by Marie Celine
One day had never come.
Steve’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘What? We’ll do the show from the resort and your pets will be accompanying you. Don’t worry about your business. We’ll take care of it.’
‘No,’ insisted Kitty, puffing a lock of hair from her eye. There wasn’t a hairspray out there that seemed to hold up to the steam rising off a cooking pot. Steve would take care of it? No way she was leaving her business in the hands of Steve. She’d either come home to a dead business or a slew of food poisoned pets. Probably both.
She cursed herself for letting Steve include Dr Newhart on the program. It was the psychologist who had talked about this crazy spa and resort for pets nestled in the southern California hills somewhere.
Worse still, Newhart had told Kitty, Steve and company that the upcoming weekend at Little Switzerland would be perfect because they were hosting a New-Age/New-Pet Festival with all sorts of holistic pet-centric events. Oh, brother, thought Kitty.
While she had politely nodded and said she would consider taking Fred and Barney there for a little quality time, she had no intention of actually following through on the idea. Now Steve thought he could muscle her into actually going? No way. ‘Forget it, Steve. I am not interested and I don’t have the time. I don’t even have time for this conversation.’
‘What’s all the hubbub?’ Greg asked.
Steve explained and, by the expression on Greg’s face, the director seemed to be liking the idea. ‘You heard Doctor Newhart – he said you should pamper your pets like the name of your show implies.’
Steve raised a pallid finger – he’d probably never done a day’s worth of hard labor in his life, thought Kitty. He’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. How hard could it be to lift a silver spoon?
‘To quote,’ continued Steve, ‘“after all, that’s what your program is all about, isn’t it, Ms Karlyle?”’
Kitty had reddened then and she reddened now.
Greg was nodding enthusiastically. ‘Road trip,’ he cooed, squeezing the hand of his young squeeze.
‘No road trip.’ Kitty was fuming like hot soup left too long on the stove. She forced herself to keep a lid on the pressure cooker that her head had become. It wouldn’t do to make a scene in front of the lingering audience or the crew. She picked up Barney and whistled for Fred. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have meals to deliver. Where’s Fran?’ She was supposed to be helping her out today. And why wasn’t she here backing her up against these two?
‘Please reconsider, Kitty,’ begged Greg.
Steve was glaring at her but she stared him down. ‘Never. Not in a million years.’
FOUR
Kitty set her handbag down on the cold granite counter with a sigh. A million years went by quicker than she would have thought.
‘Welcome to the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa,’ beamed the crisply uniformed clerk behind the front desk. He flashed teeth so white the color could only have come from a dentist or one of those weird whitening booths popping up in shopping malls. ‘Checking in?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Name, please?’
‘Karlyle.’ Kitty turned to Fran. ‘I can’t believe that weasel called his father,’ Kitty complained under her breath. No sooner had she and Fran returned to the makeup room after the taping than the red phone on the wall had rung. It had been Bill Barnhard on the line, Steve’s father and head honcho of the CuisineTV network. A few words from him and they were packing their bags for Little Switzerland. It was a good thing her clients were so understanding of her having to cancel their pets’ meals for a few days – and on short notice.
Kitty had thumbed through one of the resort’s brochures on the drive down while Fran spelled her at the wheel. The place boasted both an indoor pool and a heated outdoor pool and about a dozen hot tubs – all pet friendly. If the rest of the dogs were anything like her Fred, they’d spend more time drinking the pool and tub water than swimming in it. The resort also included a pet/people obstacle course and play area complete with a pet-friendly jungle gym. Was there anything at this place for actual children to play in or on?
Fran shrugged at Kitty’s comment. She didn’t look too upset by the turn of events. In fact, Kitty could swear she was smirking.
‘What are you going to do, Kitty? Besides,’ said Fran without waiting for an answer, ‘look at this place. It’s adorable. And all expenses paid.’
‘I suppose so.’ And Jack hadn’t given her a hard time at all. He’d been very supportive.
‘Do you realize how close Little Switzerland is to Calabasas?’
‘So?’
‘So?’ exclaimed Fran, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘We might see some movie stars.’ She shook herself. ‘I hear a lot of them hang out in Calabasas to get away from all the paparazzi and drooling fans.’
‘Like you?’
‘Hey.’ Fran planted her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t drool.’
‘You’re hopeless,’ replied Kitty, taking a look around. It had been a long drive and she was exhausted. It wasn’t so much the miles as it was the LA traffic, which she was glad to be out of.
The sprawling resort was tucked up along the low mountains at the edge of the town of Little Switzerland itself and within easy walking distance of the town’s many shops and restaurants. Little Switzerland looked like a replica of an authentic Swiss village – not that Kitty had ever been to Switzerland – but it looked exactly like all the pictures, or at least the Disney version. Kitty figured the tourists must eat it up.
The resort maintained that same Swiss style. The chalet-inspired main building was no exception with its grand V-shaped roof and extended eaves. What set this place apart from the typical hotel resort so far was that there seemed to be as many pets as there were people running around and nobody seemed to mind. A gold-lettered sign on an easel beside the entry to the formal dining room even stated People are welcome, only if accompanied by a pet.
The crowded lobby carried the sound of laughter and barking. There was a humongous two-sided limestone fireplace near the center of the lobby that Kitty estimated she could easily walk through without so much as bending a knee. Comfy sofas and chairs of both people and pet varieties formed a loose circle around it.
They made their way through a small crowd that had formed around the registration booth for the New-Age/New-Pet Festival. Fran wanted to check it out but Kitty said they had enough things to handle on this trip and that the New-Age/New-Pet Festival was not one of them. Kitty and Fran were running solo at the moment, because the minute they had arrived at the spa/resort Fred and Barney had been expertly hustled off by a white-gloved attendant in a red uniform with black buttons and a vintage doorman’s hat. He explained that the pets would be attending a pets-only orientation.
Fran was busy ogling a three-tiered stone fountain with a small herd of bronze-cast deer positioned around it. One fawn dipped its head repeatedly at the base of the fountain as if drinking. A brace of live ducks floated lazily along the surface of the water. Not watching where she was going, Fran crashed into the back of a tall, sandy-haired gentleman in a tweed sport coat and khakis. Even from the rear, he had a noticeably athletic body and the broad shoulders to match.
The man spun around, his blue eyes flashing as if preparing to launch heat-seeking missiles. His face was tan and taut. He’d been tossing a gold object up and down in his hand.
Kitty now saw that it was a ring. He trapped it shut in his palm as it landed. She was reminded of a Venus flytrap. Two tall white poodles with poufy, furry pompoms atop their heads shared a leash at his side. Diamond studded collars adorned their necks. Another man stood to his left. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he growled.
‘Sorry,’ said Fran, holding up her hands. ‘I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.’
He locked eyes with her, his frown turning to a smile so fast Kitty thought somebody somewhere might have remotely flipped his switch.
‘Oh!’ Fran took a
step back.
‘No need to apologize, my dear.’ He slurred his words. His eyes seemed to be taking her all in like a snake sizing up a tender mousy morsel. ‘In fact, now that I’m facing this way, what say we try it again?’ He wriggled an eyebrow and stretched out his arms. A bit of thick gold chain peeked out from his open shirt collar.
He was obviously tipsy, thought Kitty. She sniffed. He reeked of alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot. Kitty also spotted a dark ring below his right eye that appeared to have been covered with makeup. What was that all about?
The man’s companion shrugged after making eye contact with Kitty in a universal gesture that she interpreted as saying, ‘Hey, what can I do? We don’t pick our friends, they pick us.’ Kitty knew the gesture and the sentiment well – after all, she had Fran, didn’t she?
‘Come on, Vic. I think you’ve had enough.’ Vic’s friend was also athletic with similar fine, sandy hair and mischievous blue eyes. A pair of soft leather gloves hung out of the back pocket of his chinos.
Standing over six foot, the man was only a tad shorter than the man named Vic but just as handsome, though in a less cold, more boyish sense. His firm, light-toned face was clean-shaven. The two men could have been brothers. Maybe they were.
‘Nonsense, John.’ He shook off his friend. ‘The young lady and I were just about to get to know each other. Weren’t we?’
‘I know you already, buddy,’ Fran quipped.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, and I’ve squashed bigger cockroaches than you.’
Vic leaned back and howled in laughter. The dogs looked up at him as if uncertain how to take it. ‘I like you, Miss—’
‘Miss kiss my—’
Kitty pulled Fran’s sleeve. ‘Let’s go, Fran. I’m exhausted. I could use a nap before dinner.’
‘Bed is what I have in mind,’ said Vic with a flashy smile. ‘Shall I join you or will you be joining me?’
Kitty couldn’t believe how arrogant this guy was. If his head swelled any bigger all he’d need was a gondola and he could offer hot air balloon rides. They’d better leave before Fran said or did something they’d both regret. She physically hustled Fran away.
‘Call me if you change your mind!’ hollered Vic. ‘Victor Cornwall. Ask for me at the desk!’
More like cornball, thought Kitty.
Fran turned at the bank of elevators and called out, ‘Drop dead, jerk face!’
‘Please,’ said Kitty. ‘Everybody is watching. You’re making a scene.’
‘I don’t care,’ snapped Fran, whipping her hair around and coming within a literal hair’s width of clipping Kitty’s nose.
‘Well, I do.’ Kitty was not big on scenes. Or confrontations, for that matter.
As she allowed Kitty to hustle her into the elevator, Fran said, ‘Boy, for such a handsome guy he’s sure got one heck of an ugly personality. Am I just imagining it,’ she said, theatrically wiping down her arms, ‘or am I covered in green slime?’
Kitty couldn’t suppress a giggle. The man did have a rather snakelike personality. She was about to punch the button to the third floor. ‘Darn.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t have my purse.’
‘What happened to it?’
Kitty frowned. ‘I must have left it at the front desk. I’ll have to go back and get it. You can go on up to our room if you want to.’ She handed Fran a keycard.
‘Nah, that’s OK. I can’t leave you to face that slimeball all by yourself.’ She started in the direction of the lobby. ‘I’ll come with you and run interference if I have to. Heck, I’ll dump him in the fountain with the ducks if need be.’
But there was no sign of Victor or his companion in the lobby. Fran excused herself to run to the ladies’ room while Kitty retrieved her purse.
They were approaching the silver-sheathed elevator doors once more when Kitty spotted something flashy on the carpet. ‘Hey, what’s that?’ She bent down and picked up a heavy gold ring. She rolled it around in her fingers. It looked sort of like a high school or college ring but wasn’t.
‘That looks like the ring Victor the slug was wearing,’ said Fran.
‘Yes, it does.’ Kitty turned the ring around in her fingers. There was a large deep-blue oval gemstone in the center and some writing around the finely scrolled edges.
‘What’s it say?’
‘BKA Championship,’ Kitty replied. ‘And the year.’ She squinted as she inspected the inner band. The name Manchester was etched inside. ‘Eighteen-carat gold.’ This was one valuable ring.
Fran shrugged. ‘Toss it. In the fountain. If it belongs to Victor Cornwall he can jump in after it.’ She made a grab for the ring but Kitty pulled her hand back. ‘I’m hoping he can’t swim.’
Kitty slid the ring over her finger. Definitely too big for a woman and too manly. It did look like the ring Victor Cornwall had been playing with. ‘We should return it to him.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Come on, we’ll ask for his room number at reception.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Fran yelped as she ran after Kitty. ‘I’m telling you – toss it. Throw it in the fountain. Throw it in the trash. Throw it in his face. Better yet, let me do it.’ She yanked Kitty to a halt a step from the front desk. ‘But do not give it back to that dirt bag.’
The receptionist watching them had an uneasy look on her face. Kitty feared the woman had already labeled them as trouble guests.
Kitty took a breath and approached. ‘We found this.’ Kitty held the ring out in the palm of her hand. ‘I believe it belongs to our friend—’
‘Huh!’ Fran snorted from behind.
‘Our friend, Victor Cornwall.’ Why did the name sound familiar the more she said it? ‘But I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his room number.’
The receptionist glanced at the ring. ‘I saw you two talking to your friend earlier.’
Was that a look of mockery on the woman’s face? wondered Kitty. Nonetheless, the woman’s hands ran over the keyboard as her eyes scanned the computer screen. ‘Mr Cornwall is in suite 304.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kitty. That should only be a few doors down from their own room.
‘My pleasure,’ replied the receptionist.
OK, that time Kitty definitely noticed a mocking tone. But she didn’t have time to deal with that. They would return Victor Cornwall’s ring and make nice. Surely he’d be grateful. The ring must hold a lot of sentimental value to him if it was a real championship ring of some sort. And he probably wasn’t such a bad guy after all. They’d just gotten off on the wrong foot.
She’d show Fran. If you simply act nice and are willing to rise to every occasion, you can bring out the best in anyone. Even Victor Cornwall. ‘Come on,’ she said sternly. Kitty edged past a well-stocked housekeeping cart in the hallway and stopped outside suite 304. Their own suite was around the corner. ‘This is it.’ She knocked and waited. ‘Mr Cornwall?’
‘No one’s home,’ Fran said. ‘Let’s go. Leave the ring outside the door if you must but let’s get out of here.’
‘Wait,’ said Kitty. ‘I think I heard something.’ She pressed her ear to the door. ‘I thought I heard a whimper.’ She knocked harder. ‘Mr Cornwall? It’s me, Katherine Karlyle.’
‘He doesn’t know your name.’
‘Oh, right.’ They hadn’t actually been introduced. Kitty tiptoed over to the housekeeping cart. There was a keycard attached to a coiled red rubber key ring hooked over the handle of a feather duster. ‘Bingo,’ she whispered.
‘What are you doing?’
Kitty shushed her and pointed at the open door across the hall. No doubt the housekeeper was inside. Kitty lifted the key ring and slid the keycard over the lock to Vic’s room. There was a satisfactory click as the unseen bolt drew back. Kitty smiled and slowly pushed open the door.
‘Mr Cornwall? It’s Kitty Karlyle.’ Kitty stepped inside and Fran followed. The dimly lit room was expansive and well-appointed, wi
th a small marble tiled foyer. Kitty hoped their own room was this nice. The bathroom was to the left. The door was ajar and the room was empty. At least she didn’t have to worry about catching him in the tub.
Louvered closet doors hung open, revealing several shirts and a couple of jackets on hangars. A brown suitcase sat on the ground in the near corner.
Kitty froze. ‘Did you hear that?’ It was a weird whimpering sound and it was coming from the other side of the wall.
Fran nodded and followed closely behind Kitty as she turned the corner into the bedroom. The shades were pulled tight. A bedside lamp with a buttery-yellow shade was turned on, giving off a soft glow. Victor Cornwall lay atop the king-sized bed, his feet dangling over the edge. The covers were pulled back. Four king-sized pillows leaned against the headboard, two per side. Oddly, one was missing its white-and gold-striped pillowcase.
Vic’s shirt was untucked from his slacks and his shoes were on the floor below his feet. Vic’s massive poodles stood atop the bed hovering near his face. Their combined four eyes followed the women as closely and carefully as they were watching the pair of dogs. Were they vicious or gentle as proverbial poodles? Time would tell. Kitty hoped that time wouldn’t include a trip to the ER to have stitches laced up her calf.
‘Man, you are one freaky dude.’ Fran shook her head.
Vic’s left hand seemed to be clutching at the bed sheets. His right hand was clenched around a very expensive-looking pen. ‘I don’t think he can hear you,’ Kitty whispered.
‘What do you mean?’ Fran crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
‘I mean, I think he’s dead.’ Something definitely did not look right.
Fran leaned in closer, her brow furrowing. ‘Dead?’
Kitty tiptoed as close as she dared. ‘Victor? Mr Cornwall?’ The big dogs shuffled their paws and sniffed in her direction. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel. His belly button was an innie and then Kitty wondered why, at a time like this, she’d even made note of it. Kitty then noticed that his neck was all splotchy and purple. And wet. Kitty inched closer still.