I hadn’t left the cooler yet when my phone buzzed with an incoming call.
The call showed as a blocked number, but something about the buzz made me think it was Logan. I answered with a syrupy, “Well, hello there.”
The line crackled, and all I caught was, “—Wiggles. I need to warn you”—the sound cut out again—“that bonehead. Whatever you do, don’t—”
The sound cut off again. The call was terminated. Was Peggy trying to warn me about something? Or was I imagining those words due to stress? I had just checked a walk-in cooler to make sure a stiff corpse hadn’t climbed his way off a food trolley.
I stepped out, closed the cooler door, and tried calling Peggy from the kitchen. My call went to voicemail. I tried two more times with the same result.
My next call would have been to the police dispatcher, but I heard people in the dining room saying my name, asking where I was.
I stepped out and waved. “Sorry to wander off. I’m right here.”
They all had grim looks on their faces.
Benji started rocking on his chair, chanting, “They’re coming. It’s them. They’re coming.”
Christopher said to me, “If you weren’t just knocking on the lobby door, that means someone else is up here.”
Somebody was knocking on the lobby door, and I heard it. The knocks were persistent but forceful, like those of someone who didn’t care if they broke the glass.
Jessica, her face bright and hopeful, said, “That must be the road crew here to tell us the mudslides are cleared.”
Her hope was contagious, and soon everyone was happily filing out to see who was at the door.
Christopher held back and brought up the rear with me.
I told him about the troubling phone call I’d just gotten from Peggy.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”
“How about that bombshell about your cousin? Did you know Butch was an ex-con?”
“Not a clue. I guess the truth always wants to come out. What’s that thing you and your father say?”
“Never lose hope in your quest for the truth, because even a little hope can light the way.”
“Right. Hope. Let’s have hope that this is the road crew.” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. His touch was comforting, and I rested my head against his shoulder, taking solace in an old friend.
We caught up with the others in the lobby, where Butch unlocked the glass doors.
I couldn’t see any vehicles pulling into the parking lot, or lights, or signs of anyone, except for one person standing on the other side of the door.
Chapter 34
The person was small in stature, with short, dark hair, mostly covered by a brown outdoorsman hat.
“That’s got to be Rory,” I said to Christopher. “She’s the ranger who was going to get us aerial pictures from the drone. I thought she would just email them to us.”
“The more the merrier.” He smiled and gave me another shoulder squeeze.
Rory came in and introduced herself. She tried to show her identification to the group, but they were too drunk, too worried about glowing-eyed forest monsters, or too excited about the roads being clear to listen.
“Calm down, people,” Rory said, her voice surprisingly authoritarian for such a petite frame. “One question at a time. Please.” When that didn’t slow down the barrage, she yelled, “SILENCE!”
Everyone hushed.
“Where’s Jessica?” Rory asked. “You? The redhead? Good. You’re my official point of contact, and I’ll talk to you in a minute. The rest of you, remain calm. The roads are not cleared yet, but it won’t be long. Don’t ask me for a time, because I’m not a wizard, and I’m not a liar. While I speak to my point of contact, the rest of you should carry on with whatever you rich folks normally do at these fancy resorts. Please be careful to ration the caviar, so there’s no need to turn on each other and riot.”
Marie laughed, but the others didn’t seem sure if they should be amused or offended. Caviar riots? Who did the ranger think we were?
Rory took hold of Jessica’s elbow and steered her over to the area that would eventually be the lounge, once the construction materials were replaced with lounge chairs.
Jessica perched on the edge of a stack of wood, resembling a ballerina between acts, in her delicate pink dress and with her shining red hair up in a bun.
Rory straddled a sawhorse as though it were an actual horse. She asked questions about which days everyone had arrived, and what their business was at the resort.
Christopher and I stood within earshot of Jessica and the ranger, while Marie, Benji, and Dion returned to the dining room.
Butch stood by the front door, staring wistfully into the darkness as though he were a dog longing to be free. After a few minutes, he did something curious. He turned around three, four, five times, as though chasing his tail, and then he curled up on the floor and went to sleep.
Ranger Rory spent a good twenty minutes telling Jessica all about her remote-operated flying device. Christopher and I crept in closer and closer, then quietly joined Jessica in sitting on the stack of wood.
Rory kept bringing up the issue of citizens’ privacy, and dancing around whether or not the drone had picked up any clues about what happened to Franco. She kept her focus on Jessica the whole time, ignoring me.
I leaned over and whispered to Jessica, “Ask her for a peek at the photos. Ask nicely.”
Jessica did, and Rory responded, “That’s a mighty big favor.” She changed her position on the sawhorse, swinging her leg over to ride it side-saddle. “But I didn’t hike all the way up here just to see how the rich pretend they’re camping.”
Jessica smiled sweetly. “Just a little peek? We won’t tell.”
Rory was already pulling a computer tablet from her vest. She wouldn’t let us touch the tablet, but held it facing us while she narrated, in the manner of a kindergarten teacher doing story time with a very creepy book.
“Where’s Waldo? Not in this one.” Rory zoomed in on an aerial shot of the lodge, the L-shaped building hugging the mountainside like a bracket fungi on the side of a tree.
She continued, “Waldo’s not seen in these photos, either, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there in the trees.” She whipped through the slideshow of photos with increasing speed. “What’s the gentleman’s name? I’ll just keep calling him Waldo. That’s my ranger humor for you. Helps to grin through tough times. Folks get lost in the woods plenty. They go for a picnic, get a few cans of beer in ‘em, and decide they’re going to climb a peak so they can get the perfect photo with their dumb faces blocking out half a perfectly good view. Sometimes it’s the last picture they ever take, because they’re not prepared for the local wildlife.”
“Franco,” Christopher said. “His name was Franco, and he was two miles south of the lodge when he fell off a steep bank.”
“He didn’t fall,” she said. “Not in the photo I have, anyway. Where is that picture? Trees, trees, trees…”
I leaned in, excited to see Franco’s body somewhere other than the ledge where someone or something tossed his dead body.
Jessica asked, “What time of day were these photos taken?”
“Eleven o’clock in the morning. The same time you were on your snowshoes, enjoying Flying Squirrel Peak. How’d you like that, by the way? Are you into snowshoeing? How about camping?”
Jessica, who’d been leaning in to study the photos with me, pulled back. She covered her eyes with her hands. “B-b-bod-body,” she gasped.
Rory leaned over and confirmed with a nod. “There he is, stretched out on his side, resting on a patch of snow like it’s a beach blanket. Even the least sensible of the weekend woodsmen wouldn’t take a nap on a patch of snow, so I think we can assume he’s already dead here. This photo is timestamped 11:23 a.m. For your reference, my drone flew over that morning at 8:23 a.m., and that same patch of ice was larger, an
d free of bodies.” She jumped off the sawhorse and knelt before Jessica, who still had her hands over her face. “You feeling okay? Can I get you some chocolate? Anything sweet is good for times like this.”
Jessica dropped her hands and forced a smile. “Dead you-know-whats make me squeamish.”
“As they should,” Rory said. “I’m awful sorry you had to see that.”
With Rory distracted by Jessica, I scooped up the tablet from where she’d left it on the sawhorse. I scrolled forward and back through the photos to make sure Rory wasn’t hiding anything from us—she wasn’t—and then zoomed in on the image of Franco.
His position matched my prediction based on the blood pooling. The photos were bright, the sun not yet clouded by the incoming storm that caused the mudslide.
The mudslide.
“Nobody moved the body,” I said.
Christopher came over to look at the screen. “Then how’d it get moved? Wild animals?”
“Didn’t you ever roll down the side of a grassy hill as a kid? Don’t tell me your mother was too protective to let you do that.”
Christopher scoffed at my insult, then frowned at the screen. “The weather.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The same sunshine and rain that set off the mudslide and closed the roads also melted the snow under Franco just enough to shift his body, and then gravity did the rest. He rolled right down here, between the trees, and then over the ledge. Do you know what this means?”
Christopher stared at me, his hazel-brown eyes wide. “It means you’re really good at this, Stormy.”
“And it means nobody moved the body after all. I’ve been thinking it was Butch, moving the body off the property because he was worried about his insurance. But now I think Butch was only acting strangely because he was worried about an investigation, and having his criminal record come up.”
“Too late for that,” Christopher said. “I wonder what he was in for. He did disappear to Thailand for about a year, a while back. He brought me back a souvenir—a carved elephant.”
“The sort of thing you can buy in any gift shop?”
“Exactly.” Christopher glanced over at Butch, still sleeping as though he were a bulldog by the front door. “You think you know someone, but appearances can be deceiving.”
The ranger gave me a dirty look as she took the tablet back. She pulled up photos from earlier that day. “Here’s a photo of the same patch of ground taken today, at the same time. You see all that snow’s melted away. I would agree with your theory that the body rolled down the hill. Yes, that’s my assessment.”
“Case closed,” Christopher said.
I smiled. “I’ll wait for the official toxicology report to find out what he ate or drank before he wandered out there, but for the sake of us all sleeping easily tonight, I’ll say it. Case closed.”
Jessica’s cheeks had color again, and she looked relieved at the news. “Case closed,” she said.
“Case closed,” the ranger said. “It’s customary for you to offer the ranger some refreshments after she goes the extra mile to hand-deliver you access to classified photos. Please tell me there’s beer on the premises, and none of that fancy stuff.”
The four of us headed toward the dining room, leaving Butch sleeping on the floor where he’d curled up.
Behind us, the lobby echoed with the sound of banging.
Someone else was at the glass doors, trying to get in.
The person was shrouded in layers of clothes, dirty, and swaying.
“I’ve seen a lot of crazy things, but that’s a new one,” Rory said. “High-heeled hiking boots. Who knew there was such a thing?”
Chapter 35
Jessica ran toward the door. “Della’s back! We’ve got to let her in. Butch, wake up, you old hound dog. At least give me your keys.”
She tried to wake Butch, but to no avail. He slept like the dead. He didn’t stop her from digging through his pockets for his keys.
Della stumbled weakly into the lobby, tottering on hiking boots that really did have stacked heels. “Am I actually here?” She looked at me, Christopher, Jessica, then Rory. “Who’s the Boy Scout?”
Rory stuck out her chest. “Ma’am, I’m a ranger.”
“How’d you get here?” I asked. “Are the roads clear?”
“Not quite.” Della took off a muddy outer jacket and tossed it aside like garbage. “I had to park and hike the rest of the way through the mud, and all the trees, and there were wild animals chasing after me.”
“That can’t be true,” Rory said. “In those boots, if the wild animals on this mountain wanted to eat you, they would have. You probably just spooked yourself.”
Ignoring Rory, Della asked Jessica, “Did you know I was coming?”
“We didn’t know. You could have called your brother. He’s been worried about you. Did you come here to identify Franco? You didn’t need to do that. We’re sure it’s him.”
“My Franco,” Della said softly, then, “I need a shower.” She waited expectantly for one of us to do something about her shower needs.
Jessica jiggled the big ring of keys in her hand. “I’ve got these, so that makes me the innkeeper. What do you say to our most luxurious room, on the top floor? We’ll get some new sheets for the bed, and you’d never guess the mattress lost a battle with a meat cleaver. Follow me.”
After Jessica disappeared, the ranger lost interest in the previously mentioned refreshments and moved toward the door. “I’ll be on my way out,” Rory said. “No need to throw a parade. I can find the door handle.”
“Thank you so much for your efforts,” I said. “The police will be in contact with you directly for the photos.”
“I’m sure they will.” Rory pushed the door open, glanced down at Butch, then told us, “Remember to ration your caviar. The road crews will be back early morning, so lunch time tomorrow is the soonest you could be dug out, but don’t quote me, and don’t tell anyone I gave you an estimate.”
Christopher said, “Out by lunch time? You mean the end is in sight? I could kiss you!”
“No thank you, sir.” She tipped her hat, told us to stay safe, and left.
Christopher and I stood at the glass doors and watched her disappear into the forest.
He said, “She doesn’t even have a flashlight.”
“She might be a shapeshifter,” I said. “Part coyote. Like a skinwalker.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” he said.
“I’m making fun of the situation, not you.”
“Hanging out with your father brings out your fun side.”
I smiled, because he was right. “Speaking of fun, should we go see if there’s a grape or two worth of wine left in the dining room? I’ll need to speak to everyone about rationing the caviar.”
“I guess we’ll leave my cousin here, on the floor by the door.”
“He’s not much of a guard dog. When Della showed up, he didn’t even bark once.”
“But he’s a good visual deterrent,” he said.
I chuckled. “Like that horrible ceramic pot-bellied goblin your mother keeps by the front door.”
“That’s a bust of Great-Great Uncle Chester Fairchild.”
“I didn’t know you were descended from goblins.”
One hour and two glasses of chardonnay later, everyone had been caught up on the news of the aerial photos and Della’s arrival. Dion went to comfort his sister in her new room.
The whole group was in agreement that Franco must have wandered out on his own, possibly drunk or on drugs, and passed out before dying of exposure. The melting snow had shifted his body. Case closed.
Now was the time for grieving and healing. The wake continued, with everyone’s spirits raised by the idea of being dug out by noon the next day.
Marie sipped her wine at a steady pace, and Benji seemed almost normal, keeping his comments about imaginary aliens to himself.
Christopher and Jessica laughed over my quirks as a roommate—quir
ks I didn’t find that quirky. So what if I complained about finding human hairs on the bathroom floor half an hour after vacuuming? Were there other, better roommates who enjoyed seeing hairs on an otherwise clean floor?
We were quibbling over that very important issue when Della made her entrance.
She was dressed to kill in sparkling heels and a shimmering, ruby red dress. She must have had the change of clothes tucked in her purse, a designer bag she had over her shoulder.
“This dining room is too big and open,” Della said. “I vote we move this wake to that cozy room, the recreation room.”
Her brother said, “Only if you sing for us. That is, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Della dramatically swept her elegant long, black bangs to the side of her forehead as though in a music video. Breathily, she said, “I’ll sing Franco’s favorite song. In his honor.”
I was tired, and wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with my cat until the road crews arrived, but Jessica gave me a look that said we couldn’t refuse the wishes of someone who was basically a widow.
We gathered some refreshments and moved as a group through the lobby.
Butch woke from his nap and stretched like a dog on his hands and knees. He was surprised to see Della back at the lodge, and asked his wife if he should go to their room or come along with the group.
Marie told Dion, “You tell Butch he can attend the party, but he’d better be sitting on his hands the whole time.”
We got set up in the recreation room, and Butch turned on the karaoke system.
Della took to the stage, stunning from head to toe, with her long hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders and glittering red dress.
She said, into the microphone, “Before I do something for Franco, does anyone have a request?”
Jessica answered, “Anything you want, Della.”
Della nodded, then reached into her purse and pulled something out. Unfortunately, the object was not her own professional-grade microphone.
Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) Page 22