by Marie Celine
Kitty groaned and laid her head back on the pillow. What must Jack be thinking? She knew what she’d be thinking if some woman kept answering the phone every time she called his room.
Ted sat at the edge of Fran’s bed. ‘Feeling better?’
Kitty nodded. ‘I was a little lightheaded. I feel better already.’ Still, it might not hurt, no pun intended, to take one of Dr Peter’s prescribed pain pills. Chloe rested her head against Ted’s knee. Kitty wished Fran would hurry back. What was taking her so long? How long did the woman expect her to be alone in a hotel room entertaining a possible killer? Her eyes drifted to the desk. ‘There was a pad,’ she said. ‘You know, one of those little writing pads that hotels give you, on the desk this morning.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I’d been making some notes.’ She watched him carefully. ‘About Victor Cornwall’s murder. Possible suspects and potential motives.’
Ted smiled. ‘You’re a gourmet pet chef and a detective?’
‘The pad was there when you came in this morning and brought the coffee and pastries. It was missing after you left.’ She noticed he was rubbing his thumb and forefinger against each other nervously. ‘You took it. Why?’
‘Huh?’ He scratched Chloe’s nose, appearing confused, and was silent a moment before speaking. ‘I remember now.’ He shook his head as he smiled and explained. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t realize it contained anything important. I have a terrible short-term memory.’ He laughed, ostensibly at himself. ‘Ask anybody. I remembered I needed to pick up a couple of things in town and didn’t want to forget. I jotted them down on the pad.’
‘Like needing allergy medication?’
He looked surprised. ‘You know about that?’
She knew that she’d heard a sneeze or a cough the night they’d discovered Victor’s body. She knew that could have been the killer hiding out on Victor’s balcony. Kitty had thought it might have been John. He did have a smoker’s cough. But it could just as easily have been Ted Atchison. And it was beginning to look like she was right. Right now, all signs pointed to Ted.
Ted clamped his hands down over his knees. ‘I’ll replace the pad if you like. I didn’t take your pen, too, did I?’
There was that boyish charm of his, but Kitty wasn’t buying it. She glanced at the door. Where the devil was Fran? ‘I also know about Chloe, Ted.’
He visibly paled. Kitty clutched at the blanket and pulled it up to her chest as if it might protect her.
‘You do?’
Kitty nodded slowly. ‘I know you got her the other day from the Little Switzerland Pet Shelter. You haven’t had her as long as you say and you did not adopt her from some place in San Juan Capistrano.’
Ted sighed heavily. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Kitty.’ He rose, towering over her, flexing and unflexing his hands.
Was this it? Had Kitty gone too far? Was she about to be strangled like the late Victor Cornwall?
THIRTY-FOUR
Kitty held her breath as Ted approached her bed. He was so close now that his knees pushed against her mattress. Kitty shot mental emergency signals to Fran. She always claimed to be psychic, so where was she now?
Pools of tears suddenly welled up in Ted’s eyes. What, so now he was Mr Sensitive? What was he about to do, tell her how sorry he was that he was going to have to strangle her to death? Tell her it was her own fault that he was being forced to do it?
Kitty bit her lip. Why oh why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut until Fran got back?
Ted’s hands went up. Kitty held her breath. It might be her last.
Ted leaned forward. A moment later he was convulsing, heartrending, tearful sobs escaping from his downturned mouth while the tears fell from his face leaving dark splotches on the blanket. Kitty watched in stunned silence as Ted fell back onto Fran’s bed, holding himself up with his hands behind for support. She watched as he cried, unsure what was going on. ‘Are you OK?’
Ted wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and sniffled. His eyes were bloodshot and his nostrils inflamed. ‘Kitty, I—’
Fran burst through the door waving the little white bag from the Little Switzerland Market and Pharmacy. She came to an abrupt stop. ‘What’s going on?’ She looked from one to the other. ‘What did you do to Ted?’
Kitty turned her attention to Fran. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘And what took you so long?’
Fran waved the bag. ‘Your pills, remember? You left them in the courtesy van and I’d given the keys back to the valet. I had to track him down and then wait for the van to get back from a trip into town to pick up hotel guests.’ She dropped the bag in Kitty’s lap. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Ted was explaining to me why he lied about how long he’s had Chloe.’
Fran rolled the desk chair over between the beds. ‘Oh, this has got to be good. I want to hear this. Glad I didn’t miss anything.’ She folded her arms, crossed her legs and waited.
Ted sighed heavily and rubbed his nose once more. ‘You’re right,’ he admitted as he scratched Chloe’s side. ‘I only got Chloe a couple of days ago.’ His lips flattened. ‘You see, I lost my old dog, King – my German shepherd – a few weeks ago.’
‘Oh.’ Kitty lowered her eyes. She felt like a heel. ‘What happened?’
Ted shrugged and wiped the newly formed pools from his eyes. ‘Old age. You know how it is.’ He patted Chloe more firmly. ‘These guys, and gals, can’t last forever.’
Kitty nodded in understanding.
‘I still can’t fathom what this has to do with lying about this dog.’ Fran pointed at Chloe who took it as an opportunity to lick her fingers. Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Geez, is there anything or anybody a dog won’t lick?’
‘After King passed away I didn’t know what to do. I’d made reservations to come here with him.’ He looked from woman to woman. ‘I knew he might not live much longer. This was going to be our last trip together. A time for just the two of us.’
Kitty felt tears pooling up in her own eyes and soaked them up with the edge of the blanket. Probably a bazillion bacteria on the thing but what choice did she have?
‘King passed away before we could come.’ Ted was silent a moment. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have but, in the end, I decided to make the trip anyway. In King’s honor.’
Kitty could see that even Fran was beginning to get teary-eyed.
Ted smiled sadly. ‘I guess I also wanted to impress you. I wanted you to think well of me so I made up another dog.’
Kitty nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had lied to impress a woman. Lord knew it wouldn’t be the last.
‘That is so sad,’ Fran said, swiveling idly in the desk chair. ‘Heartbreaking, just heartbreaking. I understand how you feel.’
Kitty looked at Fran. She did? Fran had never had a pet.
‘You know, I was reading only this morning that Victor Cornwall – the great weasel himself – was all broken up about the death of his dog.’
‘You were?’ Kitty asked. ‘What dog was that?’ She’d seen the two poodles and they were definitely alive and kicking the last she’d heard.
‘Yeah,’ explained Fran. ‘There was a whole article on the guy in the Little Switzerland Gazette. A bit too flattering, if you ask me, but there was this section where it talked about how his dog, Manchester, had taken first place at the Boston Kennel Association Show and then died before they could place a ribbon on the poor puppy’s chest.’
Fran wiped at the corner of her eye. ‘I’m no Victor Cornwall fan, as you know, but that got me right here.’ Fran thumped her heart with her fist. ‘Know what I mean?’
Kitty knew. Even a lout like Vic seemed to have a good side. ‘Boston Kennel Association. BKA.’
‘Oh, the ring, right?’ Fran said.
‘Yes,’ said Kitty. No wonder it held special meaning to him. ‘I thought Vic lived in Sedona?’
‘Now,’ answered Fran. ‘I believe the article said he was from Boston.’
Something
niggled in a fuzzy corner of Kitty’s mind. What was it? Henri Moutarde was from Boston. He’d once owned a restaurant there. She had seen the pictures and the magazine cover. Very interesting.
Kitty ripped open the bag from the pharmacy and unscrewed the cap from the bottle. The directions said to take two. She took one and washed it down with water. Too late, she realized that Nickels might have replaced her prescribed medication with some sort of deadly poison. Her eyes widened as she pictured an agonizing death.
‘You OK?’ Fran asked.
‘I was thinking,’ Kitty said. No point worrying Fran. If Nickels had taken the opportunity to poison her, Fran would know soon enough. They both would. Besides, even if he wanted her dead, would he do something that would so obviously point back to himself?
‘You need to stop thinking.’ Fran rose and laid a hand on Kitty’s forehead. ‘You feel clammy.’ A knock sounded at the door and Fran went to answer.
‘I should get going,’ Ted said, rising from the edge of the bed. He called for Chloe to come then stood over Kitty for a moment. He patted her arm through the blanket. ‘I hope you can forgive me, Kitty.’
Kitty said she did. He hadn’t strangled her when he had the chance, so what choice did she have?
Rick Ruggiero strode into the room like he owned it. Of course, he practically did. The manager, in gray trousers and a dark charcoal camel’s hair blazer, nodded to Ted as he departed. He was clutching a tall bouquet of flowers. ‘Why all the long faces? Are you all right, Ms Karlyle?’
Kitty rose and accepted the flowers while assuring him that she was. Kitty read the card. The flowers had come from Alpine 4U. The shop was doing a booming business of late. The natural brown basket was packed with yellow lilies, gerberas, roses, button spray chrysanthemums, carnations and delicate green leaves. Kitty took a sniff.
‘I also have this.’ He extended his other hand. It held a green plastic bag with the resort’s logo on it.
Kitty took the bag and opened it. ‘What’s all this?’
‘Some complimentary lotions and potions from the spa,’ explained Rick.
Fran peered into the bag. ‘Nice.’
‘Ms Dolofino asked me to bring them to you.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She says they are, to use her words, beneficial to the body and the soul.’ He watched as Kitty plucked a bottle called Aromatherapy Magic from the bag and unscrewed the lid. ‘She says the ointments are good for aches and pains.’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know about that. Frankly, I think she’s a little goofy. But she’s great with the pets and the guests love her.’
Kitty hugged the manager and thanked him once again. He said he had to be going and started for the door. ‘Wait a minute,’ called Kitty.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you heard anything new about Mr Cornwall’s murder? Have the police made any progress finding his killer?’ He might know something. He seemed to be chummy-chummy with Chief Mulisch.
He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll catch him.’
‘Did you know Victor Cornwall?’
‘Ever invest in one of his money-making schemes?’ added Fran.
Lines appeared on Rick’s forehead. ‘Never invested. Never even met the man. I was in the military for twenty-seven years. I like to tell folks that I went from an inhospitable business to the hospitality business.’
‘How well do you know John Jameson?’
‘Who?’
‘You know, Victor’s friend. Eliza Cornwall’s ex.’
‘I don’t know him at all. Why do you ask?’
‘He asked Fran out on a date.’ Kitty smiled. ‘I’m trying to get some references.’
Rick laughed. ‘You won’t get them from me. Not to say there’s anything wrong with the guy, but this is a big resort.’ He swung his arms. ‘Lots of people coming and going all the time. I can’t know them all. Goodnight, ladies. I hope you feel better soon, Ms Karlyle.’ He hesitated, his left hand on the door handle. ‘You know, I can’t help feeling that your accident today was all my fault.’
‘Oh?’ She wasn’t about it say it but the thought had crossed her mind. Multiple times.
‘I was the one who suggested you take the Matterhorn.’ He paused. ‘I’m glad you’re OK.’
‘Me, too.’
The manager nodded. ‘You let me know if I can assist you further in any way.’
Kitty and Fran shared raised eyebrows as the door clicked shut behind him. Fran went to retrieve Fred from the doggie daycare while Kitty shuffled back to bed.
What about Rick Ruggiero? Could he be the mastermind of whatever was going on around here? He did run the resort. He appeared to be best buddies with Henri Moutarde, a man with plenty of secrets and a reason for wanting Vic dead. Did Ruggiero have secrets of his own? Might he have wanted Victor Cornwall dead too?
THIRTY-FIVE
Kitty and Fran hit the dining room early. As the doctor had warned her, Kitty had awoken tired and bruised.
And famished.
She wolfed down a stack of buttermilk pancakes smothered in real Vermont maple syrup then attacked what was left of Fran’s blueberry crêpes, which had been coated with powdered sugar. That fall down the mountain had left Kitty in need of a sugar refill. She licked sticky syrup off her upper lip. Chef Moutarde may be a jerk but he knew his way around the kitchen, at least when it came to breakfast. She even made a grab for Fred’s breakfast biscuit – a corn fritter shaped like a foot-long dog bone – but the Lab had growled as her hand hovered over his plate. The nerve of some people, er, dogs.
‘When are you going out with John again?’
‘I’m not,’ said Fran, motioning for a refill on her coffee.
‘You’ve got to.’
Fran put up her hand like a stop sign. ‘No way!’
‘Fran, this is important.’
‘Forget it.’ The waitress refilled her cup. Kitty declined.
‘Calm down. I’m not asking you to get in bed with the guy. Just go out on a date with him today. The earlier the better.’
Fran shook her head. ‘No way, girl. I saw the way he was carrying on with Eliza at the hospital. Why would I want to go out with John again?’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I am so over that man.’
‘Fran, I need to get a look in his room.’
Fran’s eyes drew together. ‘What for?’
Kitty shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice betrayed her exasperation. Everyone was a suspect to her and leads seemed hard to find. ‘Clues, anything. There has to be something that we’re missing. Somebody killed Victor Cornwall and they must have had a good reason to want him dead. You don’t kill a person for nothing.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘Money. Revenge. Sex.’ By her count, John Jameson qualified for all three categories.
Kitty hesitated. ‘Self-defense, I suppose.’ It was possible that whoever had killed him had felt threatened. Maybe Vic had been the attacker and whomever he was attacking had managed to turn the tables on Victor. That was an angle she hadn’t considered yet but was certainly worth considering.
‘You can put me in the revenge category,’ quipped Fran sourly. ‘If I wasn’t a suspect I wouldn’t give a hoot who killed Victor Cornwall.’
Kitty leaned forward. ‘I am trying to help clear you. As I recall, you did ask me, beg me, to help you find Victor Cornwall’s real murderer and keep you out of jail.’
Fran harrumphed and bit into the last bit of cold whole wheat toast after slathering on some strawberry jam. ‘How are you planning on getting in his room, anyway? Steal a housekeeper’s uniform and feather duster?’
‘No, smarty pants. I’ve got it all figured out.’
Fran looked dubious.
Kitty pulled a keycard from her purse and held it up. ‘With this.’
Fran cocked an eyebrow. ‘What is that exactly? I mean, I know it’s a keycard, but whose – John’s?’
Kitty shook her head and looked around to be sure no one could overhear. ‘Everybody’s.’
‘Everybody’s?’
‘Everybody’s.’
Fran leaned in, obviously intrigued. ‘Where did you get it?’
Kitty couldn’t hide her smug satisfaction. ‘Remember last night when the manager came to the room?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘I picked his pocket.’
‘You what?’ Fran said loudly, then lowered her voice, her eyes nervously bouncing around the tables. ‘You stole it? How?’
‘When he hugged me,’ Kitty explained. ‘I’ve noticed that he always keeps his master keycard in the front right pocket of his blazer.’ Kitty made a dipping motion with her hand, wiggling her fingers. ‘It was a cinch.’
Fran grinned. ‘Girl, I am so proud of you.’ She slammed her hand against the table. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Great. The sooner the better. Once Rick’s noticed the card is missing who knows what will happen.’ As manager, he may have some way of neutralizing it or something and then the plastic card would be useless to her.
Filled on coffee and carbs and with a plan of action, they signed for breakfast and left. Passing through the lobby, Kitty caught sight of Eliza Cornwall at the front desk. ‘It looks like she’s checking out.’ Kitty grabbed Fran’s arm. ‘You go on ahead. Try to reach John. I wonder if he’s checking out, too.’ What would she do if all her suspects left town? She couldn’t possibly follow them all.
Fran left with Fred and agreed to check in with her later.
A heap of soft-sided Louis Vuitton bags filled a chrome luggage rack from top to bottom. A valet stood behind Eliza as she conducted her transaction with the hotel clerk. Kitty waited until she’d turned in her keycard, then approached. ‘Mrs Cornwall, Eliza, I see they let you out of the hospital. I’m glad you’re feeling better.’
Eliza placed the back of her wrist against her forehead.
What a ham, thought Kitty.
‘I’m a bit tired but a little rest at home and I should be back to health.’ Eliza waved for the valet to continue.
They followed slowly behind. ‘You’re checking out?’
‘Yes.’
‘But what about your husband? What about the service?’