I moved to follow him, but one of my feet had fallen asleep, and my first step down resulted in me losing my balance. The branch I reached for snapped dryly, the cracking sound causing the two people in the honeymoon suite to whip their heads in my direction.
I held very still, hoping they hadn’t seen me.
Within seconds, their focus was back in the room again.
Marie cried out, “Don’t go! Franco, don’t you dare walk out of this room or you’ll be sorry.”
He stepped back from the bed, away from her reach.
“Now is not a good time,” he said. “You always had the worst timing.”
“Because of Della? You’re too good for her. She doesn’t appreciate you.”
“Never mind her. The bad timing is about tonight. I’ll meet you here tomorrow night, same time. Right now, I’ve got to talk to Benji about something.”
“What are you talking about? What does Benji have that’s more important than… us?”
“He’s still got money. I’m going to help him out by holding some of it for him before he goes bankrupt.”
“Holding it? How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to pretend I’m blackmailing him. I figured out what happened with his old Plymouth, and I’m going to use that to get his money.”
“His Plymouth? I don’t understand. That was over twenty years ago.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for him, but he stepped back again. “Franco, don’t tease, and don’t lie to me.”
He chuckled. “You’re right. I’m going to keep the money. There’ll be enough to go around. Maybe I’ll share some with you, if you’re nice to me.” He shook his finger at her. “But you need to cool it for tonight.”
She grabbed his hand and proceeded to lick his finger.
He gave in and stepped up to the bed to kiss her, his hands all over her body. They embraced for only a moment before he pulled away and went for the door.
“Don’t go,” she begged.
Without a word, he left the room and closed the door.
Marie slowly got up, her shoulders slumping and her arms dangling at her sides. She closed the glass patio door, picked up her dress, but then dropped it and threw herself on the bed, face first. I couldn’t hear any sounds, but I could see by the shaking of her body that she was grief-stricken.
Despite witnessing her attempt to seduce Franco, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
Jeffrey enjoyed short excursions outside in the evening, but he always returned home before my bedtime for Kitty Playtime Hour.
He’d beaten me down the tree, so there was a chance he would beat me back to the room. I called his name and whistled for him as I walked back toward my patio, through patches of mud and crunchy snow.
Most of the rooms on the ground floor had their curtains drawn, but Christopher, in the room next to ours, had left his curtains open. His television was on, flickering blue light in the room. Christopher was crashed on the bed, eyes closed, asleep on top of the covers with his clothes on.
“Marie and her chocolates,” I said to myself, triggering a more worrisome thought. Our chef had admitted to swapping her husband’s medication in order to get him out of the way. How many sleeping pills did the woman have? And how far was she willing to go?
I stepped over the low shrubbery surrounding my room’s patio and froze. There was someone in my room, looking at my things on the desk. A man.
Chapter 15
If I hadn’t just seen Christopher in the adjoining room, I would have thought the sandy-haired man in my room was him.
Standing just outside the wide-open patio door, I cleared my throat. “Mr. Biggs, I believe you may have wandered into the wrong room by accident.”
He dropped my book on the desk and whirled around, his hands raised. “I wasn’t snooping.”
“You’re in my room, looking at my things. Mr. Biggs, that is the textbook definition of snooping.”
“I was returning your cat.”
He pointed to Jeffrey, who sat on the room’s armchair, hind leg daintily pointed in the air while he performed his one-cat show, Watch Me Lick My Unmentionables.
I stepped inside and closed the door so he wouldn’t dart out again.
“How did you know the cat was mine?”
“You’re not the only one observing people’s behavior. I saw you putting steak in your purse, so when the cat sauntered into my room and squawked at me that he was lost, I knew he was yours.”
“Oh, you speak cat as well?”
“Enough to get by.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned over my books again. He looked boyishly young, with his suit jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up.
He kept looking at my big book on the criminal code—the one so thick, I hadn’t yet dared to crack the spine.
“You seem interested in that one,” I said. “Would you like to borrow it for a few days? I have plenty of others.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, sure.” He held the tome to his chest like a shield. “I’ll get out of your way now. I’m going to raid the kitchen for a can of cola.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. “I’ll come with you.”
He seemed perplexed by my offer, but didn’t refuse the company.
I gave Jeffrey a pat goodbye, then we left. Benji started toward his room, then stopped. “I probably can’t get in that way. My keys are back inside, and I left by the patio. I’ll have to go around through your room when we get back.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
He breathed heavily while we walked, as though something was bothering him. “I’m not trying to get into your room for anything else,” he said.
“I believe you.”
His breathing gradually returned to normal.
“Your cat is really nice,” he said.
“I’ll pass that along to him.”
We arrived at the kitchen and started looking around for anything resembling cola. All but a few safety lights had been switched off, and the space felt cavernous in the dark.
I asked Benji, “When you guys were growing up, what was Marie like?”
“She was nice, just like now.”
“Did you two ever date?”
“I always liked Marie more than she liked me. She said our chemistry wasn’t right. That’s one of the reasons I got so interested in chemistry. I wanted to make something that could help guys like me, to be more like Franco.”
“You wanted a drug to change your personality?”
He looked surprised that I’d understood what he meant. “Exactly.”
I smiled warmly. “I hope you eventually realized that your personality is just fine how it is, and you stopped trying to change it.”
“No, I didn’t give up. Chemistry isn’t astrology. It’s a hard science, and our minds can be easily manipulated. Science will never stop, so why should I? We’re on the brink of discovering compounds that can improve all of humanity. Maybe bring us closer together.”
“Benji, are you talking about chemicals that make people fall in love?”
“Of course not. That wouldn’t be ethical.”
“But changing someone’s personality is ethical?”
He kept checking cupboards as he answered, “There are countless chemical reactions happening in the brain at every moment. Some of those events can be manipulated, either by thoughts and actions, or by the introduction of artificial compounds.”
Laughing, I said, “Benjamin Biggs, tell me the truth. Have you or have you not used your genius chemistry skills to invent a love potion?”
“Of course not,” he said with annoyance. “Would I be here by myself if I had?”
“You tell me. Are you in love with Mar—”
“No,” he said, answering before I could even finish her name. “She’s with Butch now, and even if she wasn’t, she would never look at me the way she looks at Franco.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Sad for her, because Franco
didn’t even want her hanging around back when we were kids. She got into the group because her parents owned the lumber yard, and we got free wood to build the treehouse.” He paused, then his voice shifted to a happier tone. “That old treehouse is looking rough these days, according to the photos the guys took on the weekend, but you should have seen it twenty-five years ago. We loved to sit up there and read books and talk about the future, and how great it would be. I thought the future would have solutions to all my problems, and drug manufacturers would have pills to make me more like…”
Just then, Franco came into the kitchen, and Benji stopped talking.
Franco glanced around the kitchen. “I’m looking for Dion. Did he come through here? He wants me to go float in those tanks with him and the redhead chick. I think he’s into her.”
“I haven’t seen him since I left the karaoke show. Your girlfriend is really beautiful, by the way.”
Franco sneered. “Beautiful and high maintenance.” He pointed a finger at Benji while backing out through the swinging doors. “We’re going to talk about that thing, with the money. I help you, you help me, and we all help ourselves.”
Benji nodded slowly. “You can have everything. I don’t need it.”
“Remember, you brought this on yourself,” Franco said, and then he was gone.
I checked the door to make sure Franco wasn’t standing outside listening.
“Benji, I work with a lawyer in Misty Falls. He might be able to help you in ways your corporate lawyers can’t.”
Benji finally found the cola and opened a can. He took a long drink, then set the can down slowly. Solemnly, he said, “Your lawyer friend won’t be necessary. I have a solution. Everything is going to be all right.”
“What does Franco have on you? Is it worse than what’s going to happen with your company? At dinner, you said you were worth five million, and it’s gone down to zero.”
“Franco’s got nothing,” Benji said. “He’s chasing a ghost.”
Back in my room, I played with Jeffrey, tossing some makeshift toys around the room while I worked on composing a message to send Logan.
If I wanted to tell him about my first day at the lodge, where would I even start? I didn’t want to say how Christopher had tricked me into exploring the caves with him, then tried to kiss me. I started to describe the food Marie had been making, but deleted it for being so boring in text format, especially compared to the juicy gossip about her trying to seduce Franco, and drugging her husband. I couldn’t send that sort of information by text. Also, I didn’t want Logan to think the trip was some wild swingers’ convention.
Would he be interested in hearing that the owner of Biggs Foods was up at the lodge? Possibly. How about Benji’s prank, pretending he had an imaginary drug from the Planet Toadonx? How would I even start relaying that anecdote?
My day had been so interesting, it literally defied description.
After a dozen false starts, I finally typed: We’re having a good time. Wish you were here.
I sent the text to Logan, then read through my other messages and got ready for bed.
Undressing, I noticed some grime on my shirt from the tree-climbing adventure. To prevent the stain from setting, I hand-washed it in the bathroom sink. Although the lodge wasn’t officially open for business, the washroom was stocked with complimentary supplies, including the cutest miniature box of lavender-scented powdered laundry soap.
Jeffrey sat on the bathroom counter, supervising.
I asked him, “Should we wait up for Jessica, or hit the hay?”
He ignored me, fascinated with the laundry soap bubbles popping in the sink.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I’m starting to worry. If she doesn’t show up soon, we’ll have to form a search party.”
Jeffrey swiped at the bubbles, licked some off his paw, then sneezed.
Chapter 16
I woke up to a bright room full of spring sunshine. My bedroom window seemed bigger than usual, the size of an entire wall. After a few seconds of disorientation, I remembered I was at the Flying Squirrel Lodge.
Jessica had returned the night before around midnight, so I hadn’t needed to assemble a search party after all.
We got showered and dressed, talking about how quickly the weather had turned beautiful. Summer was coming early, and it looked as though the melt was underway.
By the time we returned home, the waterfall that Misty Falls was named for would be roaring with the mountain run-off. Unlike some of Oregon’s other spectacular falls, ours didn’t dry up in the summer, due to being fed in part by an underground spring. The falls were breathtaking year-round, but at their thunderous, roaring best in the spring.
Jessica was telling me about local cliff-diving sites when we stepped out into the hallway.
She stopped talking about cliffs and asked me, “Do you smell something?”
I sniffed the air. “Something fermented. Beer?”
“Franco,” she said. “What a jerk. The lodge isn’t even open yet, and he already stunk up the hallway.”
“Marie did want to put the lodge through a test run. Now she can test the carpet cleaning supplies.”
We entered the sunny dining room and stopped in reverence of the snow-dusted mountains beyond the picture windows.
I reached for the back of a chair to steady myself. After a lifetime of looking up at mountains in the distance, looking out at them at eye level gave me the sense of being a bird in flight, soaring over the landscape.
The scent of food brought me back to reality.
Marie stood at one end of a buffet table, serving golden crepes straight from circular flat griddles. The guests were to walk their plates along a vast range of sweet and savory fillings, from poached peach slices and slivered almonds to pale yellow clouds of scrambled eggs and rounds of crispy back bacon.
I was drizzling maple syrup over my banana-chocolate creation when Dion bumped into my elbow on purpose and gave me a knowing look.
With a rich, baritone voice, he said, “Someone’s been making up for lost time.”
“Are you teasing me about my two crepes?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem fair, considering you have four.”
“I’m talking about you and your ex, Christopher, making up for lost time. I heard everything.”
“You must be mistaken. All I did last night was sleep.”
Dion waggled his eyebrows. “Not at five o’clock this morning,” he said, then he left the buffet with his crepes.
Christopher came over and asked, “What was that all about? Is he hitting on you? I heard he liked Jessica.”
“He said you and I hooked up last night, and that he heard everything.”
Christopher scratched his head. “We hooked up? You’d think I’d remember something like that.”
“If you need a hint, apparently it was at five o’clock this morning.”
Christopher said, “Five? This morning? Wasn’t me.”
“Dion’s room is between yours and Franco’s, so it must have been Franco and Della.”
Just as I said her name, Della entered the dining room. She wore a short dress that was barely appropriate for daywear. Her gleaming black hair was pulled back in an artfully messy bun, and an oversized pair of dark sunglasses covered her eyes.
She yawned, in the manner of someone who might have been awake since five o’clock.
Christopher leaned in and said, “Case closed, Detective Day.”
Butch came around to the crepe station and asked Marie if she needed anything, then he asked me if I was finding my favorite crepe toppings. He seemed nervous, his eyes flitting around while he rubbed his hands and told Christopher, “You name a topping, I will make sure you get it. How about pineapple? The Fairchild men all love pineapple. Try the pineapple-cherry sauce, with a little ham, on one of Marie’s savory crepes. You’ll think you’re in heaven.”
Della slipped up behind Butch and put her manicured hand on his tattooed arm. “In heaven?
Tell me more.”
Butch made a gurgling noise, yanked his arm away from her, and fled as though he was on fire.
Della laughed. “Silly Butch. Such a big, tough guy on the outside.” She pushed down her sunglasses and watched him run into the kitchen. “Such a cute little butt on him, too. Lucky Marie.” She gave me a knowing smile, then pushed her sunglasses back up and walked over to the coffee station, her hips swinging, thanks to her very high heels.
Christopher stared after her, transfixed. I playfully pushed his jaw up and told him to stop drooling, then I walked over to join Jessica at her table.
Unlike the previous evening, when we’d dined at a central round table, the dining room had been arranged to encourage smaller groupings.
I walked past Benji Biggs, who sat alone, gazing out of the window, lost in thoughts—unpleasant ones, by the expression on his face.
I sat next to Jessica, who was watching Benji at the next table. She shook her head. “That poor guy has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wish we could cheer him up.”
“You’re not angry at him, Jess? His company, Biggs Foods, did poison you. And we still don’t know how it happened.”
“True, but I’m not like you, Stormy. I don’t get worked up over stuff, and I don’t obsess. Maybe it was the way I was raised.”
“You think I’m obsessive? I’d argue with you, but that would just prove I’m obsessive.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Jessica said. “You were raised by a cop, and you have a very strong sense of justice. When you obsess, it’s for the right reason. I really admire that about you. But while your family was talking about crime scenes at the dinner table, my mother was teaching us about finding peace and letting go.”
“Didn’t your mother go off to be a monk or a nun for a while?”
“She went on some retreats, but she always came back.” Jessica smiled at the memory as she dug into her fully-loaded crepe. “My mother was singing the merits of letting it go long before the Disney song came out and made it seem like a new concept.”
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