by Louise Lynn
Suddenly, Hazel understood why Michael wasn’t hungry.
Chapter 8
“You’re going to what?” Celia said as she did the final sweep of CATfeinated for the night. The café always closed a little early on Sunday.
Hazel poured all her nervous energy into petting Ophelia, who ate up the attention as if no one had touched her that day. Which was far from the truth, but at least it kept Hazel from pacing all over Celia’s clean floor.
“Find out who planted the gun in my studio and who killed Dirk. It might be the same person who killed his wife,” Hazel said.
Again.
Celia blinked. “Whose wife?”
Hazel let out a long breath. Right. After slowly eating her lunch, she’d parked near her studio and mentally gone over everything a hundred times, trying to figure out what she’d missed. When she couldn’t figure it out, she came in to talk to Celia about it.
That always helped in the past. She’d just hoped Celia was less judgmental than Esther.
“Sara Barkley was married to Dirk and drowned in Lake Celeste two years ago. And the two people who were in my studio when he was shot were also on the boat.” Hazel tugged the hat from her head. She didn’t bother to fix her wild curls. Celia had seen her looking much worse than she did now.
Celia’s eyes widened. “Wait. I remember that. It was before you moved back. Yeah. It was all over the local news. Especially because they didn’t find her body for a few weeks. Dirk was on TV, and he claimed he had no idea what happened. That they looked for her, but no one saw her go over. Everyone in town believed it and felt sorry for him, but I never bought it. And—did you say the fiancée was on the boat with him back then?”
Hazel nodded. “Yeah. Simone was Sara’s personal assistant and Lydia said she heard them fighting. Sara threatened to leave if Simone kept having an affair with Dirk.”
“It’s just like the rumors say. Simone did it,” Celia said. “I knew cheaters were no good.”
Hazel snorted, and Ophelia butted her head into Hazel’s palm, her purr loud and constant. Anthony Ray was no doubt at home pouting again since she hadn’t made it back yet.
“She had a motive to kill Sara, but why Dirk?” Hazel asked, and furrowed her brow. “He was going to marry her, but hadn’t yet, so none of his assets were in her name. If she was marrying him for the money, killing him before the wedding was the worst idea possible.”
Celia put the broom away. “If you keep making that face, you’ll get wrinkles.”
“Shut up. We’re all going to get wrinkles eventually. If we live long enough.” Hazel added the second part as an afterthought, and wished she hadn’t.
Pretty morbid, even for her.
Celia let out a heavy sigh and grabbed Hazel’s hands. “Come on. You need a break. You’ve been worrying about this nonstop. I can tell.”
“Of course I’m worried. A man was murdered in my studio, and if it doesn’t get solved soon, I might be out of business for good,” Hazel said, and felt her cheeks turning red. “Esther already told me not to look into it on my own, but I thought you of all people would—”
Celia squeezed her hands. Pursed her lips. “Did I tell you not to investigate, Hazy? No. But, if you work yourself into a frazzle, you’ll never figure out anything. You need to talk with Simone and Tommy, right? They both come here every morning. So, you can talk to them then. In the meanwhile, let’s go back to my place and get ready,” she said, and finished with her typical warm smile.
Hazel felt her shoulders slump and nodded. “You’re right. I do need to get my mind off it. What are we getting ready for?”
The smile on Celia’s face didn’t seem particularly devious, but it was difficult to tell. “I’ll tell you after I have you all dolled up. Otherwise, you won’t attend.”
Hazel frowned and watched Celia put Ophelia in her harness, and tuck the Persian inside her coat.
After Celia locked the shop, they trudged to a building several yards closer to the lake itself. Celia’s home. She’d grown up in that house. Lived in it with her mother until the older woman finally retired to Florida. Plus, it was near the shop, and Hazel couldn’t fault that. The proximity was a blessing. Even living ten minutes out of town, a blizzard could really throw off her workweek.
But not so for Celia.
It was one of the original cabins built in Cedar Valley back in the early 1900s. At the time, they were part of the National Forest cabins and were smaller and a bit more rustic than her own. Still, Celia had an eye for detail and it did not disappoint.
While small, she made it as beautiful as any cabin Hazel had ever seen. It was decked out like something from the 1920s with Art Deco inspired paintings on the walls and a luscious velvet couch and chair in the living area. How she kept Ophelia from destroying them, Hazel didn’t know.
Anthony Ray would not have been so kind to that furniture.
The blessed warmth of the house washed over her as she stepped inside, and Celia gracefully unwound the scarf from her neck and slipped off her coat. Next, she unhooked Ophelia from her harness, and the white Persian marched to the velvet chair, jumped into it, curled into a ball and promptly went to sleep.
“You’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going?” Hazel stalked Celia into the bedroom. She already had her closet slung wide and was pulling out a number of dresses.
Celia shook her head, and her curls tumbled around her shoulders like something out of a shampoo commercial. “Not until you’re ready. Let’s see: red or gold?” Celia said, and held up two ornate blouses to Hazel.
Hazel felt herself blanche. “Oh no. I’m not dressing up to go play bingo with a bunch of people older than my mother.”
Celia dropped the two blouses on her bed and went back to her closet. “It’s not bingo and you know it. That’s Thursday night. But since you’re not going to shut up until you figure it out, the Cedar Lodge party is tonight. You talked about going last week, and you’re not getting out of it now. Not when Paul’s going to be there,” Celia said, and frowned.
Hazel joined her by the closet. They both wore about the same size, though Hazel never felt as luscious in her curves as Celia looked. Maybe they were just proportioned differently.
“I don’t see the problem with Paul. He’s sweet.”
Celia let out a heavy breath. “He likes to go camping. Backpacks for weeks at a time. He’s too outdoorsy. Why don’t you ask him out if you like him so much?” Celia grumbled.
Hazel shook her head. “Number one, he’s not interested in me. Number two, I don’t like backpacking either.”
“You could’ve fooled me. With all your time spent tracking mountain lions or whatever.”
Hazel bumped Celia’s shoulder. “That’s different than backpacking. Although, I bet he knows some beautiful areas in the high Sierra. I should ask to tag along some time.” Her mind wandered to the glorious landscapes she could shoot.
All of that came crashing down, however, as Celia pulled a dress from the back of her closet. It was a deep royal blue, verging on navy, and very tastefully done. The sleeves were long enough to be reasonable in the freezing weather, and the fabric was a thick yet slinky jersey. As Celia held it up, Hazel noticed it fell right above her knees.
“This one. Hurry up and put it on. I’m really going to have to do something about your hair.”
Hazel grumbled under her breath, but did as she was told. If Celia offered to do her hair, she wasn’t going to complain about it.
In under an hour, Celia had sprayed, curled, pinned, and somehow managed to make Hazel’s fuzzy curls look neat and elegant. They framed her face in smooth ringlets, and the sparkly eyeshadow and touch of shimmery blush didn’t hurt either.
Then, Celia held out the red lipstick. “Do you want me to do it or shall you do the honors?” she asked with a grin.
“You do it. I might mess it up.”
Celia shook her head but applied the lipstick anyway.
She herself looked like t
he image of dazzling perfection in a cream form fitting dress that came all the way to her calves. Like the one she loaned Hazel, it had three-quarter length sleeves and she paired it with a luscious wool coat in the same color.
Celia always said she got her sense of style from her mother, who ran the only dress shop in Cedar Valley for nearly thirty years. Once the other stores moved in, she quietly retired, but that didn’t mean she stopped making the most glorious clothes for her daughter.
Hazel was about to put on her own gray coat when Celia stopped her. “No. You need something better than that.” She thumbed through her closet again and pulled out a crushed velvet coat in a brilliant emerald green. The inside was lined with fake fur and it felt as luscious as it looked against Hazel’s skin.
“I’m going to look like Christmas if I put this thing on,” she said as Celia wrapped it around her.
“Shut up and wear it. You’re going to look like a snow queen. Which is just how you should look.” She poked Hazel in the nose.
Hazel scrunched it involuntarily. “If anyone’s a snow queen, it’s you, your Majesty.”
Seriously, all Celia needed was a crown and no one would doubt she was royalty.
Still, there was one final problem.
“Shoes. Are you going to make me wear heels? I’d rather just don my tights and boots and be done with it.”
“I’m not going to try to wear heels in this weather. That’s what cute boots are for,” Celia said, and slipped on her own pair.
With a grin, Hazel followed suit. “This is the reason we’re best friends.”
Celia laughed.
Chapter 9
Celia had had been right about one thing. The effort of getting ready had wiped all thought of Dirk Barkley’s murder from Hazel’s mind. Still, as she drove out of Cedar Valley and toward the lodge on the hill, the reality cemented in her chest again.
No. Tonight she was going to try to enjoy herself and keep Celia company, so Paul couldn’t monopolize all her time.
The parking lot wasn’t as full as she expected, but she put that down to the weather. This little party and whatever reason they had for throwing it, Hazel wasn’t certain of that yet, wasn’t as big a deal as the Christmas or New Year’s celebrations.
“We should have asked Esther to come,” Celia said as Hazel found a spot for her truck.
Hazel snorted. “Esther doesn’t come to the lodge unless absolutely necessary.”
Celia raised a brow. “Is she still embarrassed about that whole Robbie Smith thing? No one else remembers but her.”
“I think Robbie Smith might remember,” Hazel said as they walked toward the warmth of the lodge that awaited them. Golden light spilled out of the windows and the great double doors that stood at the entrance. The main building was huge and imposing, yet somehow fit in with the surrounding forest perfectly.
The great sloped roof came to a point that mimicked the trees around it, and exposed wooden beams were everywhere, both outside and in. A rush of warmth washed over them as they entered, and their footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors.
The lobby was all but empty, yet they heard hushed conversation and clinking glasses from the ballroom to the left. Hazel wasn’t sure if the lodge itself ever actually housed a ball, but considering it was built in the early 1900s, it was highly possible.
A huge fireplace took up nearly one whole side of the ballroom, and a great fire roared there. Soft light illuminated the rest of the room, most of it coming from the grand chandelier in the center. It was fashioned out of black wrought iron and fit the rustic theme of the lodge well enough. A few tables had been set up in the corner with an array of food and drinks and seats for those who wanted them. Inoffensive music played softly over some hidden speakers, but not enough to drown out conversation.
Hazel smoothed her hands over the velvet and watched Celia remove her coat and hand it to the waiting attendant.
“I think I’ll keep mine, for now,” Hazel said with a smile.
Celia rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to get cold without it. Take off the coat or I’ll never let you borrow it again,” she said.
Hazel narrowed her eyes and didn’t believe the threat, but relinquished the coat anyway. It’s not that she was cold, but without it, she didn’t have any pockets. She folded her arms instead and scanned the crowd, making a mental list of everyone she recognized.
Paul stood near the fireplace talking with Dale Simmons, the older gentleman who ran the local hardware store. A third gentleman came up to join them, Kenneth Green from the fishing shop next door to Paul’s shop. They were tucked into a tight circle and gesturing at each other as if they were angry about something.
What was that about? Hazel thought. Was it the murder or something else entirely?
Esther would accuse her of being too curious, but she really couldn’t help it. It was one of the traits that made her a good photographer. Following her instincts to get the best shot. Now, she didn’t have a camera but for the one on her phone. And the Pentax she kept stashed in the backseat of her truck.
“Let’s get a drink.” Celia pulled Hazel toward the table.
“I’m driving so I can’t have more than one,” she said, and eyed the champagne flutes on display.
Celia grinned. “Then make it count.” She retrieved a glass that was filled nearly to the brim and held it under Hazel’s nose.
The bubbles made her sneeze, and she took the glass and rubbed her nose before taking a tentative sip.
At least the champagne was good quality. But what else should she expect from Cedar Lodge? Since it was the only high-profile resort in Cedar Valley, it really went out of its way to impress. Though, it had impressed people like Dirk Barkley enough into buying land out here, so maybe that wasn’t a good thing.
Speaking of Dirk—she went back to eyeing the crowd as Celia picked through the table of hors d’oeuvres and filled a plate with mostly desserts.
Hazel raised an eyebrow.
“What? I had a really quick lunch. Despite the weather, we got slammed mid-afternoon.”
“I ate at the Bear’s Den and had a big piece of pie. But I wouldn’t mind one of those pecan tarts,” Hazel said with a smile.
Celia handed it over, and Hazel let it melt on her tongue. Not as good as Esther’s, but still worth the calories.
As she chewed, she made note of a few other residents in attendance. Pastor Brown and his wife spoke eagerly with Rabbi Goldhirsch and his daughter, Rebecca. She was about Esther’s age and they’d gone to school together. Though, like Hazel, she left for college and only returned recently. With a stab of recognition, Hazel remembered that Rebecca had lost her mother to a drowning incident in Lake Celeste as well.
Though, there was little doubt that was an accident and not murder.
No, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Dirk tonight.
Anything but, really.
A group of older women from town were huddled together and talking at one of the tables, Carol Simmons, Margaret Lancaster, and Joanne Henderson. They ran several tourist shops down near Hazel’s mother’s own shop, but none of them sold anything so eccentric.
The rest of the attendants, Hazel didn’t know. They must have been guests of the lodge who decided to attend.
“What are we celebrating anyway?” Hazel asked, and took another sip of her champagne. She’d heard about the party all week, but no one said what it was for. She wasn’t sure if anyone cared. They just wanted to go to the lodge and eat free food.
Celia gave her a tight smile. “Don’t get mad but—”
Hazel felt herself frowning as her eyes were drawn to the small dais on the other side of the room with a podium in front of it, though that wasn’t typically there. During the summer, several of the weddings that Hazel had photographed had their receptions in the lodge, and the bride and groom’s wedding party sat on the dais.
Now, a man she wished she didn’t recognize stood next to Mr. Benson, the owner of Cedar
Lodge himself.
“Oh no,” she said, and wished she could duck behind Celia, who was only an inch shorter than her, but she already noticed the sharp blue eyes lock on her own.
“We’d like to take this evening to welcome the newest member of our Cedar Valley community. Sheriff Colton Cross. Would you like to say anything, Sheriff Cross?” Mr. Benson asked.
Sheriff Cross leaned over the microphone, which was about six inches too short for him, and smiled—all teeth. It reminded Hazel of a wolf. She’d had the privilege of photographing them in Yellowstone with her father several years before.
Now, she had a similar set of shivers run down her spine as when she caught a pack feasting on a bison carcass. Yet this had nothing to do with excitement.
“I’d like to thank everyone who did their civic duty and voted, even if it wasn’t for me.”
The ballroom erupted into a series of low chuckles.
“I thought he was the only one who ran?” Celia said.
Hazel snorted. She remembered his smiling face from the ad campaigns around town and filling in the little dot next to his name. Though, Celia was right. He would’ve won regardless.
“But all levity aside, I’m sure everyone here has heard about the tragic fate of a Mr. Dirk Barkley, part-time resident of Cedar Valley. Well, I want everyone to know my department is taking this investigation very seriously. And we are looking into every suspect. I have a long history as a detective out of San Francisco, so you’re in good hands,” he said to the crowd, though Hazel swore his eyes didn’t leave her the entire time.
If he was the wolf, then he was treating her like the prey. Some hapless little bunny ready to get eaten up.
No.
She wasn’t a hapless rabbit.
She straightened her shoulders and took the last gulp of her champagne, and blinked back the momentary lightheadedness.
If anything, he was going head-to-head with a cougar.
Or a lynx.
Or maybe a bobcat.
But no rabbit.
Then she grabbed a cocktail weenie from the buffet table and practically snarled as she chewed.