The manager let Detective Larson join him and answer that question. “The investigation and interviews continue, but the town residents may require our attention as well for emergencies. Everyone on the local police will be pulling extra duty. There is no indication that any danger exists to any guest, just use common sense and remain cautious. Additionally, if you can provide any information or think of something after your interview, you can privately call the station or tell any officer or detective here.”
The manager finished with, “I just want to wrap up by saying we will shortly have a roster of activities posted here in the lobby to help fill your time, including children-specific activities.”
Eventually, there were no further questions and the crowd began to disperse. Detective Larson made his way over to us.
“I wanted to thank you for the breakfast you arranged.” He spoke to me, but he was giving Porsche his undivided attention. After a few seconds of prolonged eye contact, his ears turned red and he began an inspection of the carpet.
Porsche had claimed another victim, even the hard to catch detective. I should go easy on him, he hadn’t a clue what a tornado on the back of a hurricane he had just briefly tangled with. He was toast.
I didn’t know how she did it either. In high school I had studied what I thought was her technique and tried to mimic it, but it wasn’t something you could be taught.
“I’ve got to back to the interviews. I still have many people to question. See you tonight.” His caramel and butterscotch voice said as he turned tail.
I know I was supposed to meet with him, but the way he said it sounded like he meant Porsche.
Chapter Five
The beginning of the resort management conference was supposed to be registration and an informative introduction to cover the next two days. But, it turned into a practical exercise. We brainstormed ideas for activities that the conference organizers would pass along to the hotel staff. They likely had plenty of their own backup ideas, but it made us feel useful.
I suggested a masked party and the children’s activity department could help with crafting masks for guests. I also thought of a popup poker night, without actual money bets to stay within the law. Prizes could be items from the gift shop. If they didn’t already have casino equipment, they could improvise with conference tables and such. s
It felt good to put our minds to some solutions. When the initial welcome session was finished, I made my way to the Ranchhand restaurant on the main floor, I was feeling good about doing something rather than obsess on the intensity of the storm or the amount of snow drifting higher.
I just stepped off the elevator when my cell phone rang. Mason. I took a deep breath and answered.
“Julie, thank goodness you answered.” I had turned the phone off during the conference session. “It is all over the news about the blizzard. Seems you’re right in the center of the worst of it.”
Funny how he mentioned the news, after lunch I spent some time on the internet before I headed to the conference and Googled Mason’s name. It was the only way to find out what he was doing on his bodyguard assignment. He sure didn’t tell me anything, which was frustrating. Mason was all over the celebrity pages accompanying the latest Hollywood sensation starlet to the opening of her new movie, on to an awards show, and then to a tribute to a famous director. I pulled myself out of the reverie.
“It’s pretty bad and cell phone service is getting unreliable. The town is hunkered down to wait out the storm. The conference is still on so I’ll be busy with that.” I was trying to keep my voice emotion-free.
“I was concerned, you haven’t answered any of my calls. Is something wrong?” He sounded sincere, but then he always did.
But over the phone isn’t what I consider authentic communication. It was too easy and non-committal to discuss what I was feeling over the phone. Not that I even fully understood what the problem was. I know seeing him all over the news with another woman ticked me off and hurt. I didn’t care if it was a job. The rest of the world didn’t know it was work, they believed he was dating this actress.
I pegged him as a Don Juan playboy when I first met him. But he’d convinced me he wasn’t like that, he wanted a committed relationship, was looking to settle down for the long term. I was beginning to feel duped, bordering on a fool. It didn’t bother him in the least to appear to be dating this woman rather than me.
“When we’re both back home, we need to talk. Not now and not over the phone.” That sounded bad, and I couldn’t make it sound any better and be truthful. My feeling useful from the conference went flying out into the storm and the swirling flurry of snow seemed to have settled in my stomach.
“Julie, whatever it is, I’m sure we can work through it. I’ll call again to see how you’re doing in the storm. I’m worried.” He had no idea.
The storm was the least of any of our worries with a killer lose. But, I wasn’t going to tell Mason or my family about that. We said goodbye and I stood staring off into space at the irony.
Brandon calling and wanting to resurrect our dead relationship when Mason and I need CPR for our young but failing couple status. Mason had pursued me with a single-minded attention, but as soon as I was open to and available to date him – he was busy.
Most of our time together had been family dinners with my Aunt Regina and immediate family. We barely had much time alone together and sure hadn’t taken anything to a next level. I was torn, was that really something to be upset over? There was a nagging guilt telling me to be happy with what I had.
I jumped when a caramel and butterscotch voice interrupted my thoughts. “Didn’t your mother ever warn you your face’ll freeze with that scowl?”
Detective Larson was standing in front of me and I hadn’t even noticed. His sandy blond hair looked like he’d run his hands through his hair a few times today. Wisps of hair here and there stuck out that weren’t there this morning. His blue eyes looked like he needed about a week of sleep and his six foot something frame was hunched over a little.
“Oh, sorry. A phone call had me lost in thought.”
“You were a million miles away, that’s for sure. If you need a moment I can go get a table.” Clearly, the man had food on his mind. Just then his stomach let out a rumble and I chuckled. His ears and cheeks turned crimson.
The Ranchhand Bar and Restaurant had walls of rough-hewn rocks fit together, light wood plank floors, moose antler hanging chandeliers, and wooden plank booths and tables. The lighting was subdued, just enough to read the menu without being bright. The overall effect with the howling blowing snow outside was of an upscale cozy saloon.
We got a table tucked away at the back of the room and waited until a small loaf of fragrant warm bread had been placed on the table and our orders placed before I felt he was open to chatting.
“You mentioned that I could help you?” I popped a bite of the bread with butter into my mouth to keep me from babbling. “I’m surprised you would enlist an average person to assist.”
He had already inhaled...or eaten a few slices and swallowed another bite coated with butter. “You’re no average person. I got more information from you so far than pretty much everyone else combined. You have a way to get people talking comfortably and you have instincts.” He managed between bites of bread.
I liked this detective; he was a much better judge of people than my last experience with Detective Lawrence. I may be a smidge biased, though.
“I want to help, I’m naturally curious and good at getting people to talk. But more importantly, I want a killer brought to justice and anything I can do to help that process along, I’ll do.” I meant it too. One of my favorite quotes was Edmund Burke’s All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.
“We’ll still be around investigating, depending upon the storm, of course. You’ll be a quasi-confidential informant and a kinda-consultant. Nothing official and nothing dangerous.” His voice was soft, meant only for m
e to hear.
I looked around to see if anybody could overhear my oh-so-confidential recruiting from the police. Nobody appeared to pay us any attention.
He had finished the small loaf when a waiter dropped a fresh loaf on the table and he started into that one. You’d have thought he hadn’t eaten for a week. I had to admit the fresh baked aroma was intoxicating; guess I was hungrier than I thought.
He had stopped munching on another slice of bread and stared into my eyes, “You aren’t to ask blatant questions, you aren’t the police. You aren’t to take any risks or poke around. Understood?”
“No problem,” I answered but he still stared and raised an eyebrow.
“You talked to my boss, didn’t you?” I sputtered.
He smiled. “Of course. I did a background check too and saw the interest in you last fall for the murder in the resort. But, those suspicions were proven unfounded. The detective then, Detective Lawrence, did a thorough look into your life and shared all that with me, so I know you pretty well. What concerns me is how you’d conducted your own investigation, and even had a dossier on likely suspects. None of that this time, got it?”
I nodded with a strictly business look. I’m sure the file I compiled would be laughable to this detective. But I wasn’t going to explain how I was trying to provide other suspects so the horrible Detective Lawrence would investigate somebody else. Besides, I wasn’t going out on a limb this time. Nope, not me. Fingers crossed.
He stopped to answer a few phone calls one after the other. Sounded like an officer was in the hospital and he wasn’t happy about it.
Our meals came fairly quickly and for Detective Johan Larson, talk during the main course was clearly inconceivable. Not that he could have talked much considering how fast he devoured his meal. I should have timed him - maybe he could get a Guinness World Record.
I didn’t let his speed eating stop me from enjoying my barbeque pulled pork sandwich with coleslaw, baked beans, and french fries.
Once his steak, loaded baked sweet potato, and salad were completely consumed, and the plate wiped clean with more bread, he gave me my first assignment. I still didn’t fully understand why he enlisted me. But I was willing to overlook that if he was.
“I’m interested in Bryce Caine and Christopher Burns at this point. See if anybody lets slip anything about either of their movements last night after dinner. Remember, no direct questions.” He pulled cash out for his bill.
“I’ve got to pull a second shift at the station to free up more patrol officers. We’re an officer short. He was injured while aiding a car that slid into a ditch when a truck slid off the road and into him. It’s a mess out there when people insist on driving. Emergency vehicles are struggling too. I’ll be by tomorrow, probably late morning and see if you’ve had any luck.”
I was thinking about his specific directions. How did he think I got the information I gave him already? Gee, I asked questions, the kind anybody would. I just had to make them sound natural.
““Do you have any forensic evidence? You know, that I should be aware of, or keep an eye out for? I guess you’ve got the nail gun...” I didn’t get to finish my sentence.
“How quickly you forget my instructions.”
“I’m just keeping my eyes open...ah ears.”
“I haven’t gotten a report yet about anything found around the body or in her room. Not that I plan on telling you.” He grabbed the to-go coffee he ordered and walked out leaving me to my new unofficial kinda-sorta confidential-informant duties.
Chapter Six
“How can you learn anything without some innocent questions? He doesn’t understand women at all.” Porsche declared.
I had to agree. People chatted, kibitzed. It’s natural. That’s why Porsche and I checked the new schedule of activities, on a large whiteboard in the lobby, designed to keep everyone’s mind off being trapped like a caged animal. We decided to join the evening cooking class. Surely we could get some gossip going naturally.
The makeshift classroom was held in a windowless medium-sized meeting room with each six-foot table stocked with ingredients and low-tech handheld or manual equipment. A nice printed recipe card for each person to make notes on and take with them was included.
At the head of the improvised kitchen was a man in the classic tall, round, pleated, and starched white chef’s hat, the toque. Chef Ryan was a thirty-something guy with blue eyes, tanned, and short brown hair with a rough edge to him. He looked like he would have been more comfortable in the Ranchhand saloon rather than teaching a cooking class.
We were to make a Chocolate Bavarian Torte that would look like the drool-worthy example in front of the class when it was done. Four layers of a chocolate cake with some cream layers between and on top. Since we were last minute additions, Porsche and I had to share and make one torte together. We were okay with that. Wink.
I slipped on the white apron with the Alpine Sun logo, a sun partially behind a rugged mountain with beams radiating outwards, imprinted on the front.
The best part, Chef Ryan said it would take thirty minutes for our masterpieces to bake, so the ten participants consisting of eight women and two men would get to have a drink and eat the sample torte. Which meant a perfect time to chat it up with the others. I figured Porsche would get one of the men or even Chef Ryan talking while I focused on the women.
“You’ll make two rich chocolate cakes, essentially devil’s food cakes. After they bake and cool, you will slice each in half with the long knife at your stations and top each layer with a whipped cream cheese frosting. The result is a decadent treat.” Chef Ryan told us, and it sounded so simple. Easy for him to say.
Mixing up the dry ingredients for the cake went amazingly fast with everything already sitting out, pre-measured. Porsche beat the batter with the hand whisk.
I looked around at my fellow class participants and felt good about chances of getting them talking, but would this varied group know anything about Bryce Caine or Christopher Burns? They were a diverse group from grandmotherly types to a teen boy, designer jeans to velvet jogging sets, Rolexes to Fossil watches.
We poured the batter into the two greased and floured round cake pans. They carted away all the pans to the ovens with table numbers assigned so you got back what you made. We then made the frosting and let it sit while we sat to have a slice of the provided torte with some signature hot chocolate. After the initial exclamations of ecstasy from everyone’s first taste subsided, I jumped in. I was on the job after all.
“This was a great idea to keep us busy.” Everyone nodded, mouth’s full. I would have to do better.
“Porsche, did you hear Kara’s ex is here? I wonder if he was around and about last night? They always look at the spouse.” I went for a stage whisper, just loud enough to be heard.
One of the men, a twenty-something black haired guy in an LL Bean plaid flannel shirt surprised me when he spoke up at my bait. “True. I chatted with him in the lobby this afternoon. They were married for eight years, all of which he claims were a nightmare. He seems too timid, whipped, to have killed her.”
“I don’t know about that, you know how they say anybody can kill if provoked or pushed far enough. He could’ve snapped.” This was from a woman in heeled boots and a Ralph Lauren sweater dress.
“I saw the two of them at dinner exchanging barbs, but I didn’t see him after that.” I tossed into the mix to keep the talk going.
“I heard he was seen in the whirlpool with his girlfriend pretty late, like midnight.” Heeled boots lady offered.
“But was Bryce seen after that by anyone?” I followed up but got shrugged shoulders or blank looks.
“Between two and four a.m. that the cop asked me about, so I guess that’s when she was killed. I would think anybody up and around at that hour would be noticed.” Flannel shirt guy said.
“By whom? Everybody else is asleep at that hour.” Heeled boots lady proclaimed. Although that was a good point, I was with t
he flannel guy. Somebody had to have seen something.
“Unless somebody was...ummmm, leaving one room and going to their own.” I tossed out to keep the conversation going. If somebody had a one-night fling and was walking back to their own room at that hour, they would have seen a person and thought they were doing the same. But how could we ever figure that out? Surely, after the news and interview with the cops that information would have come out.
This was going nowhere. I hated to waste the time.
“I heard Kara got into an argument in the lobby. I wonder who that was with.” It was worth a shot.
“Oh, that was the real estate agent guy. I was there. They were arguing over a deal that went bad and that Preston fellow said she owed him the earnest money and an apology.” Replied a grandmotherly looking woman with too much blush and too bright of red lipstick. I couldn’t help but wonder what brought her to ski country. I couldn’t see her on skis, but I could be wrong.
Well, at least there was that piece of information.
Porsche jumped into the fray, “What about that Chris guy? At dinner we heard him and his wife tell Kara to talk to their lawyer. I think they had sued her.”
“I heard somebody say they were suing her for selling them a house when she knew advance plans of a major road going through the neighborhood. They had to move after only three years. I admit I’d sue her butt, too.” The sweet looking senior lady shared. Okay, maybe she was more of a spitfire than I initially thought.
“I wonder where he was after dinner?” Nobody seemed to know where lawsuit-Chris had been.
The cakes came back and the warm chocolate smell lifted my mood automatically. We removed them from the pans and very carefully cut them in half, then layered them with frosting. After covering the top, we shaved chocolate curls for the final decorative touch on top. I didn’t know how we would eat it after indulging already, but we packaged it up in the provided cardboard box with the logo on top.
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