by Louise Lynn
Hazel smiled, teeth chattering, and wrapped her hands around the blessed heat of the mug.
“What happened?” Celia asked, and sat next to her.
They were back in the ballroom, though the music had stopped, and the hushed conversations were louder now. Most of them were about the same thing. It had been difficult to continue the pretense of a party welcoming the new sheriff when said sheriff called all the deputies in Cedar Valley to descend upon the lodge all at once.
Hazel shook her head. “I was talking with Simone, and she bolted. She looked terrified. We chased her and saw another blonde woman who vanished,” she added the last part hesitantly and lapped a dollop of whipped cream from the cocoa.
“Vanished?” Paul said with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You sound like your mom.”
Hazel snorted. “I didn’t say I believe she vanished, just that I don’t have a better explanation for it at the moment.”
Celia wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. After everything, she was probably stressed and scared. But that other woman. Who do you think it was?”
Something about the color of the hair bothered her, and the black hoodie was thrown over something else—something so familiar. Something no one would be wearing in the dead of winter in Cedar Valley.
Not even at the lodge’s party.
A floral dress.
Hazel felt close to remembering where she’d seen it, then Celia’s arm slipped from her shoulders and her friend stood.
“I’m going to get my coat. And maybe we can head home. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. You guys know how Mondays are,” she said, and walked away.
As soon as she’d gone, Paul squatted in front of Hazel and his eyes sharpened. “What did Vincente say to you?”
Hazel blinked at the abrupt change in subject. “He just said he wanted to see my photos. Why?”
Paul shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. It was so short the movement didn’t make much of a difference. “You still haven’t gotten a letter? From Hilltop Realty? I think he’s trying to start moving in on us individually. Dale said he was skulking around his shop, and I saw him go in and out of CATfeinated three times yesterday.”
Celia hadn’t mentioned that, nor had she said anything about Giorgio asking her about buying the shop. Though Celia did have a letter and Hazel didn’t.
Hazel scratched her nose. Two mysteries at once was a bit much. Especially when one involved murder and the other possible real estate sales.
“He didn’t say anything about moving my shop, but the sheriff did warn me about him. Said he’d been harassing people. Did he say anything to you?”
Paul shook his head and stood. “No, and Vincente knows better than to. If he came into my shop, I’d—” his words cut off as Celia popped back up.
“Ready, Hazy?”
Hazel nodded and took three gulps of cocoa to finish it. It warmed her belly and limbs, though a deep-seated coldness had burrowed inside, and the cocoa did nothing to warm that.
It was caused from the look in Simone’s eyes and the nagging familiarity of that floral dress.
“Yeah, I can drop you off—or maybe not,” Hazel said, and slumped back into the chair.
Celia threw her a questioning expression, and Hazel only nodded at the man approaching from behind.
Sheriff Cross, and he looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. Maybe more serious than when he came to examine Dirk Barkley’s body.
“Can I have a word, Ms. Hart?” the sheriff asked.
Hazel nodded. “Do you mind going home with Paul, Cece?”
Celia shrugged. “I guess I don’t have a choice. Where’s my carriage?” she asked, and elbowed him playfully in the arm.
A flush rose to Paul’s cheeks, and he rushed out with her.
Hazel tried to shove away the words he’d been about to say before Celia showed up. If Giorgio Vincente went into his shop—what? She had no doubt it was something violent. But she didn’t have time to worry about that with the sheriff glaring at her.
“What did I do wrong this time?” She forced herself to sound as unapologetic about it as possible.
Sheriff Cross brushed his fingers across his smoothly shaven cheeks. His shoulders bunched with tension, and he let out a breath that seemed to relieve some of it. “I need to know what you spoke about with Simone. She was the only one in the shop that day with gunpowder residue on her hands. That means she’s the one who shot Dirk.”
Hazel sucked in a breath and relayed the information she learned. Including the tidbits about the gun that killed Dirk being the only one she’d seen.
That explained why Simone was so upset, but she didn’t act as if she’d done it on purpose. Unless she was an excellent actress—which Hazel doubted.
Sheriff Cross’s brows furrowed. “We found a whole box of prop guns. But she claims there was only one at the time?”
Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She’d have to talk to Michael about that, since he was the one who arranged them earlier that day. And no one else had been in the shop—only April. Unassuming, hardly-said-a-word, April.
“My assistant organizes the guns and the only other person there that morning was his girlfriend, April. But neither of them have any motive to kill Dirk Barkley.”
Sheriff Cross jotted it in his notepad, a frown creasing the corners of his mouth, making a little furrow between his eyebrows.
“Your assistant neglected to mention anyone else helped him set up that morning. Find that odd?”
“Michael was torn up about the whole thing. So not really. Though—he had been worried about going to jail today,” she said, and worried her bottom lip.
“You keep doing that and you’re gonna get lipstick all over your teeth,” the sheriff said, though Hazel hadn’t even noticed him glance at her again.
She stopped and let out a snort. “If you keep frowning like that you’re gonna get wrinkles.”
Sheriff Cross rubbed the line between his eyes and gave her a tight smile, perhaps the first one she’d ever seen on his face.
Some of the ice in her gut melted at the expression.
“I need to talk to your assistant again, and his girlfriend. You know where they are?”
It was Hazel’s turn to furrow her brow. “They were here earlier. I saw them by the buffet table, and then Giorgio ambushed me and … you know.”
His frown made a reappearance, and Sheriff Cross gritted his teeth. “Then I’ll have to swing by his house.”
Hazel nodded and gave him the address in case he didn’t already have it. Then she asked the question that was burning holes in her mind. “Have you found Simone or the blonde woman who ran off yet?”
Sheriff Cross gritted his teeth. “What did I tell you about not messing with my investigation? But, if I don’t tell you, you’ll ask around until you find out. No. We searched the entire lodge and Simone is nowhere to be found. Neither is that person who ran out on the balcony.”
Hazel knew how he felt. It didn’t make sense. They were four stories up, and if the person had jumped from that height, they surely would’ve broken a bone.
And yet—nothing.
“Is that all, Sheriff Cross?”
“For now, but don’t leave town.”
Hazel stood and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You still think I had something to do with this?”
“Honestly? I think Simone shot her fiancé, the problem is, I don’t know who planted the gun.”
That little piece of ice grew, and Hazel shivered even though the room was plenty warm enough. She wasn’t off the hook yet, which meant she had to find out who put that gun in her shop.
And why Michael had lied about the prop guns being there in the first place.
And who had moved them back again.
After the night she’d had, Hazel was sure she’d sleep in the next morning.
Instead, she woke
to Anthony Ray sitting on her chest and mournfully meowing in her face. She squinted her eyes open, and a dull gray light filtered through her window.
Beyond the light, she noticed flurries of snow drift past the glass.
Right. The forecast had said something about more snow.
Anthony Ray let out another meow and placed an oversized paw on the tip of her nose. She carefully moved it aside and rubbed under his chin.
He started purring.
“What time is it? You had to wake me up this early just because I was gone half of the day yesterday and most of the night?”
He answered with another meow and hopped off her chest.
“Okay okay.”
Anthony Ray trotted down the loft stairs and to the back door.
Hazel ignored him and went about brewing a pot of coffee and got his food ready. However, he didn’t come at the familiar opening of the can.
Odd, she thought and peeked around to the back door.
They were French doors with glass in the center. Anthony Ray pressed his little black nose against it and let out a pitiful meow. The snow that had fallen sometime during the night piled on the deck railing a good two inches thick.
Hazel shook her head. “You do not want to go out there in this weather. Come eat your breakfast,” she said, and scooped him into her arms.
Anthony Ray ate though he kept looking back at the rear door. Once he was finished, he licked his chops and trotted back to it, his paws scratching the glass.
Hazel squinted into the snowy whiteness.
Maybe there was another bear out there.
Or a cougar.
Anthony Ray was especially perceptive when it came to spotting other animals. So much so, in fact, that she often took him on shoots. Though, of course, he always wore his harness.
Hazel also knew how persistent he was. He’d stand there all day and put up a stink until she let him out. With a heavy sigh, Hazel bundled herself in a heavy coat, scarf, hat, and snow boots before she slipped a kitty-sized sweater on Anthony Ray and secured his harness.
He squirmed under both of them, but once she had the leash clicked in place, he gave her another loud mournful meow.
The last thing Hazel grabbed was her Pentax DSLR camera, since it was waterproof. Telephoto lens and all. With that slung over her neck, she trudged outside.
It wasn’t a blizzard, but the snow fell thick enough to make visibility difficult beyond twenty feet or so. The cold air woke her up almost as good as coffee did.
Anthony Ray leapt off the porch into the snow, his big feet leaving paw-prints and his belly dragging behind it.
She snorted and shook her head. “You’re the only cat that likes to play in the snow. I swear. Are you sure you’re originally from L.A.? Or are you Siberian and you’re just keeping that a secret?”
He didn’t answer.
She let the leash extend. It was a long one. Twenty-five feet. If she had anything shorter, he’d try to tug her arm off. This way, Anthony Ray could wind his way to the trees and sniff around and do whatever it was he liked to do while she walked at her own pace.
With the fresh snow, that pace was slow.
Though, Hazel had to admit it felt good to be out with her camera. She removed the lens cover. Took a few shots of Lake Celeste in the brisk morning air with the snow right up to the frozen water’s edge.
It looked like a log was stuck toward the far end of the ice shelf.
Not uncommon, really, but the wood was too pale. The trees that grew around there were ponderosa pine and cedar. Which were both darker—at least cedar was. Pine could be pale though.
Anthony Ray had stopped, and yowled at her.
Hazel tore her eyes away from the lake. He was sitting on a frozen bit of snow and seemed as pleased as punch with himself. She gave him a quick scratch on the head and neared the lake.
Anthony Ray followed, and let out another delighted meow. She turned to see him tug on a piece of material stuck in the snow. Black and dirty.
She couldn’t remember that being there before, and stepped closer to inspect it.
He chewed on it, and gave her that look he got whenever he found something he wasn’t supposed to.
“What have you got into this time?”
She couldn’t even leave dirty towels in the hamper or he’d knock it over, roll in them, kicking and biting and killing every towel in the pile before he was done.
He was trying to do that to this piece of black fabric now.
Carefully, Hazel picked it up and brushed the snow away. The fabric was frozen, but it was still recognizable as a hoodie.
A black hoodie with a few long strands of golden blonde hair stuck to it.
Her heart stuck in her throat.
The figure who’d been out here the other day had been wearing something similar. Had they discarded it here? She hadn’t been to the beach since, so that was possible.
Then Anthony Ray squirmed out of her arms and charged for the lake.
The leash slipped out of her fingers, and Hazel yelped and rushed after him.
He tentatively stepped across the ice and neared the thing she thought was a log.
“Anthony Ray. You get back here right this second. If the ice breaks and you fall through—”
He stopped and glanced back at her. Sat and gave her that smug satisfied look only cats could achieve. Though, she thought Sheriff Cross might be able to attempt something similar.
She couldn’t go out onto the ice herself without it cracking, so Hazel did what she always did when Anthony Ray ran out like that. Ignored him until he came back to her side.
She crouched, aimed the camera at the black cat on the white ice and snapped several photos. In the last one, she caught a corner of the log—only something flowed beside it.
Something pale and shimmery.
She focused her telephoto lens at the edge of the ice, and her heart dropped to her stomach.
Platinum blonde hair flowed around it.
That was no log.
It was Simone Wilkins.
And she was dead.
Chapter 12
Esther arrived a good twenty minutes after the police, rushed into Hazel’s house and gave her a long, hard hug.
“Have you eaten yet?” she said, and squeezed Hazel one last time.
Hazel squeezed her back, not realizing how badly she needed a hug after her discovery that morning.
She shook her head. She hadn’t even bothered with coffee yet because the image of Simone floating in the lake filled her mind every time she tried to take a sip.
Thankfully, Anthony Ray hadn’t also taken a dip in the lake. He’d wandered back over to her as soon as she snapped the photo of Simone in the water. Good thing too. Because she had to call in her discovery ASAP.
Now, Anthony Ray sat looking out the back door, perfectly content to be in the house.
The stove roared with warmth, but it still didn’t melt that tiny bit of ice deep inside Hazel’s middle.
“Then I’ll make you something. And you’re going to eat it. Pancakes with strawberries. No complaints. And, don’t get mad, but I had to tell Mom. She’s on her way,” Esther said, and went about unpacking the cloth grocery bag she’d brought with her.
Hazel groaned. “You could’ve waited.”
Esther shook her head. “She was with me when you called so I really couldn’t. Sorry, it took a little bit of time. I had to drop Ruth off at school, and she insisted on coming. So, I had to remind her that her education was more important than dead bodies.”
Hazel snorted. It wasn’t particularly funny. Or—it shouldn’t have been.
She left Esther to work in the kitchen and wandered toward the back door. She stood next to Anthony Ray and peered out at the gently falling snow and the green-and-tan clad deputies that trampled through it.
As soon as they’d arrived, she pointed them to the beach where she’d seen Simone and told them how she’d come about finding the body. When she mentione
d Anthony Ray’s insistence on going for a walk in that weather, the sheriff raised his eyebrow, but didn’t have any other comment.
“Where did you get strawberries this time of year?” she asked, and turned back toward the kitchen.
Esther was busy measuring out flour for the pancakes, and a secret smile slid over her pink lips. “Baker’s secret. I have sources all over California. You should know that by now,” she said, and grinned.
Hazel snorted. “Did you bring any oranges?”
It was just the time of year for them, but Lake Celeste was too high in the mountains to produce their own. And if they wanted some, they had to drive all the way down into the valley to fetch them. Or pay the exorbitant prices at the local grocery stores.
“Mom has them in the car. A whole sackful, so you’d better eat them before they go bad.”
Hazel smiled at the thought and poured herself a cup of coffee, throwing in a dash of half-and-half on top. “I’ll eat six a day if I have to.”
Esther poured in the buttermilk and started mixing the batter. “It’s a good way to fight off the scurvy, common in these parts, little miss,” Esther said, using the old prospector voice their dad used to do when they were younger.
Hazel couldn’t help but giggle. “Good for scurvy, but it doesn’t fight off the consumption.”
“That’s what this fresh mountain air is for. Though won’t do nothing to fight the syphilis. So, you stay away from the miners and you’ll be fine,” Esther said, and finished with the batter.
A skillet already sat heating on the propane stove, and Hazel took a sip of coffee and peeked into the bag Esther brought. She pulled out a glass container filled with freshly cut strawberries dripping in sugary syrup.
“Did you make it this morning?” Hazel may not have been the cook in the family, but she still knew the basics. For the syrup to have formed, they had been sitting there for a while.
Esther nodded. “The bakery is closed today, and I thought I’d come over and give you a treat after I dropped off Ruth. So, this isn’t that different from what I’d planned. Well, besides this police business.”
Hazel decided to shove away the knot in her gut, and pulled out the canister of whipped cream that sat alongside the strawberries. “Going all out, huh?”