I nodded, my mouth already watering for the salty, kernel-free cornmeal delights.
While my road trip companions snuck past the film crew and entered the B-Mart’s storefront, I got out and greeted the pump attendant, who looked about eighty and not very chatty. I handed him my key for the fuel cap and leaned against my car to wait. A modern Volkswagen Beetle, lime green, pulled up behind my car. The doors burst open, and three occupants jumped out as though they’d been on ejector seats.
The female passenger, a woman with raven-black hair falling in perfect curls around a round face and full lips, caught my eye. She paused and gave me a self-conscious smile.
“Road trips,” she said with an eye roll.
“Long journey?” I asked, just being friendly.
“I’ll say,” she replied. “Ten minutes so far with these two, and it’s all I can do to keep from slappin’ everybody.”
I recognized her travel companions as the two gentlemen I’d met the night before in the treehouse.
“Dion and Franco,” I said. “We meet again.”
“Hello again,” Dion said. “You must be stalking us.”
“Yes. That’s the only logical explanation for why I arrived at a gas station two minutes before you did.”
The woman laughed and poked him in the stomach. “She got you, old man.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Money?”
He frowned. “Della, ask your boyfriend. Franco’s always got cash.”
She poked him again. “You’re closer.” She kept poking until he relented and handed her some cash. She pecked him on the cheek then ran after Franco into the store.
“Kids these days,” I commented.
“Della’s not my daughter. She’s my baby sister. Well, half sister.”
“And your half sister’s dating your friend?”
“My best friend.” He frowned, his round cheeks succumbing to gravity.
I glanced over at the nearby news crew. The cameraman was shooting Daphne on her own, with B-Mart in the background. I turned my back so my face wouldn’t be in the shot.
I could hear Daphne saying, “Oh my gosh, this is such a scandal! The owners of this gas station claim they had no knowledge of the contamination, but word on the street is that the elderly couple is at the heart of a chemical manufacturing scandal, and have ties to the underworld. Wait. Cut that. Start over. What does underworld mean? Is that a cult thing, like with devils?”
I snuck a look over at Dion. “Can you believe this three-ring circus?”
“Unfortunately, yes. This is exactly the sort of thing the whole town gets excited about.” He kept his eyes on the slow-moving gas pump attendant. “Did you ever find that friend you were looking for?”
“She was up a tree. Thanks for asking.”
The attendant finished refueling my car and gave me a nod.
“See you around,” I said.
“Don’t forget to use that free drink voucher.”
I promised I would then slid back into my car before Daphne and her news crew could ask me for a word-on-the-street interview.
My friends emerged from the store at the same time as the other couple. By the look of Jessica’s hand motions, she was describing to the other girl how she’d climbed a tree the night before. Della, who looked barely older than a teenager, threw back her head to laugh.
Christopher got back into the passenger seat and Jessica slid into the back.
Breathlessly, Jessica said, “Christopher, did you tell her yet? Did you?”
He answered tersely, “I’ve been in the car a millisecond.”
Jessica grabbed the back of my seat and shook it. “We’re all going up to the same resort! Della says they have a karaoke system in the recreation room. I’m going to pick out some songs right now, and then Della’s going to sing a duet with me tonight. Awesome, right?”
“Is that girl a friend of yours?” I adjusted the rearview mirror and watched as the three of them fought over who was driving and who’d be sitting in which seat.
Jessica answered, “Not a good friend, but Della hosts the karaoke nights at the Fox and Hound, and she’s so good. Stormy, you have to hear her sing. She’s totally commanding when she’s on the stage, and her voice is amazing. You have to hear her.” She shook my seat again for emphasis.
The Beetle pulled up beside us, horn honking, all occupants waving frantically. Della was at the wheel, taking a picture with one hand and steering with the other. She hit the gas and zoomed out of the parking lot, still honking.
“Colorful bunch,” I commented.
Christopher pressed a cold root beer into my hand. “Don’t be cranky. We’ll have so much fun it will feel like two days. Short ones. I bet by the end, you won’t want to leave.”
I stared after the green Beetle. “I thought your cousin’s lodge wasn’t open to the public yet.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Those must be his wife’s friends. Butch and Marie live in Seattle, but she’s originally from Misty Falls. Her maiden name was Schwartz before she became a Fairchild. Do you remember going to school with her?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell, but if she’s in her forties like Butch, we might not have crossed paths.”
Jessica shook my seat again, like an excited kid. “Marie Fairchild! I know who that is. She had a cooking show, Marie’s Cozy Kitchen. Such a shame she got cancelled. Marie just needed one big moment to open up, to demonstrate some emotion, some personality, some… anything, but it never happened. I guess she was too shy to be on TV.”
“Speaking of not being on TV…” I hit the gas pedal and got us out of the parking lot before Daphne and the local news crew could descend upon us.
The sun shone brightly overhead, making the weather feel more like spring than late February. The snow I’d predicted, based on the fairy rings around the moon, hadn’t transpired after all. Rain was a possibility, if the weather shifted a few degrees warmer.
We passed a number of signs warning about mudslide hazards. The first part of the route took us over well-maintained roads. We transitioned onto narrower and rougher roads until we turned onto the last stretch, which was little more than a goat trail.
My car had all-season tires and good below-car clearance, but the trio riding in the lime green Volkswagen Beetle weren’t as lucky. They fell behind and waved for us to pass them while negotiating bumpy sections warped by frost heaves.
I worried about them getting stranded, so we kept stopping to wait for them to catch up. I had a bad feeling there would be six of us crammed into my car by the time we reached the resort, but the Beetle managed to keep up. The three of us would cheer when we saw the round green car crest a rise behind us.
At long last, we came upon our destination. The resort jutted from the side of the mountain like a gargoyle. Rather than being made of the rustic logs I’d been expecting, the Flying Squirrel Lodge was all stone and glass, and more than a little intimidating.
“Swanky,” I said. “But nothing like its name.”
Jessica chimed in, “Nothing like a squirrel, flying or otherwise.”
Christopher said, “Use your imagination. See how she sits, sunk into her haunches, as though she’s about to push off and leap through the valley to that other mountain over yonder?”
“You’re right!” Jessica exclaimed.
I shook my head. Christopher was a master salesman, but I’d built up some immunity. There was no way that glass and stone box resembled a squirrel.
The snowy parking lot didn’t have any parking spaces delineated, so I pulled up alongside a construction trailer. I clicked the button to pop the trunk, and we all stepped out to stretch our legs.
The drive had taken longer than expected—a full three and a half hours—but now we’d arrived at the top of the world. The lodge wasn’t on the very tip of the mountain, but we were still up high enough to look over a good chunk of eastern Oregon.
There are over fifty named mountain ranges in Oregon, and countless named peaks
. We stood on Flying Squirrel peak, which wasn’t even in the state’s top hundred for height, but still impressive enough to make the three of us stand in silent awe, taking in the view.
I said to Christopher, “Your cousin Butch has outdone himself. I hope the Fairchilds are proud.”
“If they get too proud, the family will need a new black sheep.”
“You’ll be the black sheep when they hear you’ve been hanging out with the likes of us.”
I stretched, touched my toes, then glanced around for Jessica. She was kneeling and petting a cat who looked an awful lot like Jeffrey. And by an awful lot, I mean exactly like him, from the tip of his nose and shiny dark lips, to the swish of his tail. The cat walked over to me and bunted his head against my shin.
“Aren’t you sweet?” I smiled down. “You could be Jeffrey’s twin.”
The cat bunted my shin again, then got so excited about rubbing my leg, he fell on his side, draping over my boot.
The Russian Blue cat was even more appreciative than my little guy had been a week earlier, when he’d gotten himself shut inside the bathroom cabinet for a whole afternoon and had to meow for me to rescue him.
In fact…
I whipped my head around. The trunk of my car was open, and the Blue Enchantment shopping bag I’d used for extra sweaters lay on its side, my packed clothes rumpled in a makeshift nest.
I stuck my hand in the shopping bag. Just as I suspected, the nest of sweaters was warm.
Jeffrey continued to lavish my shins with affection, feeling oh-so-grateful to be out of the trunk after a long, bumpy ride.
“You naughty stowaway,” I said.
Chapter 8
With Mr. Jeffrey “Stowaway” Blue in my arms, we walked into the glamorous mountain resort.
The lobby pulsed with hard-hat-wearing workmen, but underneath the chaos and drop cloths were the bones of an impressive foyer. High overhead, a huge chandelier of multicolored blown glass caught the late afternoon sun’s rays. The sculpture alone, with its candy-colored bulbs and swirls, was worth the drive up. My pulse raced in anticipation of experiencing the rest of the place—assuming the staff didn’t send away people who showed up with their cats in tow.
We wove our way through the busy work site, to the pile of material most resembling a reception desk. Jessica and I waited there while Christopher went off in search of his cousin.
Jessica glanced around. “They’re a long way from being open.”
“I tried to warn you. Christopher’s big stories are always ten times grander than the truth.”
“We’ll have fun anyway,” she said with a smile. “You’ll see.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I left you both here, would you? I’ll come back to get you in three days, I swear.”
“You’re not going anywhere. You’ve been working too hard, between setting up the new computer system at your store, plus all the stakeout stuff you’ve been doing for Logan. You need this, Stormy. When was the last time you had a vacation?”
I batted my eyelashes. “Why, Jessica, my dear, every day in bucolic Misty Falls is a vacation.”
“Bucolic? You make it sound like a dairy farm in England.”
Elsewhere in the large lobby, one of the workmen started up a power tool. The noise made Jeffrey squirm in my arms.
“Oh, so now you have misgivings,” I chided him. “Not when you climbed into the trunk of my car like some… cat burglar trying to escape maximum-security prison in a laundry hamper. What were you thinking?”
He blinked up at me innocently. If he could have talked, he would have blamed the whole thing on Officer Peggy Wiggles. She was the one who’d brought over the toys and the tantalizing catnip. When no one was watching he’d ripped open the bag and thrown a herb party to end all parties. High on the fresh supply, he must have found his way into the open trunk of my car when nobody was looking and decided to sleep it off.
On the bright side, he didn’t seem worse for wear, and now I could enjoy a getaway without missing him—assuming they let us stay.
Ten minutes later, Christopher still hadn’t returned, and the workmen continued to ignore us. When we hunted down the construction foreman and asked him nicely about rooms and keys, he said, “Sorry, ladies. As you can see, the lodge isn’t open for business yet. Do you always travel with your cat?”
Jessica looked the man straight in the eyes and said, “What cat? This is our son, Jeffrey. We’re an unconventional family.”
“I’ll say,” he said with a laugh.
After the foreman walked away, I asked Jessica to keep our son out of trouble while I called Logan to let him know not to worry.
Logan answered his phone on the first ring, and when I told him about the stowaway situation, he exclaimed, “He did what?”
I snickered. “You sound just like a dad. Don’t be mad, though. It was all Peggy’s fault, with her intoxicating catnip.”
“The little stinker! And here I was, looking forward to some quality boys’ time. Now I’m going to be lonely.”
“That settles it. I’m coming home right now. I haven’t seen a single person here who’s on staff, and by the state of the lobby, I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a bed or pillow in the joint.”
“Don’t you dare leave. I’m paying you for six hours of consulting.”
“I thought you said eight.”
“That was before you cat-napped my buddy. I miss him already.” He chuckled. “But seriously, if I’m not needed for cat-sitting duty, I might take off for a few days.”
“If you’re looking for a vacation, I can’t say enough wonderful things about the Flying Squirrel Lodge. Why, it has a roof, and a floor. Who needs rooms or beds? The view is spectacular.”
“Thanks, but I have something else in mind. There’s somebody I have to see one last time, if that’s okay with you.”
“Are you asking me as your landlady? Because as your landlady, I have no problem with you leaving the duplex for a few days, provided you don’t leave water running in your tub.”
“I don’t even have a tub. Don’t you know your own house? My bathroom’s the one with the tile shower.”
“But you got the extra-large linen closet, which is much more useful.”
“You can never have too much storage,” he said.
I walked over to the lobby’s enormous window to take in the view. Seeing all the trees and land between me and Misty Falls made me miss Logan, even though I’d only been gone for an afternoon.
Softly, I said, “I wish you were here.”
There was a pause, and he answered gruffly, “I didn’t get an invite.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, I don’t think Christopher would appreciate having me there.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Like how you and I are just friends?”
The gravelly tone of his voice, plus his words, gave me a liquid feeling all through my body.
“No,” I said, barely louder than a whisper. “Not like us.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I’ve been thinking that I’d like for us to be more than friends.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip to hold back a joke about knocking a bit off his rent.
The power at the lodge cut off, and the banging and power tools all stopped at once. A hush fell over the darkened lobby.
“Are you still there?” Logan asked. “No comment on what I mentioned?”
Just then, one of the workmen who’d been picking up paint cans near me bent over. In the quiet, the workman’s body let it be known that he’d eaten beans for lunch. Many beans. The noise he emitted was distinctive, loud, and followed by cries of horror and celebration by his fellow workmen.
Logan said, “Excuse me?”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, in a perfect imitation of Daphne the nervous weather girl reporter. “Oh my gosh, that wasn’t me, Logan. I swear. The lobby’s totally under construction and there are all these workmen here. It was one of them, and I think he did it on purpose.”
Logan replied with a skeptical, “Mm hmm. Workmen, you say.”
“I swear,” I said. “And right now they’re all eating from a big pot of baked beans, like cowboys in the Wild West.”
“Is that so?”
The lights flicked back on again, and someone called my name. I’d been pacing, traveling all the way to the far end of the lobby. Back at the reception area, Christopher had returned with his cousin.
Hurriedly, I told Logan, “Sorry, I have to go check myself and my cat into a fancy mountain resort now.”
“Go easy on the beans.”
“Very funny, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Have a great time,” he said warmly. “Send me a message later, if you feel like it. I might not be in contact much, but I’ll try to check in.”
“Will do.” We said goodbye and ended the call.
As I walked over to join my group, I held the phone to my chest and replayed the conversation in my head.
He’d definitely made a move. After months of being friends and living in the same duplex, it had taken me driving three-and-a-half hours away to finally get us together. Sort of.
When I saw Logan Sanderson again after this three-day vacation, everything would be different.
Chapter 9
Christopher’s cousin, Butch Fairchild, took us on a whirlwind tour of the lodge.
I’d met Butch before, in Paris, on the same trip that I met Christopher. He was a decade older than Christopher, and had relished his role as the worldly, older cousin. He’d already been prematurely balding back then, but possessed a macho charisma that had girls approaching him, asking to touch his smooth-shaved head.
A few months after Christopher and I had started dating, he confided in me that Butch was technically a second cousin, from a branch of the family that didn’t have much money, and so Christopher had paid for nearly everything on their trip. That arrangement hadn’t sat well with Christopher; it felt too much like paying someone to be his friend, so he’d distanced himself from Butch after that.
They’d lost contact for several years, but by the look of their interactions on our lodge tour, with Butch pulling Christopher into a playful headlock every chance he got, the reunion was going well.
Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle Page 53