Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  I was in a stall when someone else entered and washed their hands. Whoever it was passed by me then left. When finished I pushed the lever on my stall door, but it wouldn’t open. I gave a little shove. Still a no go. I pushed harder…

  I was trapped inside.

  Was it another warning?

  Was it to let me know they could get me anywhere?

  Or was I becoming paranoid?

  I looked down at my formal and expensive long skirt I was wearing then stared at the spotless floor tiles and cringed. Crawl? To my relief, the door was too low to the floor to climb under. I tried the lever again, throwing my shoulder into the shove. Uh-uh.

  I hollered twice, but no one heard me over the band playing. Hmm… I surveyed my predicament. I could handle this. I looked up, smiling. I could climb over the stall door.

  I had to do something. Determined to get out, I hiked up my skirt and stepped onto the wobbly toilet seat, which was a feat in itself. My foot started to slip a little. I looked down into the toilet water and gripped the side of the stall for stability with my other hand: a delicate balancing act.

  I paused there for a second. Now what? I needed both hands to grab the door of the stall to heft myself up and over, but one of them was holding up my long skirt from falling into the toilet. With both feet straddling the edges of the seat, I let go of the one wall and lifted up my skirt as high as it would go and tried to wrap it around my neck and tuck the rest of it into the front opening of my blouse.

  Having accomplished that, I grabbed the side of the stall and door, then placed my foot on the toilet tissue holder for higher leverage and began pushing myself upward. I heard a creak: the tissue holder was coming loose. I wasn’t about to fall in the toilet water and gave a final push. …Splash.

  My hotel key! My phone was at the table. No SOS calls.

  Then the tissue holder gave way, clanking to the floor. There was no going back at that point, so I threw my one leg over the top of the door. I was halfway there! I twisted myself sideways. I was now straddling the door with both hands clinging to it: one leg was on one side and the other leg was on the other side. It was a painful straddle.

  I heard the jiggle of the ladies room door. No, no…

  I was too high up to leap and a quick glance back told me there was no going back. I clung to the wall and door, and swung my leg over. I could slide down and jump to the floor. But my skirt came loose and caught on the hinge and my dangling, exposed derrière now hung freeform.

  I was swinging like a side of beef in designer high heels.

  I heard a chuckle and reluctantly turned to look.

  “I see you finally got your new Spanx,” said Martha.

  Chapter 24

  An Uncanny Situation

  “Please get me down,” I said as dignified as I could.

  “How did you get yourself caught up there like that?” she asked. “No, don’t bother explaining. What did you tell us? We should expect the unexpected, right?”

  I was gripping the door to take the weight off my pricy skirt so it wouldn’t rip. “Very funny. Now help me down.”

  “I think I’ll need some extra help,” she said, rushing out.

  Within a minute Mona, Hazel and Betty rushed in.

  “I thought she was joking,” said Mona stifling a laugh.

  “It’s not a very ladylike position, Sam,” chided Hazel.

  Betty was trying not to giggle. “It looks painful too.”

  “For who?” asked Mona, now laughing out loud. “For her, or for us for being forced to stare at her ass.”

  I was losing my patience. “Okay, you’ve all had your fun. Now please get me down. My hands are going numb.”

  “Should we call for a ladder at the front desk?”

  “No!” I shouted. “That would be too humiliating.”

  “For who?” asked Mona. “The hotel or you?”

  “Hey, wait! I got it!” said Martha. “The garbage can!”

  “Brilliant!” said Betty. “She’ll be able to step on it.”

  Hazel and Betty dragged it over, then Mona and Martha centered it so I could try and balance on the curved top.

  “Okay,” said Martha. “Let’s get it a little closer.”

  Hazel, closely studying the lock to my stuck stall door, said, “There’s a clip wedged in here. Let me pull it out.”

  Suddenly the door swung open and me with it. My skirt broke free. Caught off guard, I lost my grip on the door. The garbage pail teetered, the top came off and I fell inside with a thud with my feet and arms sticking up in the air.

  No one said a word. No one dared.

  Finally Martha said, “Now, don’t that take the cake.”

  Betty and Hazel politely turned away. Probably so I wouldn’t see them holding back their laughter. Mona had no qualms about breaking up right there in front of me.

  Next thing I heard was a click. I turned as Martha took another shot with her iPhone. “No!” I yelled, mortified.

  She laughed. “It’s for posterity. Someday you’ll look back on this episode and laugh all about it.”

  “I doubt it. Now get me out of here!”

  Everyone, including me, started arguing about the safest way to get me out of the can when there was a loud knock at the restroom door then it swung open. We all turned.

  “The staff heard yelling and became concerned and…”

  There stood the very Germanic Herr Miller staring at our group. Then his eyes lasered in on me. “Ms. Jamison? What are you doing in our ladies room trashcan?”

  “This incident can be explained,” said Betty chuckling.

  “Quite amusing when you think about it,” choked Hazel.

  “It’s a doozy,” said Martha, now laughing outright.

  My face went scarlet. “…It’s a long story.”

  Mona barely got out, “She writes short ones too!”

  Chapter 25

  Who & Where Was Herr Kraus?

  A couple of hours later I was feeling those welts on my thighs and my palms were still red in spite of a soothing salve Hazel had found. I’d have some wicked bruises by morning. Worse was the humiliation. Hazel and Betty had gone to their bedroom still giggling as they shut their door.

  In an unusual truce, Mona and Martha were whispering in the corner sitting area of our suite making snide remarks about the additional iPhone pictures they had snapped just before I was eventually extricated from what a laughing Martha referred to as my unique steel bodyshaper.

  They were taking photos for posterity? Ha!

  More likely, I’d find them floating out on the Internet one of these days. Or, even more probable, held for extortion purposes whenever those two wanted me to agree to something dangerous. I knew from experience how their scheming minds worked. Nothing went to waste. I was their personal coupon with no expiration date.

  …And I loved every minute of it.

  After getting under the covers of their own beds, Martha spoke first. “Now who and where is this Herr Kraus?”

  “I was thinking the same thing myself,” said Mona.

  “Maybe he is a ‘behind the scenes’ player,” I ventured.

  “You mean kind of like a silent investor,” Martha said.

  “If Clay and Peter are supposed to be guarding him,” said Mona, “why is Clay still out of town?”

  “Excellent point,” said Martha. “Sounds fishy.”

  “Herr Kraus must be here on the premises or somewhere in the vicinity of the hotel,” ventured Mona. “If you recall, he offered you that free dinner and champagne the other night. He knew exactly what was going on, real time.”

  “That doesn’t tell us why they’re guarding him,” I said.

  “Another good point,” added Martha. “Now, why would Clay come all the way over here to guard somebody?”

  “It’s obvious that there’s more of a connection between Clay, Peter and Kraus,” I suggested.

  “…I still have my sources and contacts,” Mona hinted.
/>   “And what makes you think the Feds want to hear from you?” Martha asked.

  “Not those sources and contacts, my other ones.”

  She was referring to her legal and illegal contacts.

  “…Oh,” was all I eventually said.

  Martha shook her head. “This might prove tricky.”

  “Unfortunately, where you two are concerned,” I added, “tricky and trouble are usually a part of every equation.”

  “Always the pessimist,” Martha tossed back.

  “We should find Herr Kraus and follow him,” I said.

  “In the meantime,” said Mona, “I’ll make some calls.”

  “Should we be asking, to who?” Martha asked.

  “Some things are better left unsaid,” I offered.

  “As the cliché goes, ignorance is bliss,” laughed Mona.

  “If Clay found out what we’re doing…” warned Martha.

  “I don’t know about you two,” I said, “but my lips are sealed. Clay hasn’t confided in us, so it’ll play both ways.”

  After an hour of staring at the ceiling and well after Mona and Martha fell asleep, I got up in the dim light and turned on my laptop across the room in our sitting area. I figured if I couldn’t fall asleep why not research this Herr Kraus myself, but from a different angle than the others? Maybe he was listed on the Internet.

  What did he do that required bodyguards?

  I typed for several minutes. All I wanted to do was skim the surface on this guy to give me some kind of reference point from which to start. I’d leave the heavy lifting: my crew’s networking skills, to further peel back the layers on that information-onion called Herr Kraus.

  I couldn’t find one picture, which spiked my interest further. Finally, and to my surprise, I discovered he was an author of a few obscure travel books about Switzerland. The publishing information gave no full name just Herr Kraus, Grindelwald, Switzerland.

  Hmm…

  I sat back. Again, the same question came to mind. Why all this fuss over a doddery old author, who wrote detailed-filled travel books? What did he need bodyguards for?

  None of this added up and none of it made sense.

  Chapter 26

  The Not So Great Outdoors

  Early the next morning, Peter called apologetically to delay my ski lesson. Everyone was already gone. So I took advantage of my downtime to scope out the grounds of the hotel. The task wasn’t as simple as I had thought it would be because it had snowed during the night and the deep powder on top of the snow from the day before was proving hard to walk in. I pulled out my phone pretending to take some pictures of the scenic snow-covered gardens.

  Dazzling white peaks topping the trees were already dotted with skiers. I wondered briefly what Peter was up to, but then approached the side of the hotel and found myself in a secluded area. I’d heard private apartments were attached in the back for VIP guests who didn’t want to mingle with the other guests: a good place to start.

  I’d just negotiated the rear corner of the hotel when I caught sight of a familiar figure: that elderly gentleman, Hans. His behavior struck me as odd. He appeared to be surreptitiously taking pictures with his cell phone of something out of my eye range. He must have sensed someone there and abruptly turned in my direction.

  “What are you doing back here?” he asked sharply.

  Rattled by his hostile attitude and worried about Clay’s reaction to my spoiling his simple request in keeping a low profile at the hotel, I backed away, turned, and headed back to the back door of the hotel.

  What was Hans doing in this garden in the first place?

  Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I realized in shock that he was running after me, closing the gap.

  What the… Why was he chasing me?

  At this pace, he’d catch me.

  And what would he intend to do once he caught me?

  I wasn’t about to wait and find out. How could I slow him down? I spotted a few decorative rocks on a garden bench, figuring they would do the trick. They were sizable.

  Perfect!

  I grabbed three and pivoted. He was much closer now.

  “Wait! Don’t you dare throw those!”

  I took aim and threw as hard as I could. One missed and went wide. He ducked, but then started moving again. I was walking backwards to keep some distance between us.

  He paused when I threw another. It missed by a hair.

  Damn!

  “You’ll regret that!” he yelled, once more on the move.

  I pitched hard and nailed him right above his eye and watched him go down in pain. That was all I needed. I raced for the hotel door and heard it click as I bolted it, then hustled for the elevator and safety of my room, knowing running to the front desk and drawing attention to myself was, by instructions of Clay and Peter, out of the question.

  Why the bizarre and threatening behavior toward me?

  Panting, I safely made it through the door of our suite and bolted that one, too, but then came up short.

  …Our suite door had been unlocked. Not good.

  Mona and the ladies were out skiing. I knew they would not return for a while.

  Then I heard noise coming from my closed bathroom.

  Now what? I was obviously not alone.

  Someone was rooting around in my medicine cabinet.

  Was it the same person who had tried the doorknob the day before?

  My eyes scanned the immediate area from where I was standing in search of a weapon, any weapon. I didn’t need to draw attention to my presence. Whoever this was clearly hadn’t heard me enter and bolt the door because they were still in there noisily rummaging through the shelves.

  My eye caught a jar of Martha’s face cream. I grabbed it, tiptoed to the closed bathroom door and extended my arm. The door creaked open and I tried for a hard fastball.

  Chapter 27

  In Deep Voodoo

  I stared at the man lying facedown on the floor at my feet. Something felt familiar about his build. I toed him. He moaned and I jumped. I was about to phone for help, when he rolled over and tried to sit up. I drew back in shock.

  “…Uh-oh!”

  My victim moaned. His eyes flickered then opened.

  “What happened?” he asked, gingerly touching his head, which now happened to be bleeding. Not a lot, mind you, but it sure needed a largish bandage. I couldn’t believe I did that much damage with a glass jar of face cream. I had to find out where Martha bought it. It worked like a charm.

  “What happened?” he asked again, trying to sit up.

  My mind scrambled to think of a reasonable response.

  I panicked?

  I’ve had threats?

  I was being chased two minutes ago?

  Where the hell have you been?

  I’m so sorry?

  I took a stab at, “I’m so sorry, Clay!”

  I didn’t let him get one word in until I had finished explaining everything, concluding with my embarrassing bathroom trashcan incident so he would feel sorry for me and not freak out once he got up and looked at himself in my mirror. He was not going to like what he saw.

  “That’s everything.”

  Well, not quite. I left out the two Hans episodes.

  I’d planned some detecting on my own just to see Clay’s face when I revealed Hans’ identity. Then I’d be the one to have a few surprises up my sleeve for a change. Besides, Hans should be easy to spot in town. He would probably be developing a real shiner right about now.

  Apparently, I was two for two that morning: an oddity. And I couldn’t even bask in the glow of victory. One of my hits was not looking so good at the moment and would probably be called a personal foul: a very personal foul.

  Hey, football, baseball, the lingo was all the same to me.

  Clay was trying to get to his feet. I reached out to help.

  He shrunk back instinctively. “Don’t! Please!”

  “I was merely going to help you,” I said defensiv
ely.

  He gave me a look I knew all too well.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, backing away. “With friends like me, who needs enemies?”

  “Exactly. By the way, your pitch was perfect.”

  “Why, thank you, Clay. I try to stay in shape. Hey, I’ve been learning to ski like you suggested. And that Olaf…”

  By this time he had managed to stand up, but shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind. He held up his hand to stop me. “…Whoa! Back up,” he said.

  I stared at him blankly. “…To where? Which part?”

  “The part about you meeting Olaf. Who is he?”

  Chapter 28

  Whoa!

  “Whoa, yourself!” I replied.

  That was a golden nugget I wasn’t expecting.

  “What did you mean, who is Olaf?” I said.

  Clay crooked an eye at me, the good one. “I believe I spoke English. But I’ll give it another shot. Who is Olaf?”

  I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. If Clay sent me to Peter, and then Peter introduced me to Olaf as his partner, and Clay and Peter were working together…

  Seeing my concern, Clay grabbed my shoulder. “What?”

  “…Are you sure you don’t know who Olaf is?”

  Clay sighed a familiar sigh: one of impatience.

  So I dove in. “Peter said Olaf was his business partner.”

  “Business partner?”

  “You know, like in skiing lessons?”

  “Funny, Peter never mentioned Olaf before.”

  “Maybe he forgot to mention it?” I ventured.

  “…Could be.”

  “But you’re not feeling it, are you?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not. Still it might be an oversight on his part.”

  Or was it something to be concerned about?

  Clay touched his head and winced. “Let me check this.”

  I quickly said, “What’s to see? Nothing but a scratch.”

  He looked skeptical. “As usual, you’re mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are saying something different.”