by Marie Celine
‘Nah. Vic’s really into his dogs now and this whole New-Age thing.’
‘But you’re not?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Did you and Vic come together?’
‘I drove in from Vegas. Vic drove up from Sedona. Like I said, he’s taken a fancy to all things New Age and Sedona is like Mecca to that crowd. Why all the questions?’
‘Sorry. The police questioned Fran and me into the middle of the night. I guess I’m picking up their bad habits.’ She’d been watching his eyes for any signs of deception, not that she knew what she was looking for. The books and movies always made this seem so easy. ‘I’ll bet they questioned you too. Am I right?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You were the last person to see Vic alive. I mean, you two were together in the lobby when we bumped into you. Not long after that, Victor was dead.’
‘He and I split up when the two of you left the lobby. Your friend, Fran,’ he jerked his thumb at the door and smiled, ‘really wound him up. My room’s on the second floor.’ He pressed close. ‘I was tired of his drinking. The guy had been boozing it up, drinking like a proverbial fish all day.’
‘Oh? Was something bothering him?’ There were lots of reasons why people drank. Sometimes they had troubles that they were trying to wash away. Or drown.
‘Nah.’ John waved his hand as if shooing the idea away. ‘The man never knew when to stop, that’s all. At anything.’
‘Maybe that’s what got him killed,’ Kitty suggested.
John shrugged, glancing meaningfully at his watch. ‘I’m off. I’ve just got time for a quick smoke. I’m on the last panel of the afternoon. Our topic is Predicting Your New Pet’s Personality Based on Their Zodiac. You and Fran should come.’
‘I’d love to but I’m afraid we can’t. We have a production meeting.’ Thank goodness for Steve and his stupid schedule, thought Kitty. Thanking Steve – wow, that was another first.
‘That’s what Fran said,’ he replied with a grin. ‘I guess she wasn’t fibbing just to get out of my tedious talk.’
As Vic’s friend disappeared around the corner, Kitty raced into the suite, locking the door behind her. Fran was coming out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a poufy white towel. ‘What was he doing here?’
‘He who?’
‘John Jameson, Vic’s friend from yesterday.’
Fran shrugged and rearranged the damp towel. ‘He came by to see how we were holding up.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘I hadn’t realized how gorgeous he was. And such a sweetheart.’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Kitty. ‘There’s something about him that sets off little alarms in my head.’
‘There’s something about him that sets off a little tingle in my toes,’ quipped Fran. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I’m having dinner with him tonight.’
Funny, Kitty still thought Ted Atchison would have been more her type. Then again, Ted seemed so … mundane. Fran was not mundane.
‘Were you in my suitcase?’ Kitty peered at her open bag. Unlike Fran, she was quite fastidious in her packing and several of her shirts looked out of place.
‘No, why?’
‘Nothing. Were you here in the room the whole time John was?’
‘Of course. What kind of question is that?’
‘Nothing. Sorry.’ She supposed Barney could have jumped on her clothes sometime earlier. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d made a mess of things. When in doubt, blame the cat.
Kitty shook her head. ‘I think I’m letting Vic’s murder get to me, that’s all.’
Fran concurred. ‘Let’s not let our finding a dead body spoil this trip.’
Kitty sighed. That was pretty much what Jack had said. Her gaze wandered to the window. There was still a little light left in the day and they had a few minutes to themselves before the staff production meeting they’d been required to attend. ‘What do you say we take Fred for a walk? Get some fresh air?’
Fran agreed and said to give her a few minutes to get herself together. Kitty pulled the drapes all the way to the far wall. Was that Ted Atchison standing under that poplar with a pair of small birding binoculars dangling from his neck?
A pair of vibrant yellow-chested Western Meadowlarks with distinctive black V-shaped bands sat on a long, gnarly branch above him then flew off to one of the distant roofs as she watched.
Ted turned his head in her direction then marched after them.
THIRTEEN
‘Do you think I should be worried about Jack spending so much time with Nordstrom?’ Kitty was contemplating her features in the dresser mirror as she fine-tuned her makeup.
‘Please,’ replied Fran. ‘Number one, he is not alone with the woman. He’s in a hotel full of cops. Number two,’ she enumerated with her fingers, ‘the man is head over heels. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Not like me,’ Fran added as she examined Kitty’s hair with a makeup artist’s critical eye and made a few minor tweaks. ‘The way that police chief is eying me, I can practically feel those cold steel handcuffs around my wrists already.’
Kitty answered a knock at the door. ‘Greg, what are you doing here?’ She glanced at the time on the bedside table clock. ‘We were just on our way to the meeting.’
Greg pushed through and the show’s crew followed. Kitty suddenly felt claustrophobic as the room seemed to visibly shrink.
‘Not this again.’ Kitty resolutely planted her feet on the carpet.
‘I want to get some spontaneous shots for the show. Get your thoughts on how the day has been going, you know?’
Kitty knew she’d like to give him a spontaneous punch in the nose but surrendered to the inevitable. She forced a smile, faced the camera and remarked what a wonderful time they’d been having at the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa. She even gave a shout-out to the manager, mentioning him by name.
While she spoke, she realized she ought to tell some of her clients back in LA about the resort. Particularly Chevy Czinski, a former star of ape-man movies who now lived in near seclusion with a menagerie of exotic animals. He’d love the place. Maybe he could get a group rate. Not that they were likely to accept lions, giraffes and chimps, even if they were paying guests. Well, maybe chimps. After all, they’d accepted and tolerated Victor Cornwall, hadn’t they?
Ted Atchison stuck his head in the open door. ‘What’s all the commotion?’
‘Hi, Ted. We’re shooting some footage for a little TV show I do.’ She waved toward Greg. ‘This is my director.’
‘A TV show? Cool.’
‘Is there something I can do for you, Ted?’
‘Not unless you’ve changed your mind about having dinner with me?’
Kitty blushed. All eyes were suddenly glued to her. ‘Sorry.’ She held up her left hand. Her ring finger sported a small gold engagement band. ‘Taken. But thank you.’
‘Wait a second,’ said Greg. He tapped his lip a moment and Julie laid a hand on his shoulder. The cameraman kept his camera trained on Kitty. Greg snapped his fingers and said to Julie, ‘We’ve got Kitty scheduled for that dinner and a movie thing with her dog and cat, right?’
Julie nodded.
‘Why don’t you join us, Mister—’
‘Atchison. Ted Atchison,’ he replied.
‘Right. You’re a fan of the show?’
He said yes though Kitty was pretty sure Ted had no idea what show the director was talking about or getting himself into.
‘Great. Doors open at seven. Bring your pet.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll make this a little Q&A session after the movie with Kitty and fans of The Pampered Pet. You could get the ball rolling for us.’ He wrapped an arm over Atchison’s shoulder. ‘Sometimes we get a stiff audience – nobody wants to be the first one to raise a hand and ask the first question, you know?’
Ted nodded, though he seemed unsure of what was happening.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have Julie write up some questions for you. You won’t
have to do a thing but memorize a few lines. Try to make them sound unscripted, OK?’
Ted was escorted out the door by Lucy the gofer, looking befuddled and pretty much like a hit-and-run victim.
‘That was evil,’ said Kitty, shaking her head in judgment at the director.
‘Nonsense,’ said Greg. ‘All’s fair in love and TV.’
The placard outside the resort theater room announced that the movie for the evening would be Hotel For Dogs. A little cliché but not surprising. Nothing about the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa surprised her now – not their quirky programs for pets, not their staff with their tranquilizer guns, and no, not even the murder of one of their guests. So why should their choice in movies be any different?
The first person she spotted was the elegantly dressed Eliza Cornwall in the company of Vic’s champion poodles. They occupied a semi-detached booth near the door. The theater was posh by any standard and laid out in two sections bisected by the main aisle. Low slung, burgundy-colored leather, half-moon-shaped booths faced the screen. There were plush lambswool-topped pet cushions where tables might otherwise have been.
A red popcorn trolley spitting fresh hot kernels reminded Kitty that the holidays were just around the corner and that she really needed to start exercising more and munching less. Easier said than done but she did manage to make it past the popcorn machine without grabbing a bagful, so two points for her.
Maybe she and Fred could go for a hike while here. There ought to be some great trails in the region. She’d ask the concierge about that when she had some free time. And no matter what Greg or Steve and their schedule said to the contrary, she was going to have some free time.
While Kitty had thought the grieving Widow Cornwall might have preferred spending a quiet night alone with her sorrow, she had to give the woman credit for at least having selected a sleek black outfit with pearls – she appeared to be paying some respect to the recent passing of her husband.
There was no sign of Vic’s friend, John Jameson, but then he was supposed to be on a date with Fran right about now.
Kitty smiled in Eliza’s direction and received a stiff half-smile in return as the woman whispered into her cell phone. Ted Atchison sat off toward the corner with a long-haired mutt stretched out on the cushion. He waved and she waved back as she made her way toward the front where Steve, Greg and the rest of The Pampered Pet crew were waiting for her.
Everyone but Fran, that is. While Kitty had begged Fran to come, Fran had refused, saying that her date with John Jameson took precedence. Kitty called her a traitor. Fran said a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.
Dr Newhart sat with the group from the show, one hand resting on the bony ribs of a slender greyhound who looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in, well, forever. Maybe Kitty would whip something up for her after the film – a nice juicy steak with all the fat.
‘Where’s Fran?’ Steve said, arms folded across his chest. There was no sign of the Corgis.
‘She couldn’t make it. Where are your dogs?’
‘Roger will be along in a minute.’ He stuck his fingers in Kitty’s hair then put a finger to her cheek and twisted her head around.
‘Hey,’ protested Kitty. ‘Cut that out!’
‘I suppose your hair and makeup will have to do.’ He looked around the theater. ‘The lights will be low, anyway.’
Kitty fumed.
Greg intervened before she could blow her top. ‘Come on, you can have a seat at this booth with Fred and Barney. I’ll be at the booth across the aisle with the crew. We’ll shoot from there.’ Dr Newhart scooched over to make room.
‘We’ve arranged an after-movie Q&A like I said we would.’
Kitty grumbled a few words and sat. At the very least, nobody could bother her during the movie. She expected Fred and Barney would sleep through the whole thing. Maybe she’d join them.
But a third of the way into the movie, she had a better idea.
FOURTEEN
Barney was snoozing against Fred’s tummy. Fred’s eyes were shut as well and the movie wasn’t half over. Kitty bent low and tiptoed across the aisle. ‘Ladies’ room,’ she whispered to Greg while Steve glared at her with his usual mask of annoyance.
Leaving the theater, Kitty approached the front desk and asked if Howie Patterson was on duty.
‘Sorry, he’s off for the day.’ The man behind the desk was tall, with long, dark sideburns that looked like pylons propping up his head.
Kitty’s shoulders slumped. ‘That’s too bad.’ She desperately wanted a look in Victor Cornwall’s suite and had been counting on the security guard’s cooperation to do that. Now what?
‘Sorry, miss,’ the clerk replied, clearly noting the disappointment on her face. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘No.’ Kitty turned to leave.
‘You might find him in his room.’
Kitty turned back around. ‘He lives nearby?’
‘Right here at the resort,’ replied the desk clerk. ‘Like a lot of us. Building G toward the southeast corner of the property. That’s where a number of the staff live during season.’ He explained that the resort employed a lot of temporary staff and that rents were too high in town so the resort put them up on the premises.
‘Oh, thank you,’ Kitty cried as she hurried off.
‘Room 212!’
‘You don’t know how much this means to me,’ Kitty said, laying a hand on Howie’s arm as he slid his master keycard across the lock to Vic’s suite.
‘You don’t know how much this means to me if we get caught,’ Howie grumbled nervously.
‘We won’t,’ Kitty assured him, though she scanned the hall in both directions for the umpteenth time. The coast was clear.
‘I still don’t get why you’re poking your nose around in this.’
‘I told you, Chief Mulisch thinks my best friend may have had something to do with Mr Cornwall’s murder. Besides, Fran and I found the body.’ That made her feel invested in finding out who had done the deadly deed. ‘I’m curious, aren’t you?’
Howie rolled his shoulders. ‘Not especially.’
Kitty nodded. Howie did not seem like the curious type.
She’d found Howie alone in his room, watching a regional football game on TV and chowing down on a chain-store frozen pizza that he’d nuked in the room’s tiny microwave. He was out of uniform for once, in worn blue jeans and a floppy grey NASCAR sweatshirt with a shot of Jimmie Johnson’s Number 48 Chevrolet SS on the front. He’d taken a little convincing, a little cajoling and a little damsel in distressing but he’d finally agreed to let her into Victor Cornwall’s room.
He pushed open the door. ‘I’ll stay out here and keep an eye out.’
Kitty nodded and, after a moment’s hesitation – the last time she’d been in this room there had been a dead body on the bed – entered. Her hand fumbled with the light switch. The room was laid out just like hers and she found it quickly.
The dogs’ lavish beds were gone but Vic’s clothes and suitcase were still there. Funny. Kitty figured the police would have confiscated everything.
The checkbook she’d seen on the desk had gone, though. The police must have taken it – either they thought it was evidence or they considered it too valuable to leave lying around in an empty room. Victor Cornwall seemed to have been wealthy despite his lawyer fees, conviction and fines. Someone might be tempted to write him or herself a fat check.
She spent a good ten minutes scouring Vic’s room from top to bottom, looking in drawers, under the bed and mattress. She even poked her head behind the dresser.
Nothing.
She’d come up empty-handed.
Howie was waiting for her outside, an expectant look on his face as she stepped back out. ‘Anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it. I was sure there must be some clue as to who killed Mr Cornwall.’
‘If there was, I bet the police already found it.’
�
�He had a ballpoint pen in his hand when we found him.’
‘Maybe he was trying to stab whoever it was that was trying to kill him.’
Kitty bit her lip. The security guard could be right.
‘Or draft a quick will,’ he chuckled.
Howie cracked open the door and took a peek inside Vic’s room. ‘It looks just like it did when the police finished with it.’ He closed the door and then jiggled the knob, making certain it was locked. ‘Can’t be too careful. Some of these doors don’t close all the way automatically. You’ve got to give them a little pull.’
‘Thanks again for doing this for me, Howie.’ Even though it had been a wild goose chase. She’d better get back to the movie before it was over, if it wasn’t too late already.
‘Sure, guess I might as well patrol the grounds while I’m out. We’ve had a couple of cars broken into. The manager’s been hounding me to keep a better lookout.’
Kitty said she hoped her own car would be safe. But then, who’d want to break into an old Volvo estate wagon that already looked like it had been broken into more than once?
She described her vehicle to the security guard and he promised he’d keep an extra eye on it. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I was you,’ he said. ‘No offense but it’s mostly high-end stuff. Luxury cars, you know?’ Apparently he’d seen Kitty’s tired old Volvo. ‘In fact, somebody broke into Mr Cornwall’s Jag this morning.’
‘What?’
‘Yep, smashed one of the passenger-side windows right in.’
‘The police hadn’t impounded it?’
‘They have now. They towed it over to the city lot.’
‘Was anything taken?’
‘Who knows?’
Who knew, indeed? Kitty had lots to think about. She started on her way back to the resort’s theater but didn’t make it far. Rounding the bend to the corridor that led to her own suite, she spied what clearly looked like the back of Rick Ruggiero’s head turning the far corner and quickly disappearing. She noticed that the door to her and Fran’s room was ajar.
Her heart jumped into her throat.