The wine tasted sharp, almost sour, but that may have been a result of the current mood in the room. I asked again, “What caused the problems among you?”
Allison’s features hardened and she raked her bangs out of her eyes. “I’d rather not get into it just now.” She then gulped her wine without another comment:
Lauren, still seated beside me on the musty plaid couch, rubbed her sore ankle and also downed her enormous glass of wine at an impressive clip. I tried not to let my expression reveal my disapproval. Lauren occasionally drank too much, and it worried me. I could tell by her sheepish smile that my concern hadn’t been well masked.
I moved to a hardback chair next to Allison and insisted Lauren lie on the couch with her leg up. Once she looked more comfortable, I returned my attention to Allison, already on her second huge glass.
“So, tell me what’s gone on lately, Allison. Your last letter sounded as if things were starting to come together for you. But you seem…well, different.”
She sat up a little from her sideways perch and peered at me. “Different?”
“Unhappy,” I admitted honestly. “Weary.”
Allison stared at her foot as she rotated it slowly in the air. Her thin biking boots were covered with mud, which fit right in with the decor. “You have no idea what true unhappiness is. Otherwise known as: marriage to Richard Kenyon. Then to finally escape, only to find out—” She stopped abruptly. A look of such sorrow passed across her features that witnessing it almost moved me to tears.
“What?”
She drained her glass, rose, and emptied the bottle into her glass. “You know what they say about curiosity, Molly.” She chuckled mirthlessly and said to herself, “Except this time, the cat killed curiosity.”
“I don’t follow. What do you mean?”
She said nothing, merely flopped back into her chair and gulped wine as if it were soda pop. I glanced at Lauren, who grimaced, but made no comment. Allison sighed and drained her glass. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Let’s talk in the morning. I’ll tell you the sordid tale then.” With difficulty, she got to her feet.
“Allison?”
She met my eyes. I hesitated for a moment, then said, “A few hours ago, somebody slipped a death threat into the bowl instead of a card caption. It said one of us would soon be dead. Do you have any idea who could have written it, and why?”
Allison’s face barely registered a reaction, yet looked as unnatural as Celia’s hair. “No, I have no idea. Are you sure it wasn’t just a practical joke?”
“Is that what you think it was?”
“Of course. It must have been.” She opened the door, then stopped and looked at me. “You haven’t told any of the others about the note, have you?”
“Only Lauren, and now you. But maybe I should go over there with you now and—”
“No! It will just rile everybody up, and we can’t leave till morning no matter what we do.” She grabbed the empty bottle off my counter. “Good night.” She tripped on the threshold. She was so unsteady on her feet, I stepped outside to watch and felt a surge of relief when the muted light indicated she’d made it to her door.
“Is she always like that?” Lauren asked when I returned to the living room. “She sounded… hostile.”
“No. She was always a private person…secretive even. But I’ve never known her to be so bitter.” Had she been covering up her sadness all the time we’d been friends? Should I have tried harder to draw her out while we still lived in the same town?
Lauren let out a heavy sigh, her lids starting to close. “That wine sure packs a wallop. I’m going to bed.”
While Lauren limped around the bathroom and readied herself for bed, I climbed into the top bunk and found catharsis in my usual way: my drawing pad. My head started to spin by the time Lauren got into bed. I tossed the pad onto the floor.
Lauren must have retrieved it, because a moment later she read out loud, “She mustard a smile?” in incredulous tones.
“The card will show a color photo of a hot dog and a hamburger. The burger’s smiling lips will be made with mustard.”
“So I gathered.” Lauren said through her yawn, “You should change it so the guy is the hamburger and the girl is the hot dog.”
“Too phallic for you?” I teased.
She said, “Mmm,” sounding half asleep.
“I’m sure even Picasso had his off days.”
“Yes, and I’m sure your fast-food drawings are every bit as good as his were. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
I, too, felt exhausted. Must be the effects of the thin air. I flipped off the light and let myself drift off.
The next morning, my head hurt as I sat up and parted the curtains. The clouds were gone and the sun was shining once again. I usually get a headache from wine, but this time I’d only had a third of a glass.
Wanting to enjoy the scent of pine trees, I rose, then banged and jiggled the window, but it wouldn’t open. I cheered myself with the thought that, by now, the rockslide would be cleared, and we could leave. From their room next door, the children were chattering away, their joyful, infectious giggles wafting through the wall.
I headed through the kitchen. The bedroom door creaked open and my daughter craned her neck around the entrance.
“Morning, sweetpea,” I said.
“Morning,” she replied, then called over her shoulder, “Mom’s awake. Now we can go get breakfast.”
I shuffled into the living room and scanned my surroundings. Just as I was about to conclude that all was in order, something caught my attention. My purse was by the door. I could have sworn it was on the table last night. Someone must have moved it. To my surprise, there was a characteristic jingle when I moved it. Sure enough, there in the front partition were my keys.
Last night, I had searched this compartment and found no keys. “Weird,” I muttered to myself, stashing the keys in the pocket of my jeans.
“What’s weird, Mom?” Karen repeated, entering the living room. She was fully dressed.
“I found my keys.”
“You’re right. It’s weird for you to actually find something. Rachel and I are going to go get breakfast by ourselves.”
“No, you’re not.” My daughter’s superior tones had rankled me—another precursor to the fast-approaching teen years. And she was my easy child; if she turned on me, I’d never survive. “Wait until I can get dressed and go with you.”
I returned to my room, where Lauren was sound asleep. I soon noticed a second oddity: My Reeboks were missing. I searched the small cabin in vain. Lauren stirred a little as I searched our room for the fifth time.
“Lauren? Have you seen my shoes?”
She opened her eyes and blinked at me. “Huh?”
“My shoes are missing. Have you seen them?”
She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. “Shoes. You can’t find…” She groaned. “I’m sleeping. Only husbands ask questions like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But my shoes aren’t here. This place is the size of tollbooth, so I really mean it when I say that I’ve looked everywhere.”
Lauren rolled over and mumbled, “Maybe you were sleepwalking last night.”
“And did what? Went outside and buried my shoes? This is too bizarre. What am I going to do? I can’t go around this place barefoot. I’m not up on my tetanus boosters.”
She yawned and muttered that I could borrow her sandals while she wore her sneakers. Then she pulled the covers over her face.
“Lauren? I’m going to take the kids down to—”
There was a knock on the door.
“Hope that’s a door-to-door shoe salesman.” I went to answer it. Karen and Rachel had raced to the door, but waited for me, probably anticipating, as I was, that this was merely one of the women from the other cabin. I swung open the door and gasped in surprise.
“Tommy! What are you doing here?” I cried accusingly. “How did you get here? The road’s washed out.”
“Glad to see you, too, Moll. They cleared the road as of six a.m.”
I studied him, still stunned. Tommy Newton, Lauren’s fiance and my longtime friend, was not wearing his police uniform, but rather work boots, jeans, and a green flannel shirt, his red hair a bright orange hue in contrast. “I didn’t mean… Has there been an emergency?”
“Naw, I just—”
“Tommy!” came Lauren’s delighted voice behind me. I stepped aside as Lauren rushed into Tommy’s arms and they kissed passionately in the doorway. There was no place for me to go, or even to look. Nathan opened his door, caught sight of Lauren and Tommy, said, “Yuck,” then closed his door. I’d just decided to join the children, when Lauren and Tommy broke off the embrace.
“My class got cancelled at the last minute,” Tommy explained. “The boys are at camp, so I figured, perfect time for me to go visit Colorado.” He finally pulled his eyes away from Lauren and spotted Karen and Rachel.
“Hey, Karen. Hi, Rach.”
Karen and Rachel said, “Hi,” simultaneously. Rachel forced a smile. She still hadn’t warmed to the idea of sharing her mother. That had been an ongoing battle for the last few months and had caused Lauren to delay the wedding on more than one occasion. That was merely my opinion though, as Lauren denied it and always claimed they were just waiting for the perfect time.
All of a sudden, Celia, Julie, Nancy, Katherine, and Lois were standing behind Tommy in the doorway. Tommy did a double take and looked a little unnerved at how outnumbered he suddenly was.
“Hello,” Lois said to Tommy with a big smile. “Are you the owner?”
“Depends,” Tommy replied. “The owner of what?”
“She means the resort,” I explained.
“Resort?”
“These hole-in-the-wall cabins,” Nancy explained.
“No, I’m not the owner. I’m just a friend.”
“Do you have a car?” Katherine asked. “With keys?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Drive me to Boulder,” she said, rummaging through her purse. “I’ll give you my last dime.” She truly must have been desperate, as she hadn’t even waited to be introduced to Tommy. She had slept on her hair wrong, I noted. A sizable portion of her short brown hair, which yesterday looked so neat and efficient, now stood on end.
“Speaking of dimes, the phones are out at the lodge,” Julie said, her strawberry blond hair, in contrast to Katherine’s, every bit as perky as her voice. “I stopped by there during my morning jog and spoke to the cook. He says the lines are down.”
“Maybe we can get Allison to fix them, or something,” Celia suggested. She gave Tommy one of her patented plastic smiles. “My name is Celia Wentworth. And you are?”
“Sergeant Newton. Tommy, rather. I’m on vacation.”
“Where is Allison?” I asked.
Celia shrugged. “She must have gone down to breakfast.”
“She took her suitcase,” Nancy said.
“Yes, we know,” Celia snapped, “but as I told you, the parking lot is partially visible from that crest over there.” She pointed to a clearing above us as forcibly as if this were a disco move—”and I could see both cars when I checked not fifteen minutes ago. She must have simply brought her belongings with her to the lodge. I’m sure she wanted to make a quick exit after breakfast.” She softened her tones and smiled at Tommy. “I watched you walk up. Where’s your car?”
“Down below. By the lodge. The cook showed me the path to get to the cabins.” Tommy looked at me. “Did you know that the cook has no sense of smell?”
“Some people have all the luck,” Katherine said.
“Did you see Allison while you were talking to him?” I asked Tommy.
He shook his head. “Place was deserted.”
“Then where—”
“She was probably just in the restroom,” Celia interrupted. “It was nice meeting you, Thomas. Ladies? Shall we?” Celia signaled with a sweep of one hand for the troops to forward march. She took a couple of steps, then looked back at me and said, “By the way, whoever stole my keys has yet to return them. We cannot leave until I have my keys.” Celia marched down the path, head held high, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one had followed.
“Mo-om,” Karen cried. “We’re hungry and everyone’s blocking the door. Can we go out a window?”
“Wait for me,” Lauren called from our bedroom. “I’m almost dressed. Tommy and I will take you.”
“We’re going to starve,” Rachel whined.
“Let’s go,” I said, then called back to Lauren, “We’ll save you seats.”
We all started down the hill in a pack. Nancy tried to make polite conversation with me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she was analyzing me. Plus my concerns for Allison weighed heavily. Where was she? Her words last night describing herself as “Most Despised” nagged at me.
Something in the corner of my vision froze me just as we reached the turnoff to the dirt lot where my car was parked.
“Molly,” Katherine asked, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Please go on ahead with the others.”
“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll join you in a minute. I want to make sure my rental car survived last night’s hailstorm.”
As soon as they grudgingly continued down the path, I doubled back and checked what I’d spotted in the foliage: an empty, dark green bottle. I picked it up and sniffed the lip. It was the wine bottle we’d drunk from last night, which Allison had taken to her cabin. I dashed to my car and tried to deny what I was seeing.
Allison, unmoving, was slumped against the steering wheel.
Chapter 4
Elementary, My Dear Watson
Allison’s blond hair was fanned across her face, her head tilted away from me, toward the passenger side.
“Allison?” I thumped on the window. She didn’t move. The door was locked. With shaking hands, I snatched my keys out of my pocket and opened the door. I put a hand on her shoulder to shake her but jerked back.
Allison felt stone cold.
“Tommy!” I hollered in desperation, hoping he was within earshot.
“Molly?” he called back. It sounded as if he was near the turnoff in the path.
“I’m at my car. Come quick.”
I heard his footfalls as he ran toward me.
“Molly, is everything all right?” It was Lauren’s voice.
“No, but just go ahead and catch up with the kids,” I cried, my voice starting to break. It seemed to take forever until Tommy arrived. He dashed over to me, panting, his cheeks nearly as red as his hair.
“Please tell me it’s my imagination, but she seems ice cold.”
I leaned over her and said, “Allison?”
Tommy gently guided me out of the way and leaned in through the car door to examine Allison. I turned my head, longing to escape, to block out the words I knew Tommy was about to utter.
He straightened and faced me. “She’s dead. Did you know this woman?” Tommy asked me, grimly.
I nodded. This couldn’t be happening. “Allison. Allison Kenyon. She was my friend. This is all so …” My thoughts seemed at once to be swimming in slow motion and racing ahead of me. I wasn’t sure what it was I wanted to say. “Something’s all wrong. Allison couldn’t be the target. What did she ever do to hurt anyone?”
“The target?” Tommy repeated.
“Why is she in my car?”
Tommy was staring at something on the dashboard. “Starter’s been tampered with. Looks as though your friend here knew how to hot-wire it. Did you lock your vehicle last night?”
“Yes. Then I couldn’t find my car keys. But this morning, they were in my purse, only they weren’t there last night.” I stared at Allison in dull shock. There were no visible wounds. On the passenger seat beside her was a gray canvas overnight bag.
Tommy had crouched down and was now staring at something on the floorboards.
I craned my neck and spotted the object he was studying. An empty syringe.
Tommy raked his fingers through his red hair as he rose. He watched me, studying my features. “You gonna be all right?” he asked, his voice so quiet it barely registered.
I nodded. He probably wondered why I seemed so calm. I wondered the same thing. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. Would Allison still be alive if I’d read that threat out loud? Had my decision to keep quiet cost Allison her life?
“Phone lines are prob’ly still down,” he said, pulling a pair of keys from his pocket. He held them out to me. “I’ve got to stay here and secure…I have to keep anyone from touching anything. You have to go get the sheriff.”
“But what about—”
“My rental car’s the blue Escort down by the lodge. There’s got to be a fire station in town, and they’ll radio it in. Don’t talk to anybody else.”
I nodded again, but all I could think about was my children. One of those women with Karen and Nathan right now was a killer. I had to get them out of here.
Tommy put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the entrance of the lot. Lauren was lingering on the path some twenty yards below us as if torn between tending to the children and making sure I was all right.
Tommy waved at her to back up. “We got a situation here. You keep everyone down at the lodge while Molly goes for help.”
She didn’t move. Almost staggering, I wove my way down through the rocks and tufts of dead grass toward her.
“Did something happen to Allison?” she asked me.
“She’s dead,” I answered, feeling so numb it was all I could do to keep on my feet.
Lauren gasped. Her hand flew to her face.
“Molly!” Tommy hollered. He was standing above us, one foot braced on a large boulder at the entrance to the dirt lot, as if playing king of the mountain. “Can’t you follow simple instructions? I told you to keep your mouth shut!”
“Well? I didn’t know you meant Lauren, for heaven’s sake!”
“You’re gonna compromise the—” He stopped and took a deep breath. In calmer tones he said, “Both of you. Go straight to my car. Do not go into the lodge. Drive to the fire department. Do not speak to anybody else. Got that?”
Death Comes to a Retreat (Book 4 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 5