by Leslie Caine
“Unless Cameron was keeping quiet to protect you. Maybe he caught Ben in the act of tampering with your skis, for example, and tried to stop him, but Ben overpowered him.”
“I’d hate to think that Ben had any reason to want to kill me.”
“Somebody did,” Audrey stated.
“I’m starting to like Chiffon’s theory suddenly … that my skis were merely mistaken for hers.” I sighed and muttered, “Although it’s pretty unlikely my eggnog would have been mistaken for hers.”
“There was friction between Angie and Mikara due to Mikara accepting the job at the inn,” Audrey said. “We know Mikara used to work at the art gallery. That’s a perfect place to investigate while pretending to be shopping.”
Twenty minutes later, we were studying the artwork in the two-room gallery. We were the only patrons, although a family of four was leaving as we entered.
“Oh, look, Audrey!” I said, pointing at a small, framed oil painting. “This is the perfect picture for the kitchen! See that woman carrying a pail? She could easily be a milkmaid. Now I won’t have to decoupage the tray.”
“Wonderful! We’ll be able to charge the purchase to the inn, even,” Audrey replied, grinning at me.
The word “purchase” drew the immediate attention of one of the two sixtyish women behind the counter. She approached us, smiling, and said, “You’re Audrey Munroe, from the Domestic Bliss show. I’m one of your biggest fans! I made us get a TiVo, just so I would never miss your show.”
“Oh, thank you! You’ve totally made my day!”
“I’m Mildred, and this is my sister, Carol.”
At her name being mentioned, the second owner, a dyed blonde, rounded the counter to join us.
“Nice to meet you both,” Audrey said. “This is Erin. She’s an absolutely brilliant interior designer.”
“Audrey’s flattering me, of course. It’s nice to meet you, Mildred and Carol.”
“I’m sure a little extra praise is welcome these days,” Carol replied. “Mildred and I are well aware of all the terrible times you’ve been having at the Goodwin house.”
“I understand Mikara used to work here, before she came to the inn,” Audrey said before I could reply. “So you must have known her sister, Angie, too.”
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
“Poor thing,” Mildred added. “She’d pulled herself back together after her divorce.”
“Let’s not gossip with our customers,” Carol scolded. “So were you just looking for the one painting today?”
“Oh, no, not necessarily,” Audrey said. “We might need lots and lots of pieces!”
Audrey proceeded to explain about the milkmaids, and I added that, technically, I was now down to looking only for drummers, although I thought I’d check for Steve’s sake to see if they had any particularly eye-catching ballerinas for the library. I’d checked his notes earlier today and knew he’d only purchased six lady dancers so far.
“Has your gallery been here since before the resort opened?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mildred said. “We’re hanging in there. All of us business owners incorrectly assumed our profits would go up with the influx of yuppie skiers.” Her eyes widened and she hastened to add, “No offense, Erin.”
“None taken. I’m certainly a young, urban professional, but my skiing days might already be history.”
“She took a nasty spill yesterday,” Audrey explained. “Erin and I are always anxious to support the local businesses. It’s unfortunate that so many of the original owners in Snowcap apparently didn’t do well after the ski resort opened.”
“For what it’s worth,” I added, “my business partner and I try to buy from local merchants whenever possible.” I glanced in the back room and saw stacks of paintings leaning against the wall. “Is there any chance you might have some pictures of drummers?”
“We have at least one,” Carol said. “I remember getting in an acrylic depicting a little drummer boy.”
“I’d also like to buy some blown glass for my bedroom,” Audrey said. “Did you know the Woolf sisters well?” Not a particularly deft segue, I mused to myself.
“Oh, yes,” Mildred replied. “They grew up just down the block from us. We used to say that those two were going to be best friends for their entire lives. Which is why I think it was all the more heartbreaking that Angie wound up being the reason that Mikara’s and Henry’s wedding was cancelled.”
Chapter 25
Did Angie and Henry have an affair?” Audrey asked. “That’s what I’ve always suspected,” Carol said, exchanging glances with Mildred. “Mikara never said that directly, though. But it was pretty much implied.”
“Personally,” Mildred interjected, “I don’t think those two actually slept together. I always figured it was just Angie being Angie, acting like she knew better than Mikara about who she should marry, and then—”
“And then Angie was the one who wound up marrying a good-for-nothing drunkard and bully,” Carol scoffed.
“So,” Mildred continued, “when Angie’s hubby was out of town on a fishing trip, she set out to prove to her sister that Henry was incapable of being faithful.”
“Angie and Henry went either all the way or just part of the way,” Carol said, “but, in any case, Angie made a point of being seen all about the town on Henry’s arm.” She indicated Mildred with her chin. “We spotted ’em ourselves at the church bazaar. They were being all kissy-face at a fundraiser in the morning, just in case Mikara missed hearing about Angie and Henry’s escapades the night before.”
“Such as how she’d been sitting in his lap at a corner table at The Nines,” Mildred added bitterly.
“That couldn’t have sat well with Angie’s husband when he got back into town,” I said.
“I’m sure it didn’t,” Mildred agreed. “But that marriage was on the skids from the time it started.”
“They got married because Angie was pregnant,” Carol explained. “But she lost the baby.”
“Angie told me a couple of years ago that she thinks it was her depression over that loss that led her to have a fling with Henry,” Mildred said. “Although she still claims she really only had Mikara’s best interests in mind.”
“Maybe that’s the truth, too,” Carol said. “She’s gone now. I’d like to think the best of her.”
“Oh, absolutely. The poor thing. Angie claimed she sincerely wanted to protect Mikara from marrying the wrong man … from making the same mistake she’d made.” Mildred sighed. “She dropped Henry immediately after he and Mikara broke up. I guess Angie truly felt she’d only acted on her sister’s behalf. At the time.”
For the first time since Audrey and I first opened the floodgates of the Snowcap Rumor Mill, the gallery owners paused.
“How long was it till Angie and Mikara became close again?” Audrey asked.
“Three, four years later?” Carol said tentatively, looking to Mildred, who nodded.
“Their mother had gotten breast cancer around that time,” Mildred continued. “She died two years later. Both girls moved back home and took turns caring for her. They vowed to set their differences aside for the mom’s sake.”
“And managed the feat admirably,” Carol chimed in.
“Right. I think their whole ordeal kept them too preoccupied to object when Wendell opened the ski resort, even though our town changed so dramatically.”
“Till they also lost the house they’d grown up in, that is.” Carol grimaced and shook her head.
“When Wendell bought it and tore it down?” I asked.
Mildred nodded. “He bought up all the houses near the base of the mountain, where he wanted to put his condos. And that was when Angie and Mikara started fighting again.”
“Mikara and Angie were the last holdouts,” Carol added, “but Wendell just built right around their property. It looked god-awful, seeing their little bungalow on its quarter-acre lot, surrounded on all sides by three-story condos. Then Ang
ie caved.”
“According to Mikara,” Mildred countered. “I’m not so sure Mikara wasn’t the first to actually decide to take the money.”
“It’s hard to say. Mikara took the job at the inn, which paid better than Mildred and I could. She claimed she needed the money because Angie’s too-low settlement with Wendell had made it impossible for her to move out. She couldn’t afford the rent on a one-bedroom place, and the rent on the two-bedroom apartment they shared kept skyrocketing. Once Mikara took the job at the inn, Angie said she’d never forgive her for joining forces with the enemy.”
“Or words to that effect,” Mildred muttered.
“Do you think Mikara could have killed her own sister?”
Carol answered “No,” just as Mildred said, “Never.”
“They were going to reconcile again eventually,” Mildred said. “Angie and Mikara were different sides of the same coin.”
Carol was nodding. “Mikara didn’t hesitate to make amends with her sister when their mom was dying, and they’d each leave chicken soup and such for the other when one of them was sick, even when they were at each other’s throats otherwise.”
“Family ties are strong,” Mildred said, nodding in synchronization with her sister.
“If anything, I think Henry was even angrier at Angie than Mikara was,” Carol said. “She showed the whole town what an ass he was.”
“Yet he was elected mayor,” I pointed out.
“His competition was a former socialite from Denver who lived in Bartonville. That’s what we locals call the condo development.” Carol paused, then said, “No offense,” to Audrey.
“None taken. Contrary to what you might have heard, Wendell and I are not an item. We’re just casually dating. Plus, I’m well aware of how badly he’s alienated the townspeople. The man can be quite the horse’s derriere.”
Mildred chuckled, and Carol said, “No kidding,” under her breath.
“Aren’t you suspicious about Mikara’s guilt, considering that Angie died on Henry’s property?” Audrey asked. “And that she’d argued with Mikara about starting work there?”
“That’s made me suspect Henry,” Mildred said, “but not Mikara. We’ve known Mikara her whole life. She’s not a killer.” Carol nodded.
“I have to say,” Audrey interjected, “I really like Henry. As far as I can tell, he seems like a nice person. Maybe he hides a Mr. Hyde—like monster, but he seems compassionate and thoughtful to me. Although maybe I’d feel differently if I’d lived here and known him from when he was just a boy.”
“Not necessarily,” Mildred said. “He’s a charming man and can be both thoughtful and compassionate. Yet, other times, he’s so self-serving that he forgets about everyone else’s feelings.”
The bell above the door jingled as two women entered the store. Mildred went over to greet them. Carol snorted. “Listen to us, gossiping away, like we had nothing better to do.”
I would have loved to hear what else Carol and Mildred had to say, but the new customers made it impossible for us to continue our private conversation. “Can you show me that painting of the drummer boy?” I asked Carol.
En route to the back room, Audrey selected a lovely indigo hand-blown glass vase, which delayed us for a few minutes. To my delight, though, not only was the drummer boy painting charming, but we also found an affecting photograph of three uniformed members of a drum line, shrouded in shadows as if marching bravely out of the darkness. Plus, I found a whimsical contemporary sculpture of a drummer made from recycled parts of a clock, which allowed me to cross off the Energizer Bunny from the bottom of my list—a desperation item I knew I could find at a toy store if push came to shove. I’d found five of my twelve drummers in one store!
Audrey praised the photograph, then said, “I suppose these boys are actually in a high-school marching band.” Then she turned to Carol and said, “Angie used to date Ben Orlin in high school, right?”
Carol laughed. “Who told you that?”
Audrey looked at me for help, but I gestured with my chin for her to go ahead. She’d wandered onto a limb, and she was going to have to find her own way back.
“It was just a general impression I got from everyone’s interactions, I guess,” Audrey said, admirably bailing herself out. “Why? Was I mistaken?”
“Ben is gay.”
“He is?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, although he’s never been flamboyant or outspoken about it,” Carol replied. “I think he’s pretty much decided to never search for a life partner. You know, his dad used to actively keep him away from boys his age. In my opinion, Ben’s never come to terms with his homosexuality.” Carol forced a smile. “Shall I ring you up, or do you want to look for turtledoves and such?”
“Just the drummers and the one milkmaid,” I replied. “Thanks.”
“The art glass will have to be on a separate tab,” Audrey said.
The three of us returned to the front room. As if thinking aloud, Carol muttered, “That Angie sure used to tease Ben mercilessly. She called him ‘Ben-Gay,’ like the muscle-ache cream. Some people are just so narrow-minded.”
Audrey and I carried our purchases toward the parking lot. We were silent for a minute or two, privately mulling what we’d just heard. Ben, Henry, and Mikara all had reasons to kill Angie. While the gallery owners felt their former employee was incapable of killing her own sister, Mikara had good reason for bottled rage. Angie could easily have pushed her over the top the night of the murder by engaging her in a bitter argument about Henry. Mikara could have spotted Angie by the bridge and stuck on Ben’s boots to disguise her tracks in the snow.
As for one of the suspects also killing Cameron, he made enemies easily with his arrogant bossiness. He could have said the wrong thing about Angie’s death and made the killer panic.
“I have to tell you, Erin,” Audrey said, jarring me from my reverie, “this business of ferreting out a killer isn’t as fun in actuality as it is in theory.”
“I could have told you as much.” In truth, I had told her that, more than once.
“The shopping part was enjoyable, though. In between hearing those depressing stories from the past. We might not have gotten anywhere as far as ruling out any suspects, but at least we have one milkmaid and five drummers. I’ll bet we can find a retro store someplace that sells Ringo bobble-head dolls.”
I laughed. “And Ringo will blend in so perfectly with religious little-drummer-boy scenes.”
“Which reminds me, Erin. There is that wonderful—” She broke off as she gazed straight ahead of us. “Oh, look!” She smiled. “Here comes Wendell.”
Wendell Barton was indeed heading in our direction, but he seemed to be absorbed in his own world. His own hostile world. His fists and jaw were clenched, his brow was furrowed, and he had a purposeful stride, oblivious to his surroundings.
“Hi, Wendell,” Audrey said as he drew close.
He stopped and looked at us in surprise. “Audrey. Hello.”
“You look like you’re on your way to wring somebody’s neck,” Audrey said.
He was clearly embarrassed at her catching him in this mood. He tried to force a smile. The effect was more of a grimace than anything else. “No, I’m … sorry. I was just …” He gave her a peck on the cheek, although, again, in his unpleasant mood, it seemed artificial and almost obligatory—as though he was bussing the cheek of his difficult cousin.
“As the expression goes,” Audrey said, “are you trying to drain the swamp, and finding yourself up to your elbows in alligators?”
“Yeah, that’s a good way of summing it up.” Wendell sighed. He finally shifted his vision to me and said, “Hi, Erin.”
“Good afternoon, Wendell.”
“I don’t know where my head is. I almost brushed right past you lovely ladies.” He shook his head. “There’s no excuse for that. I apologize.”
“What’s wrong?” Audrey asked.
He rubbed his forehead, looking t
ruly pained. “You don’t want to know, Audrey. Trust me.”
“Sure I do.” She gave me a little glance. “Erin and I aren’t in a rush. We could take a quick coffee break and chat for a while.”
“Oh, that’s all right …” Despite his demurral, Wendell’s eyes had lit up at Audrey’s suggestion.
“Sometimes it helps immeasurably to see one’s troubles from a different perspective.” Audrey was slipping into her TV personality—the advice-giving domestic goddess role.
Wendell glanced at me and seemed to lose enthusiasm for the coffee break idea. “Thanks for the offer. I’ve just got … business troubles. Like the saying goes: It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here. I always knew that. And yet … the truth is, even after all these years of running my own company, it never fails to take me by surprise when I’m the one getting bitten.”
Chapter 26
I’m sorry to hear that you’re having a tough time, my dear,” Audrey told Wendell. “Where are you heading? Are we making you late for a meeting?”
“No, thank god. I’ve had quite enough meetings for one day.” His smile was starting to look more sincere. “Actually, I was heading downtown in general … hoping to clear my head and maybe do some Christmas shopping, if the spirit moved me.”
“I’m almost always in the shopping spirit,” Audrey said cheerfully. She turned toward me. “And you are, too, right, Erin?”
“Absolutely, but then, I shop for furnishings and accessories for a living.”
“That’s true,” Audrey said with a chuckle. “Your not wanting to shop would be the equivalent of a writer getting writer’s block.”
“Or of your getting camera-shy,” Wendell returned to Audrey, just as I was about to say the same thing. That was a little icky; I’d hate to start discovering commonalities at this point. Despite what we’d learned from the gallery owners, Wendell Barton was still a prime suspect in my mind. His underhanded relationship with Sheriff Mackey alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Especially while watching him flirt with my beloved friend.