Lonny and I peeled off our gloves and snowsuits and hung them on the coat rack, although we’d likely be leaving again in a few minutes. I kicked off my snow boots.
A look of concern crossed Jennifer’s face. “What on earth are you two doing out in this storm?”
“There’s been a…” I paused, not wanting to upset the girls or my pregnant sister-in-law. “A problem at the Inn. We need to speak with Paul.”
“He’s in the den.” Jennifer shooed the kids upstairs so we could talk. “Is everything all right?”
“Everyone’s fine.” Everyone except Calabria, of course. I wasn’t ready to say more to a woman about to pop any moment.
She nodded. “Just go on in while I get the girls ready for bed. You know how it is. If I start now, maybe they’ll actually be in bed by the next millennium.”
I slipped down the hall in my stocking feet. I didn’t bother to knock, but opened the knob with my cold fingers.
Paul sat on the edge of his desk, still in his uniform, leafing through some papers. When he saw me, he raised an eyebrow. “Vicki, can you wait just a moment? I’m in the middle of something important.”
I took a shaky step. “Paul, I am so glad to find you.”
“Can you give me a moment?”
“I need to talk with you right now.”
Paul tilted his head and put down the paper in his hand, finally giving me his full attention. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything is wrong, Paul. There’s been a murder.”
“Just as you planned, of course. You ought to know it’s far too dangerous to be out in this storm. And Lonny, you’re here, too?” He stared at us. “What’s going on?”
Lonny said, “Weren’t you listening? There’s been a murder. You need to come.”
“A real murder? Or a pretend murder?”
“Real!” Lonny and I snapped together.
“Who was killed?”
“The guy who arranged for the weekend,” I blurted out. “The literary guru or agent or whatever he is. Gregorio Calabria. He’s lying in the carriage house suite. There’s blood everywhere. It’s awful, Paul.” My hands began to shake at the memory.
“Who else is there?”
“Stephanie and Xavier. Several authors.” A flicker of panic hit me. “Grandma and Liz and Zach.”
“We haven’t had a homicide in Silver City in over one hundred years.” Paul looked stunned. “Not since the mining dispute of 1887. Even in Park City, they seldom have more than a couple a year.”
I babbled on. “The phone line’s been cut, not that it would have mattered because the storm put it out of commission; and now we don’t know where the murderer went, but we have a body in the carriage house. And my baby is still up there, and my nerves are shot.”
A man’s voice behind Paul said, “Chamomile tea soothes the nerves. And the soul.”
Chapter Eleven
I about fell off my feet. I didn’t notice anyone else in the room. I leaned to the right until I could see past Paul. Sure enough, a strange man was seated there. Paul never let anyone sit in his chair, so who was this guy, exactly, who just heard me blurt all the news about the murder?
I just told a total stranger what I didn’t want anyone but my brother to know. The only good news was that since I didn’t recognize him, hopefully he didn’t live here.
My brother motioned toward the man. “David Weston, this is my sister, Vicki Butler, and a family friend, Lonny Singer. David is new to Silver City.”
Until after hearing about the rising murder rate. The man stood and held out his hand. I shook it, as if this weren’t bizarre. Both his hand and smile were warm. “Glad to meet you.”
As he stepped from behind the desk, one glance told me Grandma wouldn’t approve. This man would freeze for sure. He was wearing sandals with socks, for heaven’s sake, during a blizzard. Was he a graduate student? Or from California?
Obviously shaken, Paul punched in a number. “Mom? Hi.” He must have been talking with Jennifer’s mom, because our parents were still in Spain. He asked his in-laws to come over and take care of Jennifer and the kids in case she went into labor, and I could tell from his side of the conversation they said they’d be right over. He called someone else. “DeWayne? Bring your Arctic Cat. We’re going up the mountain.”
DeWayne Smith was Paul’s one and only police officer. In a town the size of Silver City, that’s all it took. Usually.
A third call. This time, he informed the Summit County Sheriff’s office of the homicide.
“Did you have to call them?” I asked when he hung up.
“Yup, I did, actually. And they’ll notify the medical examiner. And then it will get very official.” Paul strapped on his duty belt, complete with gun and other very official-looking paraphernalia, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s a hell of a thing. A murder at the Ross Mansion.”
David Weston watched intently. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Nope, but thanks. Everything’s under control.”
I certainly hoped my big brother was right.
* * *
“There it is,” I yelled as I pointed at the familiar, comforting shape of the Inn, finally visible through the storm. The power must have come back on, as light poured from every window. Apparently, no one wanted to be in the dark tonight.
The snowmobile flew a few inches into the air, and I tightened my hold around Paul’s waist as we slammed back down. I clung to Paul as he drove my snowmobile, Lonny rode his, and Paul’s officer, DeWayne, drove an Arctic Cat belonging to the Police Department.
The wind finally stopped. In the headlights, it was easy to see the big, fat, wet flakes of snow falling straight to the ground.
It took the four of us only twenty minutes to reach the Inn. Half the time it took Lonny and me to get down, but the visibility was marginally improved. Besides, Paul always had a better sense of direction than I. And, heck, DeWayne had a hunter’s sense of where he was in relationship to the world. I could probably put a blindfold on DeWayne and he’d still be able to drive the snowmobile right to my place.
As we pulled under the overhang and the last echoes from the machines faded, everything turned quiet.
Paul touched his gun, something I’d never seen him do before. He must have been nervous about the whole murder thing. Which made me more nervous. He tried the front door, which was locked this time— for a change. About time. I unlocked it and led the way inside, grateful for both light and heat.
While Paul and DeWayne went off to search the premises for suspects before questioning the guests (their words, not mine), I headed toward the parlor.
The Clue players were still going strong, but it sounded like they abandoned the board game for a real version, for I overheard the authors discussing the possibilities: “What if this?” and “What if that?”
“The police are here,” I said as I entered. Garrett and Clark rose when they heard me, Stephanie turned from the fireplace, and Bonnie looked up. “…Searching the premises. Then they’ll want to question everyone.”
Everyone wanted to know what happened since I left, so I told them. I was just finishing up when Paul and DeWayne joined us.
I said, “This is the Silver City police chief, Paul Ross. And Officer DeWayne Smith. Paul, you know Stephanie. Garrett Long and Bonnie McCall are guests.”
Paul nodded acknowledgment. “DeWayne will be asking for identification, so you’ll need to show your drivers’ licenses. Also, he’ll gather basic information, such as your name, date of birth, and social security number. I’ll have you take me to the carriage house, Vicki.”
Oh, lucky, lucky, me to revisit where the body was.
Garrett asked me, “Did you tell them about Kevin?”
“I told them everything.” Turning to Paul, I said, “I want to check on Zach first.”
“I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Still in my now-too-hot snowsuit and boots, I clomped my way down to the dungeon. The inst
ant I saw Zach sitting on the couch watching television, I knelt down and pulled him into my arms for a snowy embrace. He complained. “Hey, Mom, you’re getting me wet.”
“I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“I’m safe. I’m safe,” he assured me with a squirm for emphasis. “Let me go so I can be dry, too.”
Grandma and Dr. Ray sat at the small, round game table, playing cards, which meant Grandma was winning. When I entered, he stood, ever the consummate gentleman.
Despite Zach’s words, I noticed he kept his arms wrapped around my neck. When I pulled back, I saw worry in his eyes. His brow wrinkled, and he whispered, “Mom, that man got killed like Daddy did, huh?”
At his words, tears burned my eyes and it took a moment before I could answer. I nodded and whispered back, “Yes, sweetheart.”
“Mom…” Zach’s voice was plaintive, “Will we ever see Daddy again?”
“Oh, yes, baby, we will. Yes. Definitely. He’s just in heaven, doing important work while he waits for us to get there.”
Slowly, Zach’s brow unwrinkled as he absorbed my words. A grin spread over his face. “When I get to heaven, will he noogie my head?”
I had to smile. “I’m sure he will.”
He hugged me tight. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, squirt.” My heart overflowed with love for my child, and for my husband who wasn’t here to see his son.
Paul came down in time to catch the last part of our exchange. He leaned over and said, “Hey, Zach, your dad asked me to give you something.” Then he noogied my son’s head.
Zach laughed. I smiled, regaining control of my emotions.
Paul crossed to Grandma and let her kiss his cheek (he had to lean over so she could reach). “Just checking on you, Grandma, to make sure you’re not getting into trouble.”
Dr. Ray chuckled. “Naomi, you have such a reputation.”
Grandma smiled at him. “And I don’t know why, as I’ve always been the perfect picture of propriety.”
Liz snorted.
After introducing Paul to Dr. Ray, I said, “We’ll be back.”
Crossing the hundred feet to the carriage house where the body still lay, I shivered. Not with cold, either. It actually warmed somewhat, now that the wind died down. It would have been a beautiful night, if…
I glanced over my shoulder, feeling nervous, and ran a couple of steps to catch up with Paul. I’d never gotten the willies on my own property, but tonight, I had them good.
Paul stopped at the door to the cabin and turned to me. “Do you want to go inside or wait out here?”
I didn’t want to go in, but I wasn’t about to wait outside alone. “I asked Clark Harmon to make sure no one came in.”
“Clark Harmon?” He smiled for the first time since he realized there’d been a murder in his jurisdiction. “Really?
I nodded and realized, now that I was out here, I couldn’t go through with it. “Look, I really don’t want to go back in there. I’m going to see if DeWayne needs anything.”
“All right.”
“Hey, Paul?” I grabbed his arm. “Will you watch me as I go back to the house? I’m nervous tonight.”
“Sure,” he said, a grim look replacing the smile.
I made good time crossing the yard and unlocking the door. I waved at Paul, closed the door and locked it again, throwing the dead bolt. Returning to the parlor, I listened as DeWayne asked routine questions of the guests and authors. He glanced up at me and asked if everyone was here.
My thoughts ran through the guest list, and I shook my head. “Martha Turner was in her room before I left to get you.”
DeWayne nodded grimly. “Bring her down. We need to talk to everyone.”
“BJ Killian found the body and she was pretty shaken up.”
“I’ll talk with her last.”
I finished the list with, “And Alexis had a migraine and was lying down all evening.”
Dr. Ray added, “Kevin cut Alexis’s hand with his knife. Just a scratch, really. But she’s resting now.”
DeWayne had one of those crooked smiles that made him really cute. He could have been happily married, with three adorable, little kids and a cute, little wife, if only my sister, Liz, hadn’t decided she couldn’t be that cute, little wife. She broke his heart in high school and he never got over her. “Bring her on down, anyway. I need to talk to everyone.”
I threw a mock salute, and went up to collect interviewees.
I knocked on Martha’s door and sent her down. Next, I knocked on Alexis’s door several times. The door was locked so I knocked again, louder this time. I thought I heard a moan.
Panic nipping at my edges, I pulled the big key ring from my pocket, trying the keys until I found the one that worked, and opened the door. “Ms. Cordova? Alexis? Are you all right?”
The figure on the bed moaned again, and shifted.
I crossed the room to the bed, where Alexis lay in a fitful sleep. I could barely see in the dark. When I touched her unbandaged hand, she moaned again.
I shook her arm gently, then with more force. “Ms. Cordova? The police are here. They need to speak with you.” I hated to wake her. She was dead to the world.
“Mom?” She sounded like a little kid waking up.
“No. Vicki Butler. At the Who-Dun-Him Inn.”
She opened her eyes slowly, obviously still in pain. “Vicki?”
“Yes. The police are here. They want to talk to you.”
In slow motion, Alexis gradually got up and wrapped a robe around herself. She took a few steps and nearly fell over. She was doing a good imitation of a zombie from Night of the Living Dead.
Like DeWayne could get any information out of this woman tonight. “You know what? Just lie back down. DeWayne can come up here with Paul if he needs to.”
As her head dropped back onto the pillow like a rock hitting a pile of leaves, I spotted a bottle of prescription pills on Alexis’s night stand. A bottle with a pink, elastic ponytail holder on it. Suspiciously like the pink, elastic ponytail holder Grandma Ross had on her prescription bottles. I picked it up.
Sure enough, Grandma Ross’s name was printed on the label.
Great. Grandma was dosing up the customers with Tylenol 4.
I pocketed the pills, left Alexis in bed, and told DeWayne he’d have to interview the poor woman in the morning, or go upstairs and try to rouse her himself. Then I went in search of Grandma.
She and I were about to have a serious talk.
* * *
Unfortunately for me, talks with Grandma never went the way I planned. Frustrated, while climbing to the third floor to check on BJ, I wondered if anyone would ever get the last word with Grandma.
When I told her she was not to give my guests prescription drugs, she waved a hand and asked if I expected her to let the poor woman suffer all night. She told Alexis to put her feet in hot water and a cold pack on her head to lessen the pain, too, and asked did I have a problem with that, as well?
Since Doc Grandma insisted on dispensing drugs as she saw fit, I’d have to watch her more closely.
I knocked lightly on the door of the Southern Sisters room. BJ was pretty shaken up and so was Xavier. It was time to relieve him and see what I could do for her.
There was silence for a few moments, and then, through the door, BJ called out, “Who’s there?”
When I gave her my name, the door opened a few inches and BJ peered out. “Just had to make sure it was really you.” With that, she let the door swing open and wobbled across the room, falling into the large chair next to the small table.
Everything in the room was paired: one large, flashy and flamboyant, like Mary Alice in the Southern Sisters mysteries; and the other small, petite and conservative, like Patricia Anne. There was even a queen-sized bed (of course) and a smaller day bed.
BJ lifted a glass, and I could smell the alcohol. After Robert’s death, I grew to hate that smell. From the looks of the empty m
ini bottles scattered on the table, she was well on her way to becoming rip-roaring drunk.
With her eyes puffy from crying, mascara darkening the area beneath, and her hands trembling as she grasped her glass, BJ looked weary and years older than when she first arrived. Was that really just earlier today? Would this nightmare day never end? It was not quite ten and I was exhausted from the emotional strain.
BJ’s hand shook as she sipped and motioned with her glass toward the other, smaller chair, spilling some liquor on her blouse as she did. “Join me.”
I lowered myself into the other chair, wishing I could ease her pain. “I’m sorry, but the officers would like to ask you some questions.”
“First join me in a drink,” BJ insisted.
“No, thank you,” I muttered. “I don’t drink.”
“Suit yourself.” BJ held her glass up high in a mock toast. “To losing the man I love.”
Her pain enveloped me. I remembered my own grief after Robert’s death, and how having people just visit and listen to me had helped. I asked gently, “Where’s Xavier?”
“I sent him back to his own room. He was so pale, you’d think he’d just seen a dead body.” BJ’s laugh verged on hysteria. “Xavier was more trouble than he was worth. I took pity on the poor guy and told him to go lie down.”
“Listen, can I do anything? This has to be awful for you.”
BJ put her glass on the table and her hands to her face as she began to cry. “You can’t bring Gregorio back.”
“No.” Unsure what to do or say next, but knowing empty platitudes didn’t help, I settled for an inadequate, “No, I can’t.”
BJ wiped her eyes and nose with a crumpled tissue, tossed it over one shoulder toward the wastebasket, and missed, adding to the pile already scattered on the floor. “You’re a widow, right?”
There was that dreadful word again. Widow. So many wonderful relationship words. Courting. Engaged. Bride. Newlywed. Happily married. The only word that even came close was abandoned. Widow was such an ugly and final word. But it was accurate. “Yes.”
“Then you can understand.” She picked up another mini bottle and reached for the glass. At the last minute, she shrugged, set down the glass, and twisted off the cap, drinking from the tiny bottle. “You know what I like about Gregorio? He’s always buying me little gifts. He’s so sweet. Most men aren’t as thoughtful as he is.” BJ held up a bangle. “He bought me this for my birthday.”
Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn Page 11