in a few urgent steps.

  Cody returned my kiss with passion. I held on tight.

  “We’ve got a murderer to catch!” Gloria reminded us impatiently. “Break it up, okay?”

  Cody removed his lips from mine slowly. I gave him one more quick kiss on his nose, for luck. Then we joined Eve, Gloria and Denise on the snowy path through the trees.

  The five of us walked to one of the sheltered picnic tables and sat there and talked in the cool night air about the resort people. Then we talked some more about motives. And more about backgrounds. And still nothing clicked. I was getting sleepy again, but it felt safe and comfortable there on the bench, so I just leaned against Cody and listened to Gloria and Eve spin bizarre scenarios.

  Cody had almost convinced himself that Holly was Noel Bluebird’s illegitimate daughter, when Mateo came shuffling up. Cody lifted his hand in greeting.

  “Bumble all finished with you?”

  Mateo nodded. “Hopefully we can all get some sleep now,” he said and hobbled down the path.

  I sat up abruptly, remembering the thought that had tickled my mind earlier.

  “Amélie and Holly,” I said. “They have Eleanor in common!”

  Cody turned to me. “So?” he asked sourly.

  “I wonder how they know each other. Is Amélie involved in theatre? What if the murders have to do with one of their shows?”

  “Or, what if someone mistakenly attacked Amélie thinking it was Eleanor? They look alike with their similar coats and hats,” Eve said.

  “True. Amélie was leaving Eleanor’s cabin. Eleanor could have been the target—maybe that’s why they didn’t finish the job? A bitter person who was passed by for a role. Eleanor owns the theatre, and she was also Holly’s agent. So what if it’s one of her other clients—”

  “How does Noel Bluebird fit in?” Cody interrupted.

  “Oh, that damn misshapen puzzle piece, Noel Bluebird,” Eve snapped. “Maybe he saw the murderer do it or something. But the point is Penelope’s right. Holly and Amélie could be the link that helps us solve this.”

  I was wide awake now, excited. I stood up and wagged my finger at Cody. “And this is a theory we can check,” I told him. Then I began to pace. “If we can get Eleanor’s permission, we can call her assistant. Have her go through all the actresses that got passed up for a role that Holly got. Find the link—”

  Cody broke in. “I’m sorry to keep poking holes but—”

  “No, you’re not.” I smirked.

  “No, you’re right. I’m not sorry. It’s my job. Anyway, if the murderer is one of her actresses, don’t you think Eleanor would have realized it by now? She knows the names of all the people at the resort. She’s got a functioning brain. Don’t you think she would have recognized them?”

  “Not necessarily,” Eve answered defensively. “Maybe the murderer isn’t an actress! Maybe the murderer’s a friend of an actress, a child of an actress. You’ve seen all those horror sequels; it’s always the dead killer’s long lost family.”

  Cody closed his eyes and took a deep breath and I couldn’t help but smirk. Eve could truly infuriate a saint. I patted his hand and was about to interject that we should all go to bed when Eleanor appeared, her gypsy face now wizened with distress. “They told me Amélie was assaulted!” she cried. “But they wouldn’t tell me her condition.” She twisted her hands together as she spoke.

  I wanted to comfort her. To tell her Amélie was conscious and well. She may be the murderer, I reminded myself. She was also connected to both Holly and the doctor. I shouldn’t tell her anything. I looked into her anxious eyes and compromised. “I’m sure she’ll be all right,” I murmured.

  “But I’ve got to know,” she insisted. “I have to face whatever’s happened.” Her voice grew calmer as she said this as if she’d been hypnotized by her own words. Her eyes lost focus. “I’ve figured out where she is. I called the hospitals. She’s at Rivière-Rouge. I’m going to see her there.”

  “Will they let you see her?” I asked.

  “I’ll find a way,” she answered, her voice regaining determination. She was a formidable woman. She probably would find a way. She grabbed my hands and sandwiched them between her own. “Wish me luck,” she ordered, smiling.

  I smiled back. “Good luck,” I whispered, and hoped she wasn’t the murderer.

  She dropped my hands and rushed away.

  “Eleanor, hold on a minute,” I called, remembering my plan to get her client list. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Walk me to my car,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  I shot Cody a quick glance. He stood up, but I motioned him back down. I would have better rapport with Eleanor alone. And the parking lot wasn’t far.

  I trotted after her and caught up at the edge of the graveled lot. I could still hear Cody’s voice expounding a new theory from the bench. I could even hear the click of Mateo’s cane, sounding only yards away. It’s strange how sound travels in the silence of the night.

  “My car’s at the far end,” Eleanor said. She kept on walking as she pointed into the darkness of the parking lot. “What did you want to know?”

  “Can you think of a common link between Amélie and Holly?” I asked.

  “A common link?” was Eleanor’s distracted reply. She shot me a quick glance. Admittedly, it was an odd question.

  “I have a reason for asking,” I assured her.

  “Hmm,” Eleanor scrunched up her face in thought. “The Belles—Amélie and her husband —were huge patrons of the arts,” she said finally. Her face relaxed. “They never missed a show. I think Holly knew Amélie. I can’t be sure, though. It was a long time ago, and I was always preoccupied with running things. My niece—God rest her soul—was usually more interested in rich men and what they could do for her career so at the very least, she knew Mr. Belle.”

  “Is that how you know Amélie? Were there marital problems that perhaps involved your niece?” I asked.

  “Oh, I have no idea. There were always problems like that with Holly but I stayed out of them and everyone knew it. I became close with Amélie when she treated one of my actresses—actually, it was Holly’s roommate at the time, so I guess that could be considered a link. The girl was like a daughter to me but she was the troubled sort. Always needing a man—well pretending she needed him anyway—using was probably more accurate.”

  “What happened to that girl?”

  “She died a few years ago. Here’s my car,” Eleanor said, pointing to her Audi looming menacingly before us. I wished she hadn’t parked so far away. It was dark out here, with only the moon and one motion sensor for light. And quiet. I couldn’t hear Cody anymore.

  She opened her door and hopped in. Then she rolled down her window. “Be safe,” she said. Her Audi erupted into noisy life before I could ask what she meant.

  “Give my love to Amélie,” I called out.

  She blew me a kiss and drove away.

  It seemed even darker in the parking lot without Eleanor. And once she
was gone, I felt the watcher’s presence again. Forget it, I told myself. But I couldn’t stop the trembling that took over my body. Just exhaustion, I assured myself, rubbing my arms vigorously. Get back to the flood lights now, my mind screamed. I inhaled deeply, then headed back down the path toward the safety of the main lodge.

  Then I felt something wrap around my legs and I hit the snowy ground.

  Twenty Four

  _____________

  T he braided leather cord had encircled me like a snake and brought me to the ground. The wooden balls were the worst part—they’d sent fire like pain shooting up and down my leg—I was sure something was broken.

  I tried to stand, but I was roped like some sort of animal. Instead I turned my head to face the murderer.

  Mateo stood in the center of the path, a few yards away from me in the moonlit parking lot. He gazed at me cheerfully. I could just see the broad smile on his face under the shadow of his trapper hat. He stepped closer. Now I could see his eyes too.

  “You like my bola?” Mateo asked. He motioned to the Spanish throwing weapon made of weights and cords. He stepped a few inches closer to me, then continued. “Gauchos use it to capture animals by entangling their legs but it works great on people too. No matter the size. They all go down when hit with one of these babies.” He laughed. He hadn’t looked this happy since I’d met him.

  “You don’t have a limp?” I said, startled to see him walk without his cane.

  “No, I do. It’s just not half as bad as I make it look… anymore, anyway,” he added with a sardonic wink. “The speed with which that blonde bimbo moved, I almost missed her.”

  I brought my hands to the rope to untangle it. The smile left his face.

  “Leave it be!” he warned in a low whisper, pulling another one from his hip. “Or the next one will be aimed at your head. I may not be the world’s fastest runner but I am still a South American cowboy and I never miss my target.”

  I dropped my hands and looked up toward the porch. Was anyone watching? My heart was beating in my ears. I could feel sweat prickling all the pores of my body.