If I Should Die

by Allison Brennan

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Grace said. “Why did you and Patrick lock the door? What happened to Vanessa? Trevor is distraught—”

  “I thought you were going to stay with him.”

  “Angie and Heather are with him in the library,” Grace replied. “He didn’t want tea. I gave him Scotch. Steve told me you had him call the sheriff. What happened to Vanessa?”

  “We don’t know exactly,” Lucy said, obfuscating.

  Patrick walked up behind her. “Vanessa is dead, and the sheriff needs to be notified about any unattended death. I can’t tell whether or not she died of natural causes. I don’t know her medical history. I need to talk to her husband first, and then hopefully the sheriff can contact her immediate family and doctor and see if there was some other contributing factor to her death.”

  “Oh.” Grace sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, it’s just so distressing that someone died here at the lodge. Steve is really upset.”

  Lucy said, “Steve said something strange. He said, ‘What more could go wrong?’ Do you know what he meant?”

  Grace shook her head, but Beth said, “Grace, we can’t keep it secret.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “There have been several mishaps since Leo died. One of our main generators broke down. It was under warranty, but it still required us to close for two weeks before it could be repaired. The root cellar was left open one night and most of our food was eaten by a bear. That cost us thousands, to repair the door and replace the stock. And Steve had an accident last month, totaled his truck, and was lucky he wasn’t injured. That boy has been working himself too hard, trying to make this place into everything his father wanted.”

  “Leo was special,” Grace said. “He had a way about him.”

  Beth frowned. “He also left a lot of things undone, spent all his savings to keep the place up. We can’t simply avoid the seriousness of the situation. And with Steve’s illness—”

  “Beth, please!” Grace rubbed her temples. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “What about Steve’s illness?” Patrick asked.

  “He’s been forgetting things,” Beth said, ignoring Grace’s plea. She lowered her voice. “We think he forgot to secure the root cellar. But he won’t go back to the doctor, and we’re both worried sick about him.”

  Patrick said, “We need to move the body.”

  “Why?” Grace asked.

  Lucy said, “The warm house will accelerate the rate of decomposition, and the smell will spread. In addition, there are health issues to take into consideration, as all the bedrooms share ventilation.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” Grace said. “But where? How?”

  “I’m going to ask Alan and Kyle to help me move Vanessa’s body to the root cellar,” Patrick said.

  “But our food is down there!” Beth said.

  Patrick said, “Can you bring up as much food as you can store inside? Anything that isn’t canned or vacuum-sealed. Lucy and I will wrap the body securely, to minimize any contamination. And if you have any large plastic sheets, we could use them.”

  That would have dual purposes, Lucy thought. It would also preserve evidence on the body for the coroner and sheriff.

  Beth paled, and Grace said, “I’ll get it. The food we can’t fit in the lodge, we’ll bring to my house, Beth.”

  As they walked down the hall, Lucy overheard some of their conversation.

  “You need to sell this place, Grace.”

  “It would destroy Steve. I can’t.”

  Lucy hurried down to her room and retrieved her baggies—she had four that she hadn’t used—and returned to Vanessa’s room. “Let’s use these judiciously.”

  “The wine. I want to save the glass as well—but we can put it in a paper bag.”

  “That I don’t have, but there’s stationery in every desk. We can wrap it in that.”

  They preserved the wine and the glass, then finished searching the room. Lucy went through Vanessa’s purse. She hadn’t changed her driver’s license, it was still under her maiden name of Russell, but there was a copy of the marriage certificate. They’d been married in Phoenix, Arizona, last week. The best man was Nelson Russell—Vanessa’s brother maybe?—and the maid of honor was Christina Morgan.

  Lucy went through the camera one last time to make sure she had taken all the pictures she thought the police would need. The body, the wine, the pills, the general layout of the room, close-ups of the possible lividity and the needle mark. She’d also taken pictures of Vanessa’s hands and arms, which didn’t indicate that she’d fought back—no obvious bruising, scratches, broken nails, or fibers. She scrolled through earlier pictures and noticed that Vanessa or Trevor had taken many pictures of the grounds—the lodge, the barn, the surroundings. Some were dark and hadn’t come out, but Lucy didn’t delete any. She didn’t want any photos to be missing—each was digitally numbered.

  The earliest pictures were of Vanessa and Trevor on their wedding day. They seemed happy. Trevor beamed at Vanessa. The wedding was lavish, at least from what Lucy could tell from the few pictures saved on the camera.

  She set aside the camera. She looked through Vanessa’s address book, then went through her receipts.

  “Anything?” Patrick asked.

  “Nothing that stands out to me.”

  “I’m going to insist that no one come into the room, and ask for all the keys, but that’s no guarantee that there isn’t an extra floating around.”

  “Grace probably has a master key.”

  “I wrapped her body in the sheet and top blanket,” Patrick said. “When we get the plastic sheet, I’ll move the body. Find Steve and ask what the sheriff said. Then we’ll talk to Trevor. It’s time for you to put that criminal psychology degree to work, sis.”

  FOUR

  While Patrick and the others took Vanessa’s body to the root cellar, Lucy found Steve in the lodge’s office. He sat slumped at the desk with his head in his hands.

  “Hey,” Lucy said softly, sitting across from him. “You okay?”

  He shook his head. Though he had a lot of responsibility, he was still a young man, not even twenty-one, and this situation seemed to be taking its toll. He picked up a quart carton of orange juice that was on the desk next to him and took a long gulp. Drinking from the carton reminded Lucy of her brothers growing up. Her sister Carina would have a shit fit if she caught them, and always found an innovative way to get back at them. Once, Carina poured hot sauce into the orange juice. Patrick had been the brunt of that spicy etiquette corrective.

  “Did you call the sheriff?” Lucy asked.

  Steve looked up. He tucked some papers under the desk calendar before saying, “Yes. There’s no way they’ll be here before noon tomorrow, and that’s still contingent on the storm. They’ll know more in the morning. They ran Patrick through their system, I guess, and said he should determine what’s best to do with the body until they arrive.”

  “Patrick is taking care of it. We need to close off that room, however.”

  “Why?”

  “Health reasons.”

  He didn’t seem to find Lucy’s answer odd. That she was becoming a better liar didn’t please her.

  “Who has keys?” she asked.

  “The guests would have two. There’s an extra here. I have a master key for every room.”

  “May I have it?”

  “I won’t go in.”

  “I know, but Patrick wants to control the keys.”

  Steve now looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I’m just doing what my brother asked. I’m not a cop.”

  He pulled the key from his ring and handed it to her. He then reached over into one of the boxes and handed her an extra key. “I don’t have the other two.”

  “We have Vanessa’s, and Patrick will get Trevor’s.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Anytime a healthy person dies, it’s never a mistake to be extra c
autious. But I’m certain the coroner will clear everything up as soon as the body is examined.” She then asked, “What other things have been going on around here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Upstairs you said—”

  “Oh.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I was just feeling sorry for myself.”

  “This has been a hard year for you. When did your father die?”

  “Last March. Nearly a year ago, but I still miss him so much.” His voice cracked and he looked away. He took another pull on his orange juice.

  “I’m so sorry. Beth told me there had been some mechanical problems, with the generator, then the bear in the root cellar—”

  “Grace thinks I left the door unlatched, but I didn’t. I’ve secured that root cellar every night since I was eight.”

  “How long have you been feeling dizzy?”

  “That has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Maybe, but I’m worried about you.”

  “Why should you care? You don’t even know me.”

  True, and Lucy didn’t have an answer. She was sticking her nose into other people’s business. “I have some medical training, and the dizziness and fatigue and imbalance could be a sign of something serious.”

  “Look, I spent three days in the damn hospital in Jackson right before Christmas. They said my blood pressure was a little low, but not dangerously so, and they ran their battery of tests. Everything came back normal ’cept for borderline anemia. So I’m on an iron supplement. Grace shouldn’t be talking to everybody about my problems. It’s all under control.”

  “You fell off a cliff today, Steve.”

  “I just slipped.”

  “For a kid who grew up in these mountains, I think you’d know better.”

  “I can’t spend any more time in a hospital. Grace can’t run this place alone, and without at least some guests, we won’t survive the year. I don’t want us to sell the lodge. I can’t disappoint my dad like that. I didn’t think we’d ever be in this position. Dad always had an emergency fund, but—”

  “But what?”

  “It’s gone. Grace said he didn’t want to tell me that the lodge had been running in the red for the last few years, and he was using his savings to keep it afloat.” Steve put his head back down. “I can’t lose my home. It’ll be like losing Dad all over again.”

  Looking for Patrick, instead Lucy found Heather Larson in the dining room. The vacationer from the Silicon Valley was loading food on a plate, but no one else was eating.

  “I thought I’d bring Trevor something to eat, though I doubt he’ll touch it,” she said. “Still, he’ll need something to soak up all the Scotch he’s drinking.”

  Lucy winced. He’d be difficult to interview if he was falling-down drunk.

  “Did she kill herself?” Heather asked, just like everyone else had.

  “We don’t know.”

  “It’s so awful, either way, but I hope it was natural. For Trevor’s sake. He’s such a nice guy.”

  Lucy had thought so, too, until his wife ended up murdered. “They both seemed nice, though Vanessa was quiet.”

  “She was a bit weird. I never thought she’d kill herself though.”

  “Weird? How?”

  Heather shrugged. “Maybe I should say she was interested in strange things. Like this morning. Alan and I were up early to take a walk. She was standing by the barn taking pictures through the window.”

  Lucy remembered the dark images on Vanessa’s camera, but she had assumed the camera had just gone off in her purse or something. She’d have to look more carefully at the detail.

  “And then when I told her Alan and I were going to town, she asked me to mail something for her.”

  “And why is that strange?”

  “It was a postcard with a short message. ‘You are right. We win.’ ”

  That was odd. “Who did she mail it to?”

  Heather shrugged. “It went to Phoenix, but I didn’t pay attention to the name. I showed it to Alan, though. Maybe he remembers.”

  A gust of wind burst through the house, and a door slammed shut. Lucy ran to the foyer and saw Patrick and the other two men covered with snow, their faces red. “That was miserable,” Alan said. Lucy didn’t know if he was talking about the weather or moving Vanessa’s corpse.

  “Is it locked?” Lucy asked.

  “No bears will get into that place,” Patrick assured her and showed her the key to the padlock. He pocketed it, then took off his jacket and hung it on a rack near the door.

  “Alan,” Heather said, “do you remember that postcard Vanessa asked us to mail?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who did she mail it to?”

  “Nelson Russell.”

  “There you go,” Heather said to Lucy. “Why do you want to know?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Just curious.” She glanced at Patrick, nonverbally telling him she’d clue him in later. “Patrick, Trevor is drinking heavily. You might want to talk to him now.”

  “I’m bringing him this food—” Heather began.

  Lucy took the plate. “I’ll take it for you.”

  “I am frozen solid,” Alan said to his wife. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Lucy followed Patrick into the library. Kyle joined them. Angie sat with Trevor, holding his hand while he sobbed. The room reeked of Scotch. Angie looked to be at her wit’s end.

  Lucy said to Kyle, “We’ll relieve Angie. She needs a break. You two should get some food and relax. It’s going to be a long night.”

  “Good idea,” Kyle said, escorting his wife from the room.

  Patrick shut the door. He sat down across from Trevor. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Two years. We waited two years to get married. Two wasted years.”

  “I know this is difficult. But—”

  “We were both married before. But her ex-husband was an asshole and my ex-wife was just nuts. That we met up again after all those years—”

  “Again?” Lucy asked.

  “We dated back in high school, after my family moved to Phoenix from California. Vanessa and Nelson—her brother—became my closest friends. Then we went to different colleges, got married, all those things that people do. I always loved Vanessa, and when my divorce was final I moved back to Phoenix and we started seeing each other again. For two years. Taking it slow, because we wanted to make sure—” He coughed to cover up his distress.

  “You come from a wealthy family?”

  “We both do. Vanessa’s dad was in the construction business. He always did well, but in the eighties his business took off. He retired ten years ago, left it to Vanessa and her brother. They’ve done even better. She’s so smart.” He put his hand to his mouth. “She was. She was so smart. She wouldn’t kill herself. She loved life. Everything about it.”

  “We don’t know that she killed herself,” Patrick said. Both he and Lucy were closely watching Trevor’s reaction. His grief seemed genuine.

  “She didn’t,” he said as if Patrick’s statement needed additional emphasis.

  “Was she on any medication?”

  Lucy hadn’t found any prescriptions in the Marshes’ room other than the Seconal.

  “No.”

  “But she took sleeping pills.”

  “Sometimes, but only when we travel because she doesn’t like sleeping in strange beds. She took one last night because she couldn’t sleep, but that’s it.”

  “Was she acting depressed lately? Did she get any bad news?”

  Trevor shook his head.

  “And your relationship was good?”

  “Yes! We just got married!” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I love her so much.”

  He reached for his Scotch glass and saw it was empty. He stood and grabbed the arm of the couch for support.

  “Maybe you should slow down,” Patrick cautioned.

  “Leave me alone. Just leave me alone!”

  Patrick put an arm
on Trevor to steady him, then eased him back onto the couch.

  Lucy asked, “Was Vanessa close to her brother?”

  “Very. Two peas in a pod. Nelson was one of my best friends. We’re a year older than Vanessa. He’s my brother-in-law now—” Trevor choked back a sob. “This will kill him. Why did this happen to Vanessa?”

  “A coroner will make that determination,” Lucy said.

  “I need to know. I just need to know that she was happy. That she didn’t—” He pressed his palm against his forehead.

  “What did you do today after breakfast?” Patrick asked. That had been the last time he and Lucy had seen the Marshes.

  “We went on a walk. A long walk to this vista with an amazing view. We talked. Thought about how nice it would be if we could have a vacation home up here. Phoenix is so damn hot—and I suggested we go to Kirkwood and check out some properties. Vanessa asked if I would do it alone; she wasn’t up for snowmobiling. Beth went with me, and it only took thirty minutes to get there. We stayed a few hours, got back at three or so. I went to check on Vanessa, but she was sleeping and I left—What if she was in trouble and I could have helped her?” His voice rose in panic.

  But Lucy caught what he’d said. “She was sleeping? You went into your room?”

  “I opened the door and saw her lying on her side, curled up like she sleeps. I let her rest. But when she didn’t come down by five, I went back to wake her up and she—” He broke off.

  Trevor had put himself at the scene of the crime during the window when Vanessa was murdered.

  “Are you sure she was asleep?” Lucy asked.

  “I don’t understand, of course she was asleep.”

  He could have been mistaken. She could have been dead, but looked asleep. The eyes often opened as the muscles in the lids contracted during early stages of rigor mortis. But she might have been sleeping. Or drugged, in order for the killer to inject her with whatever killed her.

  But she was presupposing that Trevor wasn’t the killer.

  “Where did you live before you returned to your hometown?” Patrick asked.

  “I went to college in Boston, and stayed there. Met my first wife. We moved to Dallas so I could be close to my team.”