If I Should Die

by Allison Brennan

“Sheriff Mackey please.”

  “He’s not in right now. This is the dispatcher. How may I assist you?”

  “This is Lucy Kincaid at the Delarosa Mountain Retreat. Sheriff Mackey spoke with Steve Delarosa yesterday about an unattended death. We have a serious problem up here, and I need to talk to the sheriff immediately.”

  “One moment.”

  She was put on hold. Lucy didn’t know what the dispatcher was doing. She waited impatiently.

  A small stack of papers was tucked under the desk calendar, making it lopsided. She vaguely remembered that Steve had been reading something when she’d walked in last night.

  She pulled out the papers and unfolded them. The top pages were a handwritten letter in bold, confident block letters dated over two years ago from Leo Delarosa to his son, Steve. The bottom pages were a formal last will and testament.

  She read the letter first.

  Son,

  Today is your eighteenth birthday. I hope to be here to watch you drink your first beer (legally!) and get married (you’ll find the right girl, just be patient) and have a child of your own.

  But my heart attack last year was a wake-up call for both of us. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, whether I’ll live to see my grandchild or not. Because God sometimes has ideas about things that we don’t understand, and because I’m not too good in talking about my feelings and all that crap, I decided to write this letter.

  My words don’t always come out right. They sound like criticism, like when I told you that you were too smart to get a C in Algebra. What I should have said was, “Son, you’re a smart boy. I’m proud of you and proud of your grades. I’m disappointed in the C because I know you can do better. But I’m not disappointed in you.”

  I’ve never been disappointed in you, Steve.

  You were the best thing that happened to your mom and me. We didn’t think we could have kids—hell, we tried often enough! And then you came. She loved you the minute she found out you were growing inside her belly.

  Your mom would be proud of you today. God took her home way too soon, and I cursed Him for it. You needed your mom. I wanted you to have her in your life more than the ten years you had her. I needed her.

  Damn, I’m going to cry now. I just want you to know that I’m proud of you, and I’m proud that you want to keep the Delarosa growing in the spirit that your mom and me always wanted. I won’t blame you if you decide you want something else, because I know a bit about wanderlust. I was in the navy for three years because I needed to get off the mountain. But the mountain called me home.

  I have taken care of you and Grace. Grace means well, and she wants to please me, but she doesn’t love the Delarosa like we do. That’s why I changed my will to reflect that you and Grace need to agree to sell, and not until you’re twenty-one.

  Steven John, you are a smarter young man than I was. If you sell, you sell free and clear. There is no debt, thanks to your grandfather. You remind me a lot of my dad. I was proud of him, too, but more than that I admired him.

  I admire you even more.

  You’ll do the right thing for you, for Grace, and for the mountain.

  Until then, I’ve still been contributing to the nest egg, as your mom liked to call it. Sometimes a little less than I wanted, but always at least a token, every month since the day I married your mom. We joked about how we’d travel to Hawaii and Tahiti and Bora-Bora. Always someplace warm. Hell, I never wanted to go to any of those places (except Hawaii, I’ll admit), but that nest egg will keep the Delarosa running during the lean years.

  I hope you never have to read this letter. I’m going to tear it up when you’re twenty-one and write a new one. But in case I’m too stubborn or stupid to remember to say it, I want you to know, son, I love you.

  Dad

  Lucy read the letter twice, tears in her eyes. No wonder Steve was so heartbroken over the debt …

  Would Leo have told his son in a letter that wouldn’t be read until his death that the mountain was debt free and there was a nest egg to run the place “during the lean years” if it weren’t true?

  Did that sound like a man who had been running in the red for years?

  Someone had lied.

  Either Leo Delarosa lied about the nest egg, or the nest egg had been stolen.

  Or it was hidden somewhere.

  She scanned Leo Delarosa’s will. It appeared standard, and showed the amendment where Steve and Grace would have to agree to sell.

  There was also another clause. The right of survivorship.

  If Grace dies, Steve gets the mountain. If Steve dies, Grace gets everything.

  Yet right now, there didn’t appear to be anything left to have.

  “Ms. Kincaid?”

  Lucy had forgotten she was on hold with the Sheriff’s Department.

  “Yes, Sheriff Mackey.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been out in this godforsaken blizzard half the night. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you speak to Steve Delarosa last night?”

  “Yes, he told me one of the guests had died at the lodge. That you all thought she might have killed herself, or had an accident.”

  “My brother Patrick was a San Diego detective. Vanessa Russell-Marsh was murdered.”

  “That’s a one-eighty from Steve’s call.”

  “Patrick didn’t want to alert the killer, but I work for the coroner’s office in Washington, D.C., and I’m pretty certain that Mrs. Marsh was injected with something in her neck. And last night, my brother was drugged.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He will be. But he’s out for the rest of the day, and I don’t know who drugged him or who killed Vanessa. We’re in trouble here and need you.”

  “I wish I could help, but there’s no way I can get up to the lodge. The roads are all closed; we can’t even reopen until the snow stops.”

  “What about cross-country skis? Snowmobiles? Something?”

  “It’s treacherous from here, but—I have two deputies who know this county better than even Leo Delarosa.”

  “You knew Steve’s dad?”

  “Hell yeah, we went to school together. He was older than me, but we played on the same football team. Good man.”

  “And Grace?”

  “Well, I met her at their wedding. Pretty lady.”

  “You don’t know anything else about her?”

  “No, can’t say that I do. After Leo’s heart attack, he didn’t come into town as much.”

  “Could you run her and her sister for me?”

  “You know what you’re asking for?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What’s her sister’s name?”

  “Beth Holbrook. Beth is probably short for Elizabeth.”

  “Right—Steve mentioned Grace’s half-sister came to help at the lodge. Keeping the books, I think he said. She used to be a bank manager or something.”

  Beth kept the books? That made sense—she knew that the lodge had been running in the red, and she seemed to have specific knowledge when she mentioned the problems to Lucy.

  The sheriff continued. “Why would either of them want to kill a guest? It doesn’t make sense.”

  It might not make sense to them now, but it would when they solved the crime. She simply said, “Someone killed her.”

  SEVEN

  Lucy checked on Patrick. He was still lethargic, but no longer hallucinating. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Someone drugged you. I think it was in the water bottle. Don’t eat or drink anything I don’t hand you personally.”

  He tried to sit up, but groaned. “Why am I in your room?”

  “Don’t you remember? You puked all over yours. I cleaned it up. You can thank me later.” She spoke lightly, but she was hugely relieved that Patrick was better.

  She gave Patrick water from the tap. “Only tap water. I’m going to grab some food from the pantry.”

  “I can’t eat.”

  “Y
ou need to eat something. I’m going to look for chicken broth. In a can.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “First, I need to know who you spoke with when we weren’t together yesterday. You tipped someone off. That’s why they drugged your water.”

  “I used to be a damn good cop, Lucy. I didn’t tip anyone off.”

  “You acted like a cop investigating a murder. Wouldn’t that be tip-off enough for the killer?”

  Patrick still looked ill, and Lucy wanted him to rest. “I spoke to the sheriff,” she said. “The blizzard won’t be letting up soon. He can’t get the coroner here, but he’s working on sending two deputies. There’s no guarantee they’ll be here today.”

  “So Steve did talk to the sheriff. Good.” He sipped some of the water Lucy had given him. “I spoke to Kyle and Alan after we moved Vanessa’s body to the root cellar. They were both a little unnerved. Neither seemed to be hiding anything. Kyle was very worried about his wife.”

  “She was sitting up with Trevor most of the night in the library. She said she couldn’t sleep.” Lucy remembered the water by the door. “There was a puddle of water on the floor after I woke you up. In fact—it was after I went to the library. I was in there about fifteen minutes.”

  “If it was my water that was drugged, they would have had to have done it before that. I took a leak and drank half the bottle after you woke me.”

  “Where did you get the bottle?”

  “It was in the bathroom when I—” He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember it being there when we checked in Thursday night, but it was there last night when I went to bed. I didn’t think about it.”

  “When were you out of your room yesterday?”

  “All day. We left about nine-thirty to go skiing, came back at four, found Vanessa at five-thirty—I went to my room to change after we moved her body, between seven and seven-ten or so. Then back at eleven.”

  “Can you remember if the bottle was there when you changed?”

  Patrick closed his eyes, thinking. “No, it wasn’t there.”

  “You’re certain.”

  “Yes. I brushed my teeth and used a glass for water. When I came back at night and brushed again before bed, the glass was gone.”

  “Mom would be so proud of you.”

  “What for?”

  “You probably flossed, too.”

  Patrick threw a pillow at her, then groaned. “I feel like I’ve just been beaten up.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed. “You’ll be fine.” Thank God. “We were together most of the evening, except when you went to talk to Steve.”

  “Steve and I were talking about how his great-grandfather bought this land and built and lived in the cottage. The kid was really upset, but I felt it had less to do with Marsh’s death and more to do with his physical health.”

  “Did you see either Grace or Beth?”

  “I didn’t see Grace after Kyle collapsed in the kitchen. Beth was talking to Trevor and Angie later in the evening, but I didn’t talk to her alone.”

  Lucy straightened her back as something occurred to her. “Kyle said he was dizzy.”

  “Yes. Altitude sickness.”

  “I doubt it. He broke a glass, remember? It was juice. Steve was drinking orange juice from a carton yesterday.”

  “You think the juice went bad? Or—” Realization dawned on Patrick. “You think they were drugged.”

  “I read a letter Steve’s father left him in his will. It was written two years ago, when Steve was eighteen, and Leo said there was plenty of money to support this property, even during the lean years. That was his exact quote. I think Steve believes his dad lied to him.”

  “In a will?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe he lied. I think there was money. Beth was a bank manager before she came here, and she’s the one who mentioned that Leo had spent all the emergency funds.”

  “You think she stole the money? Why?”

  “This property is worth a small fortune, at least I’m guessing it is. It’s close to the ski resort, it’s in its own little valley, and has its own road. With no mortgage, it’s owned free and clear. But if there’s no money to keep it going or to expand—which according to Steve was his father’s dream—then they would have to sell.”

  “And how does that benefit Beth?”

  “I don’t know that it does, but we don’t know how much money was in the accounts in the first place.”

  “If she’s guilty, we can’t ask her.”

  “But we can find the books.”

  “Lucy—”

  “I know what to look for. Beth has her room off the kitchen. I’ll get Angie to keep her occupied.”

  “You trust Angie?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going to tell her why.”

  “I’ll do it.” Patrick tried to stand, but fell right to his knees. His skin paled.

  “Or not.” Lucy helped him back into bed. “Patrick, you stay here. My plan is contingent on the killer thinking that you’re too sick to investigate and we’re just waiting for the sheriff to come for Vanessa’s body.”

  “Lucy—you need to be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  “Why would Beth drug Steve?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to distract him—or Grace—from her embezzlement.” She frowned.

  “Okay, spit it out.”

  “I don’t know. It’s Grace, too. She was really angry about the spilled juice.”

  “When Kyle fell?”

  “Yes. It seemed … over the top.”

  “It’s a stressful time,” Patrick pointed out. “A dead guest, her sick stepson, then another guest fainting.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “But Luce—trust your instincts. Please. Don’t trust anyone. My gun is in my truck. I didn’t think I’d need it, but I want you to get it. If it’s safe to go for it.”

  “Where? Under the seat?”

  “Yes. I have a holster strapped to the underside. It’s loaded. Extra bullets are in the glove compartment. It’s a forty-five; are you comfortable with that?”

  She smiled. “Jack taught me everything I know about guns.” Jack was their oldest brother and retired Army.

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “I thought I gave you some good lessons.”

  “You did. But you know Jack. Repetition.”

  “Yeah, don’t I?”

  Lucy wanted to check out Grace’s and Steve’s rooms as well. They were in the cottage, and that was on the way to Patrick’s truck.

  “What?” Patrick read her expression and snapped. “You’re thinking about doing something you know I won’t like.”

  “You’re right.”

  He paused. “Well?”

  “You won’t like it.” She stood. “Stay here and be sick. If anyone comes, moan. If anyone offers you food, don’t eat it. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “Lucy, wait—” He sat up, but became immediately queasy and lay back down.

  “Trust me,” she said and left.

  Beth had just put out a small breakfast buffet. She looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep. “How are you doing?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m worried about Grace. This has been so hard on her. And Steve—the poor kid. I don’t know how to make it better, and it’s killing me.”

  “My brother woke up sick this morning.”

  “Sick? Like a cold?”

  “Like puking-his-guts-out sick. I cleaned up after him, but I was hoping to get some ice and a little juice or something.”

  “Of course.”

  Lucy followed Beth into the kitchen. Angie was there, as Lucy had prearranged.

  “Oh, good,” Angie said to Beth. “I was hoping you could help me with Trevor. He went up to the extra room, but he’s hungover and distraught and I don’t know what to do. Kyle is no help, he doesn’t know what to say, and you were so good with Trevor last night.”

  Beth said, “I have the perfect hangover remedy.”
She started gathering supplies, then turned to Lucy.

  “Oh, let’s take care of Patrick first.”

  “I can do it. You talk to Trevor. I’ll bring juice to my brother. Maybe some chicken broth?”

  “In the pantry. I can prepare something for you.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. I need something to do anyway; I’m going stir-crazy.”

  Less than two minutes later, Angie and Beth left with a tray for Trevor. As soon as Lucy heard them on the stairs, she slipped into Beth’s bedroom.

  It was a suite, with two rooms and its own bath. Beth was tidy—her bed was made, her dirty clothes in a hamper, her furniture arranged just so. Careful to leave everything exactly as she’d found it, Lucy quickly searched Beth’s room for anything that would connect her to embezzlement or drugging Steve. Beth didn’t have a computer in her bedroom, which meant that the books were kept either on the office computer or in the cottage.

  She did find a box of letters to Beth from a man named Andrew Simon, Corporal, U.S. Army. They were all sent from an APO address in Afghanistan. Ten letters, written in the months she’d been living here. She had a P.O. box in Kit Carson, which Lucy recognized was the same address that the lodge used. Would she use the same address if she was hiding something? Or would she have opened her own post office box?

  Lucy opened the most recent letter, dated three weeks ago.

  Dearest Beth,

  Our last letters must have crossed in the air, now I understand better why you need to help your sister. Of course family is the most important thing, and I’m so happy that you’ve become so close to your sister after everything that happened when you were kids. I love you more for your devotion. It was my selfishness to want you closer during my rare leaves, so we can be together.

  The Delarosa sounds like exactly what I need when I get out in August. I had planned on reenlisting, but knowing you are waiting for me, three years for my country is enough. I can’t tell you how I feel when I get a letter from you. I am counting the days, and will write when I have my final discharge papers. I wish we could email like we did before you moved to your sister’s, but I reread your letters every night. Keep them coming, love.

  I’m so sorry the lodge finances are in such dire straits. If anyone can turn it around, it’s you. Steve sounds like a smart, determined young man. I look forward to meeting him.