by Dee Ernst
I scooped up eggs, a few strawberries, and an obviously homemade biscuit, still steaming faintly. I got some coffee and made my way to their table.
Bradley poked me with his elbow. “Sam sleeping in? What, did you tire him out last night?”
Annalise swatted her husband as I felt my cheeks burn.
“Honey, don’t,” Annalise scolded.
“Hey, I’ve known Sam half of my life,” Bradley protested.
“True,” Sybil said. “But poor Ellie here isn’t used to us yet. Give the girl a break.”
Sybil had been at the very top of their graduating class and had spent years at The Hague, involved with international war crimes. She had lived in London and was married to a Frenchman who had retired, very well, from banking. The two of them recently moved to New York City. The woman was probably a wealth of amazing stories, but I really wanted to ask her if she’d been to Amal Clooney’s wedding. I resisted the urge.
The biscuit tasted like heaven. “So Bradley,” I said after my first swallow, “how is this weekend going to work?”
He beamed. “Nadia will be here by lunch, and we’ll each get an envelope giving us all we need to know about who we are this weekend. Of course, there will be a victim and murderer, but we all take on a role. One of us has a cheating spouse, one is an escaped felon, all sorts of cool identities. Nadia will act as the investigator, and by listening in on her interviews, and finding various clues, we’re supposed to be able to uncover the killer in twenty-four hours.”
“Just in time for a delicious New Year’s Eve dinner party,” Annalise gushed. “Meg’s husband, Rob, studied cooking in France, and the food is amazing.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked.
Annalise nodded. She was taller than her husband by at least six inches, classically beautiful, and had one of those lean, toned bodies that screamed Pilates. “Yes. I was here last spring for a yoga weekend. I’m the one who suggested it to Bradley.”
Yoga weekend. Of course. “Well, it certainly is lovely. We have the whole inn?”
Bradley pushed aside his plate. He’d left a few pieces of French toast, drowning in syrup, on his plate, as well as traces of bacon. Annalise's dish was shining clean except for three strawberry stems. “Yep. Got the whole place, Rob is doing all the cooking for breakfast and dinner, and I stocked up on my favorite wines.”
The eggs melted away in my mouth, and I tried not to hum from happiness. “It’s a wonderful idea. I’m a big fan of murder. Mysteries, I mean.”
“Yes,” Sybil sat back. “Sam says you’re an editor? How exciting.”
“Not exciting,” I told her. “But the perfect job for a grammar nerd with a little OCD who loves to read.”
Sybil smiled. “And do you ski?”
I shook my head. Even the coffee was perfection. “Nope.” I glanced around. “Is that where everyone is? On the slopes?”
Annalise picked up her coffee, took a minuscule sip, then put the cup down. “Yes. I’d be out there myself, but my back is acting up.”
Sybil raised her eyebrows. “I can’t imagine enjoying any activity that requires you to buy special clothing so you won’t get frostbite.”
I nodded. “Sing it, sister.”
She laughed.
Sam came in, looking relaxed and handsome. He piled his plate high with a little of everything from the buffet, put lots of sugar and cream in his coffee, and then sat down next to me. I stared at his heaping plate.
“Tell me again why you’re not fat?” I asked.
He threw back his head and laughed. “I have a pure heart. Morning, everyone. When does this murder of ours start?”
Bradley swiped his phone and scrolled through. “Nadia says she’s on schedule despite the snow. She should be here before noon.”
“Excellent,” Sam said. “Would anyone like to walk into town? It’s only a few blocks.”
“But, it’s cold,” I pointed out. “And there’s snow.”
He shrugged. “Bundle up. I’m sure the roads are clear. Vermonters know what to do with heavy snowfall.”
“But it’s cold,” I repeated.
Sybil chuckled. “You haven’t been through a winter with him yet, have you? Sorry, Ellie, but Sam is the original abominable snowman. He’d walk to class in a scarf and sweater, no matter how cold it was. You can borrow my coat, if you’d like. It’s mink, and trust me, you won’t feel the cold.”
Mink? A real mink coat? “Are you sure you won’t mind?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Just be back here by two,” Bradley said. “That’s when we’ll officially start our murder.”
I nodded happily. A walk in the winter sun in a mink coat, on the arm of a wonderful man sounded perfect. I spread more jam on my biscuit and stole half of Sam’s pancake.
All that walking would burn off a ton of carbs, right?
Downtown Manchester was one of those charming walkable cities with shops and restaurants and smiling tourists. The sidewalks were perfectly clear, so Sam and I covered a lot of ground. We stopped in every coffee shop to sit and talk. Sam could drink coffee all day and it never seemed to bother him. I switched to herbal tea because too much caffeine would keep me up for hours.
At our first stop, I checked my phone.
“Cait wants to know what your friends are like.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That they’re all rich and thin.”
Sam laughed, turning several heads in the coffee shop. His laugh was always like that. “They are not all rich and thin.”
“Oh? And who isn’t?”
“Bradley.”
I nodded. “True. He is not thin. But his excessive richness balances things out. What kind of lawyer is he exactly?”
“Criminal defense. But he came from money. Old money. Ship building or something. There’s also Annalise's money. She was in commercial real estate in New York City when fortunes were being made daily. Now, she just dabbles in vacation homes for the rich and famous.”
I cradled my teacup in both hands. “Do you regret not sticking with the lawyering part of the law? Do you ever miss the idea of big money?”
“Not all lawyers make big money,” he pointed out. “Look at Bennett and Claudia. He thinks he should be helping people get out of terrible legal situations, even if they can’t afford a big fee. She thinks they should be rolling in cash. It’s been a bone of contention between them for years.”
“You could have been that kind of lawyer.”
“Can I tell you? That kind of lawyer has a very boring existence. I prefer a little more action.”
“For less money.”
“As the child of immigrants, I lived a very frugal life. I was also brought up with the idea that I should give back to the country that had been so good to my family. Making a lot of money was never part of my life plan.”
“Yes, but if you made a lot of money, you’d be able to buy me that gorgeous cameo we saw in that antique shop.” I grinned. “There’s nothing wrong with disposable income.”
“True. But then my first wife would have taken everything, and I’d probably be paying alimony for the rest of my days. There is a down side to being rich.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of the few people I know who could actually find it.”
He laughed again.
He was a lovely man.
We walked up and down Church Street Marketplace. Sybil’s coat kept me comfortable and warm, besides letting me pretend to be one of the Beautiful People. Sam, in a black wool pea coat flapping open and a scarf that didn’t even wrap around his throat, seemed totally unfazed by the cold. But it was cold. The bank time and temperature flashed twenty-three degrees. My feet finally started feeling the chill, and we headed back.
We made it back to the inn just as the skies started to darken. In the ten minutes it took to walk up the drive, deliver our purchases to the room, and change into something less weather intensive, the sun gave up com
pletely and there was a sudden snow squall.
Back in the living room, the fire was roaring, there were wine bottles on the drink cart, and a man introduced as Rob was setting out a plate of cheese and fruit. He chatted up his guests like the perfect host, and I recognized him as the man Meg was having the fight with the night before. I knew that there were two or three part-time employees as well, but this was the Rob and Meg show, and he was every bit as charming as his wife had been.
A new person had joined our ranks. Nadia looked like a Nadia should look —tall and Nordic, with white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. She waited until everyone had a drink of something in his or her hand. I opted for seltzer. I needed to be in top form.
“Hello, everyone, and welcome.”
What? No Swedish accent? Or Russian? How disappointing.
“I’m Nadia, of course, and I will be coordinating our weekend. A few basics first. You will each select an envelope that will describe your character in depth. Please, try very hard to immerse yourself in this fantasy. Everyone always has more fun when we all play our roles. Second, try to stay together as much as possible. Some of you might be tempted to sneak away for some together time, but as entertaining as that might be, you might miss an important clue. And just to keep everyone invested, Bradley will give away a free weekend back here to the winner. So, everyone, it’s worth it to play the game!”
We all applauded. I looked over at Bradley, who was looking modestly at his feet.
Nadia had a stack of manila envelopes on the table beside her, and she spread them out. “Now,” she explained, “I need everyone to come up and choose an envelope. The names of the characters are printed on each envelope, so please, pick a character that is your own sex. It just makes things easier. Then, go back to your rooms, open the envelopes, and see who you’re going to be until New Years Eve. Please, don’t share with your partner. You’re not to know who the murderer is. Come back down in an hour or so and we’ll begin.”
I stood and moved toward Nadia. She was really beautiful, and her smile lit up the room. Sybil’s husband Louis was the first to reach for an envelope, and as he did, he leaned over to whisper something in Nadia’s ear. Her smile remained fixed as she nodded several times, not looking at him. I glanced over at Sybil. She had snatched her envelope and stepped back, and was watching her husband, eyes narrowed.
Jory and Kevin were the next couple to reach the table. Jory was a stay-at-home mom to three teenage boys. Kevin worked for the city of St. Louis, as legal advisor to the city council. They looked like brother and sister—average height, brown hair, brown eyes, and pale, freckled skin.
Sam and I were up next. The name Samantha Blackburn jumped out. Since there was a Blackburn Street in Mt. Abrams, I picked it up. Sam snagged Jack White.
Bennett and Claudia were next. I had a very strong feeling about the two of them. They were at war. Some couples bickered their way through years of marriage, but these two were taking it to another level. They had stayed on opposite sides of the room last night; Claudia hadn’t driven with Bennett to the slopes, but instead had begged a ride from Kevin and Jory. As far as I could tell, they hadn’t looked each other in the eye once since Sam and I had arrived. They took their envelopes and marched out, single file, without a word to anyone.
Annalise, coming up last, sighed loudly. “Another one of those weekends,” she said, and everyone laughed nervously. I poked Sam with an elbow, and he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“We’re used to them. They’ll be having noisy make-up sex later on, but for now…”
Sybil, standing close, snorted. “Unless this is the weekend they finally kill each other.”
“Well,” Bradley said, picking up the last envelope, “if they do, we have Nadia here to help us solve the case.”
“How about me?” Sam said loudly, faking indignation. “I do that for a living, remember?”
Bradley made a face. “Really? Is that what you do?”
They all laughed again, and I grabbed my seltzer.
“Let’s go,” I said to Sam, and we went back upstairs.
We met Meg coming out of our room, her arms full of towels.
“Just finishing up,” she said. “We’re a bit short today. One of my helpers got stuck in the snow.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. “Everything here is just perfect. And your husband is a master.”
She smiled, but her eyes darkened. “Yes. He’s great in the kitchen.” She opened her mouth to say something else, then shook her head. “Really great in the kitchen. I’ll see you both later.”
Once in the room, Sam looked at me. “What was that?”
I shrugged as I started to tear at my envelope. “She and Rob were having a first-class fight last night.” I drew out a folder with Samantha Blackburn printed on it and headed for the love started to read.
Printed across the top of the first sheet in big, bold, letters, was a warning.
DO NOT TELL ANYONE YOUR ROLE IN THE MURDER.
Made sense, right? So I skimmed quickly. Samantha was a bit younger than me, twice divorced, and having an affair with married Julien Monk. They had arranged to meet at the inn for a weekend of passion and promises. Samantha was hoping Julien was leaving his wife. Julien was actually going to end the affair.
Oh boy, this looked great!
I read some more back-story, then a personality profile. Samantha was secretive and stubborn. She was not well liked by the other guests because she felt herself to be superior. In other words, a spoiled bitch.
I turned to the last page.
She was a spoiled bitch that ended up dead right after cocktails.
What? I was the victim?
I looked up at Sam. He was sitting in a wing chair by the fireplace, looking pleased with himself. He glanced up at me. “I am a wicked, wicked man. I love the idea of being a villain.”
Sam was the killer? I was so angry I wanted to throw something. Here was the perfect set-up—me playing detective to catch Sam as a murderer, and I couldn’t do a thing except get strangled in the panty and lie on the floor until someone found me, hours later.
Sam glanced up at me again. “What?”
I sighed. “Nothing.”
“Ellie, you should be jumping up and down with excitement. You get to play detective for the rest of the weekend.”
I looked down at my folder.
“Oh, no,” he said. “You’re the victim?”
I nodded.
“Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
I sighed again. “At least there’s good food and great sex to look forward to, right?”
He got up, crossed over to me, and then pulled me out of the love seat by both hands. My folder spilled to the floor.
He took my face in both hands. “Well, then, we might as well get started on that right away,” he said.
So we did.
Chapter 3
As we left the room, we could hear voices. Sam frowned and hurried toward the stairway. Someone downstairs was having a very loud, very angry discussion.
We followed the noise to the dining room, where Sybil and Louis were standing, nose-to-nose…discussing.
“I’ll not be made a fool of again,” Sybil was shouting. “Keep your grabby hands off of her.”
“And I will not tolerate your mindless jealousy,” Louis yelled. “Every time I look at another woman, you accuse me of wanting to sleep with her.”
“That’s because I have years of your personal history to draw from,” Sybil shot back, her voice rising in pitch.
“Sybil,” Sam said sharply. “Louis. This is why we have private rooms. This kind of conversation belongs behind a closed door.
Sybil turned to Sam, her face red and blotchy, eyes wet. “He’s doing it again, Sam. With Nadia. Did you see him?”
Louis threw up his arms, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the dining room. Sybil watched him go, and her shoulders slumped. She put her hands on her face, her shoulders started to shake,
and Sam made a step toward her. I backed out of the dining room into the foyer, then turned to head for the drink cart.
Nadia was sitting with Bradley and Annalise, trying not to look like she’d heard the whole thing. Bradley gave a low whistle.
“This is turning out to be quite a weekend,” he said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I don’t care,” I said, and I didn’t. I glanced at my watch. The instructions in my folder had said I needed to find out where the pantry was, off the kitchen, and to be in the living room by four thirty. It was ten to four now.
Bradley handed me a martini, and as I sipped it I cringed just a little. The gin was really strong. I took two more quick sips, then nodded my head. Since I was going to be killed off sometime in the next hour or two, I didn’t think my sobriety was going to be an issue.
“I have to find, ah, a thing. Place,” I explained as I turned to walk back out.
I wandered, glass in hand, past the dining room. Sam was standing there holding the sobbing Sybil in his arms. When he saw me, he raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.
I took another sip, slipped past the office alcove in the foyer, and went in search of the kitchen.
It wasn’t big, but it was gleaming stainless steel and very clean. There was a long narrow stainless steel table in the middle of the room with open shelves stacked with pots and pans beneath, and two pies, apple by their smell, cooling on top. Meg saw me and waved. “Looking for the pantry?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m apparently meeting my married lover here for a bit of strangulation.”
Meg smiled. “Yes. Nadia’s done a few of these here this year. I know the drill. Come on through.”
I followed her back around a huge refrigerator and into a large room with wall to wall stainless shelves packed with canned goods, plates, and serving pieces.
“All I ask is that you don’t break anything,” Meg said, smiling. “The victim usually gets found within an hour, so you won’t have to hang out here by yourself for long.”
“And then what do I do?” I asked, trying to keep the whine out of my voice.