Death Comes to a Retreat (Book 4 Molly Masters Mysteries)

by Leslie O'Kane

  I rounded the cabin. “Karen? Nathan?” I called as I threw open the door.

  Silence. My heart raced. If Lauren had left, why hadn’t she locked the door? Now I really was having a premonition that my children were in trouble, despite the fact that they were in Lauren’s very capable care. Damn! “Where is everybody?” I cried, punching the doorframe with the heel of my hand.

  Maybe they were already at the lodge having an early dinner. If so, I might be able to pack us all up and grab them. As I sped through the living-ish room in search of purse and keys, a piece of paper on table fluttered and caught my attention. I picked it up and read:

  Molly, we found what looks like a great hiking trail. I took the kids out there. We’ll meet you at the lodge for dinner at seven as planned. See you then. Hope the workshop is going well. Lauren

  Shoot! Now what? I took a couple of breaths to calm myself.

  Meanwhile, I was packing like a madwoman. I’d meet them at the dining hall, whenever they arrived, and take it from there. First, though, I needed my car keys. I’d linked my personal key chain onto the plastic key chain from the rental car company. This should have created a big lump of keys, too cumbersome to misplace. So where the heck were they?

  Voices outside let me know the women were on the path to the lodge. Moments later, Allison knocked on the door and called, “Are you coming, Molly?”

  “In a minute. Go on without me.”

  After several minutes of fruitless searching, I realized Lauren must have taken the keys with her. I had no recourse but to walk down to the lodge. I grabbed one of the door keys off a peg on the wall and realized why Lauren had left the place open. The plywood door was so warped, there was too big of a gap between the latch and the frame for the lock to work. Great. Someone had given me a death threat, and there was no way to lock my door.

  Muttering a few choice curse words, I made my way down to the lodge. The sky was filled with gray clouds. A lightning bolt flashed in the distance. With this bad weather brewing, Lauren would cut the trip short and head to the lodge. Still scanning the sky, I sent up a quick prayer. I pulled my cardigan tighter around me and quickened my step.

  From this angle, the lodge appeared to be your basic, albeit oversized, rectangular log cabin. It was built into the steep mountainside so that the front porch was just one step up, but the far side, where the dining room was situated, was supported by tall stilts of thick logs.

  The entrance was through a small office, and I immediately went to the desk in search of a phone. Even if the police thought I was a kook, I’d feel better once I’d told them about the note in my pocket. I picked up the handset, then noticed that the base of the phone boasted a rotary dial that was locked in place. A small sign beside the phone read: INCOMING CALLS ONLY.

  “Foiled again,” I murmured to myself. This must be one of the last rotary phones in the United States. And its lock, unlike my cabin’s, worked. Of all the paranoid, penny-pinching contraptions. Especially considering there was no cellphone coverage in this entire “resort.”

  I wandered through the first doorway, which led to the dining hall. A mild fragrance of coffee beckoned. To my surprise, the room was glorious. An enormous moss rock fireplace took up much of the inner wall. The opposite wall was mostly glass, featuring a spectacular view of the tops of lodgepole pines and the Continental Divide, though its peaks were rapidly melding into cloud banks. The wide boards, finished to a high sheen, made for an elegant floor, and the two remaining walls were burnished and polished logs.

  There was one major downside to the room, however. The furniture consisted of half a dozen white plastic tables, each with four white plastic seats—the kind you might buy if you needed spare lawn furniture and didn’t mind chasing it across your neighbor’s property with every little breeze. Furthermore, said furniture was occupied by the women in my workshop.

  These folks had destroyed my rule of ten percent—that one out of any group of ten people is a jerk. I believe so strongly in the accuracy of that average that any time I’m in a room with nine truly delightful people, I try to be on my best behavior and never say a word. But here, five out of six women were bordering on jerkdom, with Allison being the exception. Okay, four, if you could tolerate Julie, the perennial cheerleader type. Possibly three, if you didn’t mind Nancy’s attitude that you were undergoing analysis with your every statement. Even so, at best we were at fifty percent.

  Allison, Julie, and Celia were at one table; Nancy, Katherine, and Lois were at another. Julie immediately smiled at me and called, “There she is.” While I was tempted to join them and get caught up with Allison, I sat at the other table where I knew no one. I wanted to keep an eye on them; this was a dining room, so they would soon be armed with sharp objects.

  Lois greeted me with the statement, “Explain something to me, Molly. I can’t understand why you would stick with the greeting card business when you can’t make any real money at it.”

  While scanning the room for an employee who could give me a key to the phone, I answered distractedly, “I’m a full-time mom, part-time greeting card creator. Writing cards is something I enjoy, so anything I earn is a bonus.”

  “There must be lots of jobs you can do at home in your free time and earn better money at. Don’t you think?”

  “Molly is saying that making big bucks isn’t a priority for her, Lois,” Nancy said calmly. The overhead lighting cast an alluring sheen on her mostly white hair, a striking contrast with her olive complexion.

  “Not everyone is as focused on money as…” Katherine paused as if thinking twice, then said, “other people are.”

  “You make it sound as if all I care about is making money, Katherine.” Lois spoke semi-tauntingly, her heavy brow knitted, her strong features taut with anger. “I’m the one who quit my lucrative career to raise my child, remember?”

  “How could I forget? You remind us all continually.”

  Both Katherine’s and Lois’s hands were fisted as if they intended to come to blows. “Aha,” I cried, gesturing at a thin, bald man in a slightly soiled apron who’d entered through some double doors. “Here comes somebody who looks like an employee.”

  “About time,” Lois said. “I was beginning to think no one was ever going to notice us.” As if that were possible.

  The elderly man made his way toward us from the kitchen.

  “Evenin’,” he said, a happy grin revealing his missing front tooth. “You from cabin three or four?”

  “Both,” I said. “Why?”

  “It’s gonna be a cozy gathering for dinner tonight. You folks are the only ones here this weekend. ‘Course, it’s been that way, ever since the board of health got all hot under the collar.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He chuckled and waved his hands. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It was just a minor plumbing problem. You’ll be taking a shower and all a sudden the damn sewer backs up. Next thing you know, you’re knee deep in—” He broke off and grinned sheepishly. “Just don’t flush too often and you’ll be okay. Plumbing in the kitchen works just fine. So don’t mind me. I get to rattlin’ on sometimes. I’ll have a nice buffet set up for you soon.”

  Nauseated by this latest revelation, I asked, “Could I speak with the managers, please?”

  “Fred and Lucy? They’re gone. Left me in charge. Anything I can help you with?”

  The others were hanging on my every word, but they’d find out soon enough anyway. “I’m not overly pleased with …well, anything. I’d like to check out of my cabin, which is number three, and get my money back.”

  “What did you say, Molly?” Celia cried from the other table.

  “Ah,” the man said to me, nodding. “That won’t be possible. The managers. Fred and Lucy? You’d have to see them about that. ‘Scuse me. I’ll go set your dinner out.”

  “What’s going on, Molly?” Allison called.

  “We’d all be better off if we just chalk this up to experience and head home. Don’
t you agree?”

  “That’s the first sensible thing anyone has said since we arrived,” Nancy said, brushing an errant strand of white hair behind her ear.

  Lois let out a big sigh and said, “Thank goodness.”

  “You mean we get to leave?” Katherine asked, for the first time smiling and showing some of the energy she must possess in order to be a teacher. The faint lines on her freckled face crinkled appealingly with her smile.

  At the other table, no one was smiling, not even Julie. Allison was the only participant I felt loyalty toward, and I planned on privately asking her if she’d consider spending the weekend at my house. I ignored Celia, who was snapping her fingers to get my attention, and followed the man into the kitchen through the swinging double doors.

  “Uh, sir? Sorry to bother you, but is there a number where I can call the owners?”

  He looked at me, then at the doors, as if surprised a non-employee could pass through them. “No can do. They’re on vacation. Won’t be back for another couple weeks.”

  “They didn’t leave you with an emergency contact number?”

  “Yes, but the number’s just for emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  He raised an eyebrow, which consisted only of three very long hairs, at me.

  I continued, “Believe me. Things will be much better for everybody if I can just talk to the owners, get at least half of my money back, and get out of here. “

  “You may as well eat first. Can’t call now. I got me a dinner for a dozen folks to put on.”

  “Dinner can wait. I really—”

  He lifted a lid to a large pot on the stove. “Here. Smell that.” He hoisted the pot under my nose so that I had no choice but to oblige. A rich tomato-based spaghetti sauce, heavy on the oregano, made my mouth water despite my troubles. “Mmm. Smells delicious.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He drained spaghetti into a huge colander in the sink beside me. Fortunately, nothing came back up the drain toward the noodles. “My olfactory whatchamacallits are shot. Can’t taste much, neither. Ironic, isn’t it? A cook who can’t taste from nothing? Course, it’s kind of like Beethoven. Being deaf and all. That feller did all right for himself.”

  He dumped the pasta back into its huge pot, then poured the sauce on top and started swishing the ensemble around with a wooden spoon built for a titan. My finicky children weren’t going to like this. Karen didn’t even trust her own mother to dole out her sauce, so she always took It on the side. Nathan ate his spaghetti bald, except for a liberal dose of parmesan cheese.

  The taste-impaired chef then poured his spaghetti into two shallow, square pans and proceeded into the dining hall. He gestured with his chin at two other pans on the counter. “Carry those in while you’re at it.”

  Realizing there was no way to force him to call the managers before he served dinner, I stacked the pans and followed him to the serving table. The others had already circled the table, no doubt attempting to eavesdrop on our conversation in the kitchen.

  “What’s the story, Molly?” Lois immediately asked. “Can we go home?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if we’ll get any of our money back, but I think we should consider leaving anyway right after dinner.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Nancy said.

  “It doesn’t to me,” Celia said, pursing her blood-red lips.

  The chef carried in a huge clear salad bowl. The oil-and-vinegar-based dressing had already been mixed and the croutons floated atop as miniature sponges.

  “Dig in, everybody,” he called, lifting the lids with such a flourish I half expected him to bang them together like cymbals.

  “Excuse me,” Julie said sweetly. “I’m a vegetarian. Is there any meat in the spaghetti sauce?”

  “Not unless something crawled in there and died while my back was turned.”

  “You already put margarine on the bread!” Celia scolded. “I certainly hope you used polyunsaturated fat. Or at least unsalted.”

  “Is this low-calorie dressing on the salad?” Julie asked, still maintaining her positive demeanor.

  “Yeah. Sure.” He rolled his eyes as he neared me and muttered, “Boulderites. That town’s graveyards are full of the healthiest corpses in the world.”

  “Can you make that phone call now?” I asked, doing my best not to whine.

  He raised his three-hair eyebrow again but made no comment. For lack of a better idea, I grabbed a plate and got in line.

  “What a dreadful man,” Celia said to me under her breath. “I can’t believe he didn’t let us butter our own bread.”

  “That is a shocking disappointment. Did I happen to mention that Lauren’s and my bedroom doubles as the bathroom?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. The couch in the living room pulls out into a double bed.” She clicked her tongue half a dozen times and shoved the bread around with the tongs to make her selection. Anticipating that this could take a while, I slowly ladled my salad onto my plate.

  “Where are Karen and Nathan?” Allison asked, pausing from dishing up spaghetti.

  “Out for a hike. I hope. I’m not sure if Lauren knows how fast the weather can deteriorate here.”

  “Didn’t you train your children in outdoor survival skills?” Lois asked.

  I clenched my teeth. “They’re only eight and ten years old. Outdoor survival hasn’t seemed like a priority.” A huge thunderclap rattled the windowpanes. “Until now.” I stabbed myself a helping of spaghetti. “Is there some particular reason you chose to ask me that?”

  “Why, no. I just meant—”

  “Don’t listen to Lois,” Julie said. “Your children will be fine. There’s no reason to worry.”

  “Thanks, but I like to decide for myself when to worry.”

  Julie frowned and headed toward her table. Now I was being nasty and bickering with everybody. Sheesh. This just was not a greeting card kind of gathering.

  I reclaimed my seat. Battling visions of my children dodging lightning bolts, I pushed my food around, in between incessantly checking my watch. In the meantime, everyone else finished and moved on to dessert: pineapple upside-down cake. Celia explained to everyone, whether we wanted to listen or not, that the cake “should have been made with fresh pineapple rather than canned.”

  Torrents of rain began to pelt the windows. With this much force, it would soon be hail. Where were my children? What could be keeping them?

  Professor Katherine rolled her eyes. “I told everyone we should have driven down here to the lodge. They all insisted they wanted to walk.”

  I checked my watch. Seven-thirteen. Maybe they were at the cabin, waiting out the rain. If only I knew which direction they’d gone, I could go look for them.

  To my enormous relief, a clatter arose from the office, which could only mean my children were making one of their patented subtle entrances. I rose, and moments later, a giggling Karen and Rachel rushed in. They were wearing waterproof hooded jackets, but their pants were soaked. I crossed the room and gave Karen a hug and Rachel a pat on the shoulder.

  “We got caught out in the rain,” Rachel said. “Mom twisted her ankle a little.”

  “Where is she?” I asked, already making my way to the office entryway.

  “Nathan’s helping her get—”

  Nathan opened the door and Lauren limped across the threshold. They were both sopping wet, but Lauren waved off my concern. “It’s nothing a good soaking in hot water won’t cure. We were walking down a hill and my foot slipped.”

  Nathan brushed past me and headed straight for the dinner buffet without a word. Moments later, his voice carried from the dining hall. “There’s sauce on this spaghetti!”

  I supported Lauren’s weight as we entered the dining room. Karen, standing on tiptoes beside her brother, said, “At least the bread’s been buttered.”

  The cook emerged from the kitchen and stood, hands on hips, scouting us. He grinned at Lauren with his jack-o’-lantern smil
e. “Howdy. Is this the lot of you?”

  Lauren looked questioningly at me, and I said, “This is everybody; they just need to wash up first. Where’s the bathroom?”

  As he pointed the way, which was back through the office, I called to the children, “Whatever you do, don’t flush,” and returned to my seat. With my children safe, my appetite had returned, and I fended off the women’s questions and Celia’s arm-jiggling attempts to usher me off to a private conference.

  Lauren and the kids got their meals and took the remaining table by the window. For the next several minutes, we all watched a spectacular hailstorm cover the ground in a blanket of pea-sized ice. Though I knew I should be anxious under the accumulating circumstances, the childish part of me reveled in the pleasure of watching a summer storm while safe, warm, and dry. Well, two out of three anyway.

  Rachel and Karen were having so much fun slurping their spaghetti that Karen forgot to worry about it being pre-sauced. Even Nathan was getting into the act, once he’d finally broken down and taken his first bite. His exact response was: “This sauce is way better than yours, Mom.”

  Outside, the sky grew dark, but none of us wanted to venture out into the storm, which showed no signs of subsiding. I moved my chair beside Lauren and said quietly, “Let’s go home tonight. I’ll throw our stuff in the car then come down and pick you and the kids up.”

  “We’re leaving?” Nathan bellowed. “But I don’t want to! I want to stay here and watch the lightning!”

  “But, Nathan,” Karen argued, “if we go back to Boulder tonight, we can go to Elitches a day early.”

  I winced at her mention of the amusement park in Denver, having no intention of going there on a weekend, but Nathan retorted, “I don’t care. I like it here. Maybe we’ll even get to see a tornado!”

  “Now there’s an appealing thought.” Along the lines of a rotten cherry atop a melted sundae.

  A hinge on the kitchen doors squeaked, and I held my breath as the cook entered and headed my way. With luck, he would tell me that we could get a refund after all.