Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. “I got the impression she didn’t think much of him. If she decides to accuse him of blackmail, or if he tries to extort more money from her . . . I don’t know. I’m afraid she might be in danger.”

  Farrah and I pushed our poles into the ground and picked up the pace. Soon, the trail sloped upward, and I started to sweat from the exertion. I unzipped my coat and removed my hat, which I stuck in my pocket. At last, we reached the top of the bluff and breathed a little easier. As we glided along the rim of the bluff, I looked down and recognized where we were.

  “Check it out,” I said, pointing to the split-rail fence and sprawling, manicured property below. “It’s Dogwood Ranch.”

  Farrah paused and held her hand over her eyes like a visor. “Oh, yeah. Edgar’s ranch. You and I have been there before, remember? We followed one of Edgar’s security guards and wound up hiding behind Edgar’s barn.”

  “How could I forget? We were chased by a Doberman and got lost in the forest!”

  Farrah laughed. “And here we are tailing another suspect. I hope this time turns out better than the last time.”

  We fell silent and continued along the path, which became woodsy once again. After a few minutes, I slowed down and stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Farrah asked, coming up behind me.

  I pointed at the ground. The tracks had veered off the trail and into an opening in the trees.

  Farrah gave me a questioning look, and I beckoned her to follow. There was no need for discussion. We both felt we were getting closer and knew we should proceed quietly.

  The terrain became rockier as it sloped upward again. It was becoming more difficult to see the ski tracks on the uneven ground. All of a sudden, the tracks disappeared.

  Farrah and I halted and looked around. Then I saw something that made my skin prickle. Only one set of ski tracks emerged from the trees. It continued on ahead to pick up the path beyond.

  Farrah saw it, too. “Maybe it’s not what it looks like,” she whispered. “The person in the rear could have followed in the leader’s tracks.”

  “Not up here,” I said. “The ground isn’t flat. You’d be able to tell if two skiers had come out, even if one was following the other.”

  “Crap,” said Farrah.

  We picked our way carefully through the brush, then stopped short. We had come upon a steep drop-off. At the edge, the snow was a muddle of tracks and snow. My legs shook, as I peered over the cliff.

  “Oh, God,” I said.

  “Is it Allison?” asked Farrah. She held back, her eyes wide as saucers.

  I took another peek. It had to be at least one hundred feet to the ground below. “Hello?” I called. “Are you okay?” I already knew the answer, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  I shook my head, as I looked back at Farrah.

  “Is she dead?” Farrah whispered.

  “Not she,” I said. “He. It’s Lonnie Treat. And I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

  Chapter 26

  The common room at Stag Creek Lodge was a lot less cheerful than it had been the evening before. Guests sat quietly waiting for their turn to be questioned by the police. As soon as they were given permission to leave, they checked out faster than Old St. Nick’s supersonic sleigh. Farrah and I had given our statements first, but we hung around waiting to see what would happen next. So far, no one had come forward to admit being with Lonnie when he’d fallen over the cliff.

  I sat in a chair with a view of the front desk and the door to the office where the interrogations were taking place. I felt sorry for all the police officers and rescue workers who had to spend their Christmas morning following up on a dead body. Detective Rhinehardt was one of the first on the scene after we’d called 9-1-1. We’d had to wait until we were back in sight of the inn to make the call, since there was no phone signal in the wilderness.

  Farrah and I had sped back the way we had come. My muscles still burned from the effort. For half a second, we had considered following the lone tracks that led away from the cliff ’s edge, but we quickly decided against it. Neither of us had any desire to face a killer.

  When Allison came out of the back office, I hopped up and went after her. I had told Rhinehardt that I didn’t get a good look at the person with Lonnie, other than that they were wearing a black coat and ski goggles. However, I did mention that I thought the second person might be Allison. Since the cops had let her go, I assumed she hadn’t offered up any stunning admissions of guilt.

  “Allison!” I called. “Wait up.”

  She stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the private rooms. She narrowed her eyes when she saw me. “Why on earth would you tell the police you thought I went off skiing with Lonnie Treat?”

  “Er, can we talk for a minute? Please?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s go to the dining room.”

  Farrah joined us, and we all three slipped into the quiet, empty restaurant. We sat at a table in the back. I got right to the point.

  “Was Lonnie blackmailing you?” I asked.

  “What are you talking about? Is this a joke?” Either she was a terrific actress, or she really knew nothing about the blackmail letters.

  “You didn’t receive any threatening letters demanding that you leave money at Ryker’s Pond?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “That’s crazy.”

  I glanced at Farrah and she nodded, encouraging me to continue.

  “Allison, I have reason to believe that Edgar’s death— and possibly Lonnie’s death, too—have some connection to the Cornerstone deal.”

  The color drained from Allison’s face, as she slumped back in her chair. “How can you possibly know that?” she asked, in a small voice.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said. “What matters is figuring out who is responsible. Please be candid with me. Was there something illicit about Cornerstone? Something Edgar might not want revealed?”

  Allison looked down at the table, then nodded her head. “I only found out about this last month,” she said. “I was looking for account books for Zeke’s database project, and we discovered one was missing. I raised it with Edgar, and he told me not to worry about it.”

  “Didn’t that seem odd?” asked Farrah. “That would raise a red flag for me.”

  “I didn’t think too much about it at first. But then, when I was pulling records for the compliance audit last week, I realized the significance of the missing ledger. I did some further searching and discovered something about the financing of Cornerstone. The primary funding source, the one that went belly up—”

  “American Castle Fund?” I interjected.

  “That’s the one. As it turns out, Edgar had formed that fund.”

  “Edgar did?”

  “Yes—a fact which he hid from all the buyers. The fund was no tried-and-true investment company, as Edgar led people to believe. It was something he had created. I guess he wanted to try something new. He thought he could pick some good stocks and make a go of this new venture, but he blew it. It was reckless and irresponsible, and possibly even fraudulent. At the very least, it was unethical. All those people trusted Edgar with their money, and he squandered it. I was livid when I found out.”

  “Did you confront him about it?” I asked.

  “I did,” she said. “That phone call you overheard the evening of the false alarm . . . that was Edgar on the other end of the line. He didn’t deny that he had started up American Castle Fund. In fact, he didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong. He said it wasn’t his fault the real estate market crashed.”

  “You were still upset with him at the ball, weren’t you?”

  “Was it that obvious? I tried to rein in my feelings. I still cared about Edgar and supported his campaign. I just wanted him to make things right. He should have found a way to compensate the buyers who lost their down payments.”

  “Like Lonnie,” I said.

  “Yes. Like Lon
nie.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table as I considered Allison’s confession. I believed her. Everything she said added up. The problem was, we were still no closer to figuring out who the murderer was. I glanced out the window and saw Mick head for the parking lot. Seeing him reminded me of an important clue.

  “Allison, as you might’ve heard, a witness overheard Edgar arguing with someone in the hotel the night he died. The witness thought he heard Edgar say something like ‘You were never my partner.’”

  “Really?” Allison frowned. “I didn’t hear that part.”

  “Well, that part wasn’t on the news. I spoke to the witness myself. Anyway, I was just thinking . . . if Lonnie wasn’t the one who thought he was Edgar’s partner, and you weren’t the one . . . then who? Who else might have thought he was Edgar’s partner?”

  Allison shook her head. “Only one person comes to mind. Tucker Brinkley.”

  “No way,” Farrah said immediately.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked Allison. “Just because they were partners in the past?”

  “Well, yes. But also because you said Cornerstone was the key. Tucker was an early investor in Cornerstone.”

  “Oh. I suppose an investor isn’t exactly the same thing as a partner. And, unlike Lonnie, Tucker wouldn’t likely confuse the two. Anyway, Tucker has an alibi for the night Edgar died. He was with Farrah all night.”

  “Well, not all night,” said Farrah.

  I turned to face her. “What do you mean? You said he spent the night with you.”

  “No, I didn’t. What gave you that idea?”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to remember. “You said he went home with you, right? After you all went out to the nightclub and then walked back to the hotel to get his truck?”

  “He took me home, but he didn’t stay. I told you he was a gentleman, remember? He kissed me good night, and didn’t even come inside.”

  “Huh.”

  We were all silent, as the implication sank in.

  “Wait a minute,” said Farrah. “So what if he had the opportunity? He had no motive. There is no way Tucker would commit murder over the mayoral election. He doesn’t even want the job anymore. He has a very successful business right here.” She waved her arm in the air.

  I slowly nodded. What Farrah said made sense. Besides, from everything else we knew, Edgar had planned to meet up with the blackmailer that night at the hotel. I was certain Lonnie was the blackmailer. Something didn’t add up.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said. “Last night I was so sure Lonnie was our culprit.”

  “Who’s to say he’s not?” asked Allison. “His fall could have been an accident. It happens all the time. People are careless. They don’t realize how close they are to the edge.”

  An accident. Hearing the word was like a bad case of déjà vu. Everyone had thought it was an accident after Edgar was found dead. The police report had said it was an accident that night Wes and I ended up in the ditch.

  Thinking of the ditch reminded me of Crenshaw. Suddenly, I brightened. “Maybe we won’t have to be in the dark much longer. Crenshaw said he had some information for me. Hopefully, he can fill in the blanks.” I pulled my phone from my pocket to check it for the zillionth time. “Come to think of it, I’m kind of surprised I haven’t heard from him yet.”

  Farrah sucked in air, as a look of worry crossed her face. I patted her hand. “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said. “He probably got a ride back to Edindale as soon as the road was cleared. He’s probably having a hearty—”

  “Keli!” Farrah clutched my arm so tightly I winced.

  “Ouch! What’s wrong?”

  “Listen. If there’s the slightest chance Tucker is the one . . . then Crenshaw might be in danger.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  Farrah’s eyes darted from Allison to me. “Last night, I told Tucker about Crenshaw’s call to you. I told him Crenshaw thought he knew who the killer was, and that it was someone at the lodge.”

  “Oh, no,” I said.

  “I thought he should know. I had no idea he might be . . .” she trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and dialed Crenshaw’s number. There was no answer.

  “Where is Tucker, anyway?” asked Allison. “I haven’t seen him all morning.”

  “I haven’t either,” I said. “But I overheard Rhinehardt on the phone with him. So, he’s aware of what happened. He must be around here somewhere.”

  “I should go find him,” said Farrah, as she pushed back from the table. “I can talk to him, ask him a few subtle questions. I think I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Not yet. I—I have something upstairs that might help, you know, encourage the truth.”

  “Ah,” said Farrah. “Okay. Perfect.”

  “About Crenshaw,” said Allison. “Isn’t there anyone else who might know where he is?”

  “Hmm. Good point. Who was out rescuing the stranded motorists? The sheriff ’s department? Maybe Detective Rhinehardt would know.”

  “I’ll go see if he’s still here,” said Farrah. “You run upstairs to our room and get the . . . thing. Let’s meet back in the lobby in five minutes.”

  Allison sat back in her seat as if she didn’t quite know what to make of us. “Good luck,” she said.

  * * *

  I straightened the quilt on my bed, then dumped out the contents of my overstuffed purse. How had I let it get so full? I’d have to give my purse a good Wiccan cleansing when this whole debacle was finally over.

  I moved aside makeup, keys, and wallet; Zeke’s broken buckle, a multitude of beads, and assorted papers. The papers reminded me of the note I’d found in the hotel reading room. I had given it to Rhinehardt, but I still remembered the gist of the message: “Meet me at 1 a.m.” Edgar thought he was meeting the blackmailer.

  What if he thought wrong? It had taken me days to figure out Lonnie was the blackmailer. What if Edgar mistakenly thought it was someone else? In the beginning, he had suspected Zeke. But he had also suspected someone else he never named.

  Absently, I picked through the other contents of my purse: a hairbrush, a bottle of vitamins, a big red envelope containing a Christmas card from Zeke. As I held on to the envelope, my fingers began to tingle. Wasn’t it odd for Zeke to give me a Christmas card a mere three days after we’d met? Considering all his hints and innuendos, I wondered if this card was something more than a simple holiday greeting.

  Using a key, I slit open the envelope and removed the card. It was small and cute, featuring a snowman and woodland creatures. Nothing strange about that . . . except that the size of the card didn’t quite match the envelope. When I opened it, I saw why. The card wasn’t in its original envelope, and it wasn’t even meant for me. It was addressed to Edgar from his insurance company.

  I turned the card over, trying to figure out what Zeke had been up to. Apparently, he had grabbed one of the cards that had been displayed on top of the filing cabinets near his cubicle. I looked in the envelope again. Aha.

  Stuffed in the bottom of the envelope was a folded sheet of paper. I pulled it out, opened it, and smoothed the creases. It was a typewritten agreement, “by and between Edgar Harrison and Tucker Brinkley.”

  Looks like I won’t need the truth serum after all.

  I skimmed the document, which appeared to be a simple partnership agreement. Then I read it again more slowly. Under the terms of the contract, the parties agreed that they would each solicit customers to invest in American Castle Fund, a real estate investment company. Each partner would be entitled to a finder’s fee in the amount of twenty percent of each investment. Profits from the fund would be split fifty-fifty. The agreement would remain in effect for so long as the company remained a viable endeavor. The paper was signed at the bottom by both men.

  On its face, the agreement seemed fairly innocuous. But I knew better. There was s
omething sketchy about the fund and the way these men handled it. My intuition told me the paper in my hands was evidence of a scam.

  Suddenly, I remembered my sense that someone had been following me—not to mention the burglary at my house and the close call on the highway. Did Tucker know I had this paper in my possession? Was he after this all along?

  My phone buzzed as a text came through. My heart leaped when I saw it was from Crenshaw. Then I frowned when I read his message: I’m at the SC Lodge. Have very important info.Time sensitive. Meet me at the ski shed. Bring your purse and come alone. Hurry.

  Chapter 27

  Of course, I knew it could be a trap. The text from Crenshaw’s cell phone was highly unusual. Then again, everything about the past week was highly unusual. Regardless, I wasn’t about to leave Crenshaw high and dry. If he didn’t send the text, then he was in trouble.

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t too scared. I had gotten pretty good at bluffing lately. I could do it again. If Tucker was waiting for me, I’d play dumb and act like I didn’t know he was the killer. I’d tell him the police had arrested someone else. Then he could relax and think he’d gotten away with it.

  That is, assuming he hadn’t already done something stupid with Crenshaw.

  Well, if he tried to pull a fast one, he wouldn’t get away with it for long. Before leaving our room, I texted Farrah and told her to meet me at the ski shed. I also told her to bring Rhinehardt. I knew she wouldn’t waste any time in joining me.

  I took the back door out of the lodge and jogged over to the ski shed. After the frenzy of activity this morning, the grounds were desolate now. I glanced over at the parking lot and saw that it was empty of all but a few cars, including mine. Then Allison marched over to one of the cars and sped out of the lot. Everyone was in a hurry to go home.

  When I reached the ski shed, there was no one in sight. I started to walk around to the rear of the building when my phone buzzed. It was another text from Crenshaw. I’m at the shooting range now. Come at once.

  All of a sudden, my confidence drained right through the bottom of my feet. This was definitely a setup.