As the plate tilted over, time slowed down, and I heard my father’s voice in my head: Stormy, never have a plan, because plans go wrong.
As predicted by the oh-so-helpful voice in my head, my plan went wrong.
The broken dish did cause a distraction, but only for a second. Della looked at the plate, then me, then turned toward Christopher and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening. In the stone-enclosed room, there was nowhere for the noise to go except directly into our heads.
She had her arm in the air, the gun pointed at the ceiling. Christopher hadn’t been shot, but he fell to his knees with his hands in the air. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear anything but ringing.
I scanned the room and checked that Jessica was also unharmed, and then I looked down at myself, for good measure.
Nobody had been shot, but the bullet had ricocheted off the stone ceiling and shattered a bottle of red wine. The crimson liquid wicked across the white tablecloth. Everything was too much for Jessica, and she fainted against me.
People were yelling, but I couldn’t hear anything over the high-pitched tone ringing in my ears. Nobody dared to rush Della, not even her brother, lest they share the same fate as the wine bottle. I helped ease Jessica gently to the floor. She was better off down there anyway.
My hearing slowly returned, the room’s voices a loud layer on top of the ringing.
Della said into the microphone, “Sorry about that technical adjustment, ladies and gentlemen. It wouldn’t be a real karaoke night if we didn’t have something go wrong. Please stay in your seats, because the best part of the show is just getting started. Marie is going to get up here and tell us why she killed Franco.” She gave Marie a malevolent look and beckoned her with the tip of the gun.
Marie got to her feet as though she were a marionette. She moved awkwardly toward the stage. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she cried.
Della spat into the microphone, her words amplified, “You must have poisoned him. You were the one preparing all our meals, and I know Franco wouldn’t take drugs. We made a pact to each other. And he never drank more than two or three beers, at the most.”
Marie, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to do, reached for the microphone.
“Stop,” Butch yelled. “It was me.”
Heads whipped around to look at Butch. His deep voice was loud enough to be heard over the ringing in my ears.
“Della, my good days are over,” Butch said. “The love of my life won’t even speak to me, so just go ahead and shoot me. Leave Marie out of this.”
Butch unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt and exposed the left side of his chest. He had another tattoo there, a heart, with Marie’s name in a banner.
Della took the microphone off its stand and held it to her mouth. Marie ducked her head and skulked back to her chair.
“Butch, I will shoot you,” Della said. “But first you have to admit it. Did you kill Franco?”
“I brought him to your room, and tucked him into bed next to you. I put a dead man in your bed. I thought better of it and came back a few hours later to move him again. Then you woke up, and I lied. I said I was there for you.”
“You… what?”
He undid one more button, and thrust out his exposed chest. “I am the shame of the entire Fairchild family. Shoot me now before I do any more damage to the name.” He looked to his wife with sad eyes and mouthed some words: I’m sorry.
Della breathed heavily into the microphone. “Are you telling me I slept next to a dead guy? Butch Fairchild, you’ll get what you deserve.” She took a deep breath. “If only I could kill you twice.”
She dropped the microphone and used both hands on the gun to take aim at his chest.
I jumped to my feet. “You’ve got it all wrong!”
Everyone turned to me with stunned expressions, none more stunned than Christopher.
My brain kicked into overdrive, whirring with thoughts, processing everything I’d learned during my investigation.
She trained the gun on my chest, which was a bigger target than my head. “You killed my Franco? But you barely knew him.”
“Della, please lower your gun. I didn’t hurt Franco, but I know who did, and I know what happened.”
“You’re bluffing,” she said.
“I may be in way over my head, but do you really think I’d be bluffing at a time like this?”
“It was Marie,” Della said. She moved the aim of the gun off me and back onto Marie, who made a sound like a squeaky toy being stepped on.
Calmly, I said, “Della, you had a really good idea to bring us all together in this room, to get everything out in the open. We are so close to discovering the truth, but you need to give me a few minutes to ask everyone some questions.”
“Start asking.”
I looked around at the faces in the room and let go of any semblance of a plan. If this was going to work, I needed to trust my process, and my process was asking questions.
“Benji,” I said.
He also let out a sound like a squeaky toy being stepped on.
“Benji, I’m not accusing you of anything. Answer me honestly. What was the white powder in the plastic bag?”
“TDX,” he said.
“And how did you come by this drug?”
“I made it in the lab, based on the ideas the Toadonians gave me in a dream. They didn’t give me the full formula, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out, once I cross-referenced it to known toxins found here on earth.”
“You had a bag full of a drug you manufactured yourself?”
He nodded. “I was going to use it to kill myself. You can’t ingest that much, or your body will reject it, so I mixed it with some cream and made a poultice.” He frowned. “I guess it was a good thing it didn’t work, or I wouldn’t be here.” He patted his chest. “Am I here?”
Marie spoke up, “Leave Benji alone. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“But he is a chemistry genius,” I said. “Whether he thinks the recipe came from little green men on Mars or some other planet, he still knows how to synthesize drugs.” I turned to Benji. “When you applied the poultice, did it smell like lavender?”
His eyes widened behind his glasses. “It smelled like flowers, yes. Like lavender.”
“I thought so.” I cleared my throat and pointed to the bottle of whiskey. “Would someone pour me a shot? My throat’s a little dry.”
Nobody dared move, so I walked over to the bottle and poured two fingers into a tumbler, then took a sip.
“Della,” I said. “Put the gun down. Now.”
“Are you saying it was an accident?” Her arms trembled, and she wiped the sweat from her brow with her shoulder. “Am I supposed to believe Franco broke his promise to me and took some drugs nobody’s ever heard of?”
“I don’t expect you to believe that, because it’s not true.” I took another taste of the whiskey. “Now, put the gun down, because you don’t want to shoot your brother. And he’s the one who killed Franco.”
Chapter 36
Dion jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over. “You have no proof!”
“As sure as this is the finest whiskey I’ve tasted, I have all the proof I need.”
Dion snorted and told the others, “She’s making this all up. It’s quite the story, too. Very entertaining. Except you’re wrong. I loved Franco. We all did. I looked up to him my entire life. Sure, I had some reservations about him and my sister getting married, but we were going to get through it, just like we did with everything.”
“Like you did with your father?” I asked. “Did you work out all your issues before he took the overdose and made everything better for you? Is there any chance you were there when he took those drugs that killed him?”
Dion fixed me with eyes as fiery as any I’d ever seen. “You’d better shut up, right now.”
“Dion, you don’t like people who
aren’t good for your family. You loved Franco, but you didn’t want him marrying your sister.”
Della said, “It’s true. Dion was always saying I deserved someone better.”
I continued, “When Benji dropped that bag of powder on the table and said it was TDX, just like the drug you all read about in your sci-fi novels, you believed him. He tried to play it off, saying it was only sugar, but you had some on your finger, tasted a little. You knew it wasn’t sugar. What happened next? Did your finger go numb? Did you have some strange feelings? Not enough to knock you out, but enough to let you know the powder was exactly what you needed?”
Dion crossed his arms and tilted his chin up in defiance, eyes still blazing.
“You let yourself into Benji’s room, probably when he was returning my cat to me, and you swapped out the powder for the lodge’s complimentary lavender laundry detergent. Then you went down to the float tanks with Franco and my friend Jessica. You tried to talk some sense into Franco. You tried to get him to break up with your sister. And when he wouldn’t agree, you dumped that bag of powder into his tank. Then you left him to die from an overdose.”
Butch blurted out, “That must be what happened. Franco was dead already when I found him.”
Everyone turned to Butch.
Marie said, “And you didn’t tell anyone? You didn’t call the police? Oh, Butch.”
“I panicked,” he said. “All I could think about was how bad it would be for the inn, that somebody died in the spa before we were even open. I figured at least if he died in bed, there wouldn’t be an investigation.”
I nodded. “And no investigation meant nobody finding out about your criminal record.”
“But what about the video?” Marie asked. “I had a look at the security footage of the hallway, and I saw you and Franco walking to his room.”
I took another sip of my whiskey. The next part was going to be hard to explain with a straight face.
“Marie, have you seen the eighties screwball classic, Weekend at Bernie’s?” She nodded, so I continued, “As the owner of the lodge, your husband knew that camera was operating in the hallway.” I glanced over at Christopher. “If you’ll recall, Butch fell asleep just after dinner, then woke up refreshed at three in the morning and did his rounds. He found Franco dead in one of the float tanks. He hit the drain button and hauled him out. It’s possible that enough of the drug seeped into his skin to alter his choices and increase his paranoia.” I glanced over at Butch. “Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak.
I explained to Marie, “Butch thought he was doing the right thing when he got Franco dressed, then used waxing supplies from the spa to stick a beer to Franco’s hand. He tied the two of them together at the waist and ankle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was convincing. And if you want proof of that, you’ll find it on Franco’s palm. That leg wax is impossible to get off, unless you know what you’re doing.”
Della wailed at her brother, “How could you?”
“She’s lying,” Dion said. “You’re going to believe her over me? Even if I did put something in Franco’s tank water, that didn’t kill him. He went walking around outside, and fell.”
Benji raised his hand shyly. “The TDX dose was diluted in the large tank. He would have been near death, with a slow rate of respiration. To a layperson, he would have seemed dead. The drugs were killing him, but in stages. He must have gained consciousness in the morning, then gone outside in his confusion, where he had another attack and fell onto the snow.”
Dion said to Della, “You heard Benji. He died from exposure.”
“Liar!” Della screamed. “You’re a liar!”
Holding my hands up in front of me, I slowly made my way around my table and toward Della. Speaking softly, I said, “You don’t want to shoot your own brother. He’s made a mistake, but he thought he was doing what was best for you. That’s how much he loves you.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her extended arm started shaking.
“Della, my job is to make sure that justice is done. That’s not up to you. Now, just hand the gun to me, and I’ll…”
To my relief, she placed the gun in my hand.
It was heavier than expected, and I nearly dropped it, but didn’t.
Everyone started talking at once, and Butch grabbed Dion before he could hurt anyone else.
I winked at Christopher and went to tuck the gun into the back of my jeans. Unfortunately, I was actually wearing a skirt—not jeans—so that was when I did drop the gun.
Luckily, it didn’t go off.
With Benji’s help, Butch put Dion under a citizen’s arrest.
Marie was quick to volunteer a pair of handcuffs—candy-apple red handcuffs that nobody questioned the origin or previous uses of.
Jessica regained consciousness shortly after Dion had been tucked away for cold storage, and reported that she’d had pleasant enough dreams. True to her sweet disposition, she apologized for not being more supportive of me, or at least witnessing my star moment. She promised to do some extra baking as my reward once we got home again.
Nobody could sleep a wink that night, not even Butch.
Some of us were playing board games in the brightly-lit dining room when the foreman of the road crew arrived at 11:47 a.m. to tell us the road was clear.
We all cheered, and kept playing our game.
Moments after the foreman left, Officer Peggy Wiggles arrived with my other favorite rookie, Kyle “Dimples” Dempsey.
I had already been in contact with Peggy by phone. We’d made the appropriate emergency calls and reported the incident. Peggy had been on her way up the mountain, checking out the mudslide for herself, when she’d called to warn me about Della’s green Volkswagen, abandoned on the side of the road. She’d been in a patch with bad reception, which explained the dropped call. She couldn’t get through again until I reached her two hours later.
During that call, she’d confirmed that I would be getting paid for my investigation, and—most importantly—getting full credit toward the hours I needed to take my license exam.
Now, at noon on a gorgeous spring day, overlooking a stunning Oregon valley, Officer Peggy Wiggles walked up to our table and said, “Monopoly? Are you kidding me?”
Jessica waved her hand over the plastic houses and hotels. “It was either this or a jigsaw puzzle with no edge pieces.”
Peggy shuddered. “No edge pieces. Nasty.” She frowned at the game board. “Monopoly was originally designed as a lesson about the immorality of capitalism.”
Christopher grinned up at her. “The immorality of capitalism has always been good to me.”
“That’s because you’re winning,” she said.
“Christopher’s not winning,” I said. “We’re only three and a half hours in. It could still be anyone’s game.”
Peggy asked, “Where’s Dion?”
“He’s cooling off,” I answered.
“Did you really put him in the walk-in refrigerator with the body?”
“We gave him a warm jacket.”
“Fair enough.” She glanced around. “Where’s his sister? I need to arrest her, too.”
“Della? But she’s already been through so much.”
Peggy turned to Kyle and said, gruffly, “What’s your call, Dimples? Do you want there to be a rumor flying around town about how a young woman got the drop on you and took your service revolver? Or do you want to press charges and make the front page of the Misty Falls Mirror?”
Kyle gave me a sheepish look. “A rumor’s fine,” he said.
“We need to speak with the young lady,” Peggy said.
I rolled the dice for my turn and told them, “Della’s in the room at the end on this level. She was up all night, and I’m guessing ten hours is too long for her to wear one fabulous outfit, so she’s probably doing a costume change.”
Peggy raised her eyebrows. “When this goes to court, I’m sure her testimony wi
ll be very colorful. Now, about the matter of the gun.”
I reached into my purse and retrieved the revolver, which I had placed in a sealed sandwich bag, just to be thorough.
Peggy thanked me and passed it to Kyle.
“That’s not an official evidence bag,” I said. “But it’s a fresh one, never used for sandwiches.”
“Good job, Detective Day.”
I smiled. I really liked the sound of that.
Peggy went off to find Della, while her partner Kyle excused himself to go check on everything we’d stored in the walk-in cooler.
Butch and Marie got up from the board game and went with him, because they had the combination for the lock we’d used on the door. Butch had one tattooed arm protectively around Marie’s waist, the sight of which made me smile even wider.
In the hours following all the excitement, the group of us had done what people are supposed to do at a mountain resort. We’d shared stories, bonded, cried, laughed, and even sung a karaoke song or two.
As the sun came up, Della apologized to everyone for being suspicious of the wrong people. She even confessed to Marie that she really had thrown herself at Butch, and he’d insisted they stop.
Aside from the question of who’d kissed whom, Butch had already redeemed himself in her eyes. He’d shown his true colors by jumping in to draw Della’s rage away from Marie and toward himself.
Was that love? Being willing to take a bullet for each other?
I couldn’t imagine caring for someone that much, but then again, I’d never been married.
As we watched Butch and Marie walk away, Christopher reached over and patted my knee.
“We’ll all be back home soon,” he said.
“We will,” I agreed.
Chapter 37
In criminal cases, eyewitness accounts are sometimes the weakest form of evidence. Each time we access a memory, we overwrite it just a little, degrading the truth, like a photocopy of a fax of a photocopy.
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