by Marie Celine
‘Victor’s remains will be shipped back to Sedona once the police release them.’
‘What about the police? Are you sure you should be leaving?’ Kitty stepped in front of Eliza, blocking her way. ‘They may have more questions for you.’
Eliza shrugged. ‘If they want me, they know where to find me.’ She laid a hand on Kitty’s shoulder and nudged her aside. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
Kitty had no choice but to let her go. She double-timed it back to the dining room where she’d seen Deputy Mulisch, the chief’s son, sitting alone at one of the tables. She stopped in front of him and he lowered his coffee mug and his newspaper. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Um.’ Kitty wondered what she should say. ‘I thought you might want to know that Eliza Cornwall, Victor’s widow, is checking out of the resort. I believe she’s going home.’
Deputy Mulisch wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘Well, woop-dee-doo.’ A waiter breezed by and set an omelet with home fries and a small bowl of fruit in front of him. The deputy asked for a bottle of ketchup.
‘Aren’t you going to stop her?’
‘Why would I do that? I’m trying to eat my breakfast.’
‘She could be the killer.’
‘You know something I don’t?’
Kitty figured she knew a lot of things he didn’t but wasn’t sure how to say so without getting cuffs slapped over her wrists. ‘What about Jerry Lee Nickels?’
‘What about him?’ He scratched his nose.
‘Is he a suspect?’
Deputy Mulisch’s eyes darkened. ‘Jerry is an officer of the court, Ms Karlyle.’ He snapped his white linen napkin then settled it on his lap. ‘You’d best be careful what you say. I don’t like what you’re implying.’
‘I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I’m simply pointing out that since he lost money following one of Victor Cornwall’s schemes, Deputy Nickels might have a good reason to want him dead.’
‘Ms Karlyle, we’ve got plenty of motives for people wanting the victim dead, but,’ he said, his eyes boring into her, ‘we’ve only got one woman who was in the right place at the right time,’ he drawled, ‘to do the deed.’
‘Wrong,’ countered Kitty. ‘Fran was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I’m going to prove it.’
‘Stay out of police business, Ms Karlyle. Not only is it against the law, it could get you hurt.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Is that a threat? There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to help my friend.’
‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘there’s nothing wrong with that at all.’ He pointed his butter knife at her nose. ‘But somebody doesn’t like it. And I think them pushing you off a mountain is their way of letting you know.’ He dropped the knife and snatched up his fork. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, my breakfast is getting cold.’ He turned his attention to his omelet.
Kitty spun on her heels. She’d gotten all she could from the deputy. Should she call Chief Mulisch? Would the father be any more helpful? Probably not. Apparently, she was the only one who was really interested in solving Victor Cornwall’s murder.
‘Wait a minute!’
Kitty smiled and turned around. The deputy had obviously changed his mind. ‘Yes?’
‘If you must know, Miss Nosey,’ he said rather snidely, ‘Chief mentioned that Mrs Cornwall is going to be staying with friends up in Santa Barbara for a couple of days. Said the hotel was giving her bad memories.’
‘Santa Barbara? Why, that’s where—’
He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Where what?’
No point telling him that she knew about the speeding ticket. He’d probably accuse her of interfering again. Kitty flung her arms out with a laugh. ‘That’s where she’s going. Well,’ she threw him a wave, ‘see ya.’ Kitty made a beeline for the kitchen. She’d spotted Chef Moutarde through the swinging doors and wanted to have a quick word with him.
In front of witnesses. That way he couldn’t kill her.
As she passed through from the dining room into the kitchen, she stopped suddenly. What about the dogs? Where were Mercedes and Benz? Had Eliza left without them?
A waiter crashed into her back, sending a tray laden with dirty dishes and silverware bouncing off the floor. ‘Excuse me.’ Kitty bent to help pick up the mess she’d created. ‘I am so sorry.’ She wiped her hands on an apron lying atop one of the prep tables and pressed on. A search for the chef, including his office, turned up nothing. One of the sous chefs told her she could find him outside the delivery doors catching a smoke.
She hoped he wasn’t alone. Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. It was Fran. ‘Hello?’
Fran let her know that she had arranged, much against her better judgment, a rendezvous with John in an hour. ‘And an hour’s all I’m giving you!’ Fran yelled into the phone before disconnecting.
Perfect. She patted her front pocket. A few questions for the bon chef and she’d have plenty of time to get to John’s room and search it.
Interesting that Eliza Cornwall had checked out and yet John had remained behind.
Interesting too that John Jameson apparently had no qualms about going out with Fran when he appeared to want to get back with Eliza. Kitty had half-expected Fran to fail. Was he OK with two-timing his ex-wife?
What could it all mean?
THIRTY-SIX
Chef Moutarde tossed down his cigarette and ground the butt under his heel, leaving a gray smudge on the sidewalk. ‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’
Kitty put one hand over her forehead to shield her eyes from the piercing yellow morning sun. ‘I wanted to have a word with you, Henri.’
He didn’t look at all interested. ‘About what?’
‘I heard you had a very successful restaurant in Boston.’
‘So?’ He pulled out a pack of Camels, tapped the side of the pack and withdrew another cigarette.
Kitty watched him light up. ‘So, it must have made you angry when you lost your business – all because of Victor Cornwall.’
Moutarde glared at her frostily. He sucked on the cigarette, creating a bright orange mini-sun, then exhaled. Kitty held her nose. Hadn’t this guy heard of the ill effects of secondhand smoke?
She waved a hand in front of her face and turned sidewise to get out of the direct light of the sun. Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. ‘Now you’re here at the resort working for someone else. No longer your own boss. That’s got to hurt.’
The chef mashed the cigarette in his fingers. ‘Not at all. I quite enjoy my position. I must go now.’ He pushed past Kitty and whipped open the door. He paused at the threshold, propping the door open with his left shoulder. Cool air spilled out invitingly. ‘If you are thinking that I might have killed Victor Cornwall, think again, mademoiselle.’
He smirked and adjusted the top button of his chef’s jacket. ‘I’m betting it was his friend, Mr Jameson.’ He paused as if to let his words sink into Kitty’s skull. ‘Or his widow. Or both.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I’ve seen the way the two of them carry on.’
Kitty raised an eyebrow. ‘Carry on?’ Sort of like she had seen at the hospital?
‘What you Americans call monkey business.’
Yep, that’s what he meant.
‘They had dinner together here after the murder. They seemed quite cozy.’ The chef sneered. ‘Perhaps they are in cahoots, no?’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
He shrugged. ‘Why would I do this? Victor Cornwall is dead. Even if I was certain who did this thing, I would not turn them in.’ He pulled away from the door. ‘I’d pin a medal on them.’ The door fell shut behind him.
Kitty looked at her watch. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get to John Jameson’s room in time to give it a thorough search. She took the elevator up to the second floor. A maid stood up in the hall beside her cart. Fran had given Kitty John’s room number and she watched the numbers on the doors as she slow
ly made her way up the hall.
The room she wanted was right beside the cleaning cart. That figured. Acting as casual as possible, Kitty pulled out the keycard, smiled at the housekeeper and swiped the card in the lock. The light turned green and Kitty smothered a sigh of relief.
‘Have a nice day,’ said the young woman, snatching up a stack of fresh towels and heading into the room next door.
‘You too,’ said Kitty as she grabbed the handle and pushed open the door. ‘Hello?’ She let the door close silently behind her. There was no answer. Kitty glanced in the bathroom. Empty. Only a couple of dirty towels on the floor and a lingering aroma of cologne.
Jameson’s bed was unmade. A cursory look at his suitcases told her that they were empty. All his clothes had been put away in drawers. She opened each one and riffled through his things, careful not to leave any trace of her having been there.
It didn’t appear that he was leaving any time soon.
Too late, she realized that she should have brought gloves, like a pair of those disposal ones they used in the kitchen. Kitty figured she was going to have to make a checklist of all the things she was going to need if she was going to keep snooping around like this. Maybe she should order up a lock-picking kit as well.
She discovered an open pack of cigarettes and a pack of Nicorette in the night-table drawer. A small disposable lighter lay between them. She thought back to the night of the murder. That noise she’d heard on the balcony. It could have been John coughing.
He was a likely suspect. As far as she knew, no one had seen him go to his room like he claimed he had. She wondered if the police considered him as strong a suspect as she did. Jameson and Victor could have gone back to Victor’s room together, struggled and Jameson had killed him. They were equally matched in size and muscle but Victor had been drunk and his friend could probably have easily overpowered him. Then she and Fran had come in and John had had no choice but to go out through the balcony.
Kitty was deep in thought, one hand clutching John’s cigarette lighter, as she ran through all the permutations of Victor Cornwall’s murder. She didn’t hear the suite’s door open.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Eliza!’ Kitty dropped the lighter. ‘I-I was—’
‘Snooping,’ she shouted angrily, her face turning purple with outrage. ‘That’s what you’re doing.’
‘No, I—’ Kitty couldn’t think fast enough.
‘I’m calling security.’ She dug into her bag and pulled out her cell phone.
‘No, wait.’
Eliza glared at her.
‘Fine, I was snooping.’ Kitty hoped a little truth would earn her some time. And sympathy. ‘I’m trying to figure out who killed your husband.’
‘What business is it of yours?’ demanded the widow. She held the cell phone out like a threat.
‘Because my friend is one of Chief Mulisch’s main suspects and I’m trying to clear her name.’
Eliza said nothing for a moment. She slid her phone back in her purse and laughed. ‘And you think John did it?’ She laughed once more. ‘That’s delicious.’ She shook her head. ‘John wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Yeah, but would he hurt his ex-business partner and the man who stole his wife from him? Kitty said, ‘Are you sure?’
Eliza pulled a face. ‘I ought to be. I’ve known the man since college.’
‘People change,’ said Kitty.
Eliza sighed. ‘Not John. He’ll never change.’
What did that mean? ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in?’
Eliza crossed to the window and looked out. ‘John and I had some unfinished business.’ She spun to face Kitty. ‘Business that’s none of your business.’
Kitty gulped. What was this unfinished business? Eliza’s face had turned to stone. Had Eliza murdered her husband? Who knew what kind of twisted relationship she and Victor had had? She could have been furious at him for any number of reasons: brutish behavior, money, adultery – Victor had more flaws than a cheap diamond.
Eliza stepped toward her. ‘Do you know where I can find John?’
Kitty shook her head no.
Eliza frowned and bit her lip. ‘Fine, I’ll find him myself.’ She high-heeled it to the door, then turned around. ‘Whatever it is you’re looking for, Ms Karlyle—’
‘Yes?’
Eliza Cornwall smiled supremely, confidently. ‘You aren’t going to find it.’
Kitty trembled as the door closed. She’d been pretty sure Eliza had been about to attack. While Eliza looked harmless enough – for a barracuda – if she had strangled her husband she could probably do the same thing to Kitty with no trouble at all.
Kitty put her hands on the table beside the sliding glass door for support and gazed out the window. It was a beautiful day, so why did everything seem so ugly and complicated?
About to turn around and leave, defeated once again, she noticed Ted Atchison in the distance. He was alone and moving furtively from tree to tree along one of the many trails that snaked along the perimeter of the resort’s property.
She pressed her nose against the glass. What was that man up to now?
Kitty held her breath, listening to the sound of her own heart beating. Her eyes traced the path as it slid in and out of the trees and up toward the first low hills. Several resort properties dotted the landscape.
The pool area was sparsely occupied. A man in white shorts and a pink tank top was skimming leaves from the surface of the turquoise water with a long-poled net. Howie was shuffling near the edge of the property, hands in his pockets – a one-man crime-stopper. A man and woman were pushing red rental bicycles along the paved section of the path.
Kitty swiveled her head to the left and spotted a woman walking two dogs further up. The woman looked familiar. Come to think of it, so did the dogs. Kitty squinted, wishing she’d had a pair of binoculars like the ones she’d seen Ted with the other day. The woman looked like Lina. The dogs looked like Mercedes and Benz. Apparently Eliza had given the dogs to Lina after all. Kitty smiled. Good for Lina. Better for the dogs.
Unbelievably generous for Eliza.
Once again, Kitty turned to leave, then froze. Suddenly, the scene before her came together. None of it made sense, but she had to be right. Ted Atchison was following Lina. When Lina moved, he moved. When she and the dogs stopped, he stopped.
Why was he stalking her?
Kitty’s heart revved into second gear. This could only mean one thing. Ted Atchison, the man of many lies, had murdered Victor Cornwall. She didn’t know why but she was certain she had found Victor’s killer. Kitty’s heart revved into third gear. Poor Lina must have seen something – something incriminating that could lead to Ted’s arrest for the murder of Victor Cornwall.
Why hadn’t Lina told the police? Was she afraid? Was she blackmailing Atchison?
Could it be that she didn’t realize what she had seen?
Kitty’s blood turned cold. She watched as Lina moved on. Ted, stooping low, jumping from tree to tree, followed at a distance. But the killer realized what Lina had seen even if she didn’t. And he was after her now – to prevent her from talking!
Ted was probably waiting until Lina got far enough away from the resort before attacking. There’d be no witnesses to whatever he had planned for her. Out in the woods he could make it look like an accident and no one would be any the wiser.
Kitty shuddered. That was exactly what he had done when he’d shoved her down the mountainside. She darted from the room and down the hall. She had to reach Lina before it was too late.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Kitty flew through the resort mindless of the confused and bemused stares that followed her. She surged out the revolving door, paused long enough to get her sense of direction then charged up the walk to her left. Her muscles and bones ached but she didn’t have time to worry about that now – she had to warn Lina.
The valet scratched his head and asked her if she needed any hel
p, but she barely paid him any notice. ‘Can’t talk. Get help!’ she panted without breaking pace.
The valet scratched his temple and shrugged, turning back to his mate.
By the time Kitty reached the edge of the property where the furthest rooms and bungalows were located she was panting like a lead sled dog at the end of the Iditarod. It hadn’t seemed like much of an incline but running up it at full speed had left her breathless and seeing stars.
She paused at a fork in the road. To the left, the pathway was paved and led back around to the employees’ quarters and tennis facilities. The path to the right was unpaved. While this wasn’t the way she’d come the other day, this had to lead to the trails.
Kitty pushed on, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand as she twisted first left, then right. She was tempted to call out to warn Lina but that would only give Ted warning, too. She didn’t want that to happen. Who knew what that might precipitate?
He could strike sooner.
Mercedes and Benz might come to Lina’s aid but it was doubtful. The dogs had been useless when their master was killed so what use might they be to Lina if Ted attacked?
Probably none.
A large wooden sign popped into Kitty’s vision as she rounded a bend in the path. Like the one she’d seen the other day, it gave the names of the three nearest trails, each mapped out in different colored squiggles. Kitty glanced up at the glow of the sun, half-hidden behind tall gray clouds. If she had her directions straight, Lina and Ted were following the Wendenhorn Trail. That was the one that wrapped around the lake like a necklace.
Kitty leaned over, hands over her knees as she raked in breath after breath. Hadn’t Rick said that the Wendenhorn was the easiest of the three? Thank goodness for that. Kitty forced herself to run on, telling her brain to ignore the pain that fought for her attention, willing her to stop and rest.
The trail broadened. The lake stood before her. Its deep blue water glistened, alive with the motion of the light waves that the wind running over its surface kicked up. Under other circumstances, this would have been a beautiful site. Someplace to sit and have a quiet picnic with Jack and the dogs.