“While we are on the subject, do you want to talk about it?”
“I thought we just did,” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
I sensed the disappointment in his voice and wished I could avoid the subject all together.
“Come on Sloane, you know how I feel.”
“And you know how I feel,” I said.
As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I said the wrong thing.
“Are you serious? Every time I try to have the us talk, you shut down. To be honest, I have no idea what to think.”
“I don’t know what to say or what you want from me.”
“I’m ready and I thought you were too.”
In truth, Nick convinced himself that I was ready because that’s what he wanted. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about my feelings; he just thought he knew what was best for the both of us.
“You still there?”
“I’m here,” I said.
“Try something for me, okay. Quiet all the chaos in your head, stop finding a reason to poke holes in everything, and give me an honest answer.”
In a world full of men who would rather shoot themselves with a nail gun than converse about the current state of affairs in their relationship, Nick was the one exception.
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “We should talk it out.”
“When?”
“I need some time,” I said.
“How much?”
“I’d like to at least sleep on it.”
“How about we meet tomorrow night for dinner and you can tell me where you’re at with everything.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
If only I meant those words. We set up a time and said our goodbyes.
The next step in the relationship consisted of cohabitation. The pooling together of two separate universes combined into one solid entity. Mi casa es su casa. Nick only saw things one way, point A to point B. In his mind, point B should have happened a long time ago. He made it clear that he wasn’t going to wait for me forever. It was crunch time, the bottom of the ninth, and I had exhausted all of my reasons about why we shouldn’t, and he had exhausted all his reasons about why we should. Nick always said he considered himself a why not person and that I was just the opposite, I always asked why––why did we need to take the next step in our relationship and why couldn’t things stay the same way they always had. He was right; I did poke holes in things.
Lord Berkeley woke suddenly and barked at a rather large shadow out the window. The night had blanketed the sky, but it was too dark for me to see what ailed him. I tiptoed over to the window and peered out. In the soft glow of the street lamp I saw a mother moose and its baby cross the yard. She took a few steps and then turned to make sure the little one was still in tow. I watched them continue on their way until I couldn’t see them anymore and then turned to Lord Berkeley.
“It’s okay Boo,” I said, and I patted him on the head.
We sat back down together and I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. My phone rang again, but this time it was Marty.
“I’ve had you on my mind all day today,” I said. “Is everything okay?”
He paused for a time before he uttered a response.
“Actually my dear, it isn’t. It’s been a long day, and a tragic one at that.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “What happened?”
“It’s one of the skiers, she’s dead.”
CHAPTER 3
The morning sun shone its rays through the trees and melted away pieces of fallen snow that had rested on its branches. It was a mere eight degrees outside, and I was en route to my office. Nina Simone belted out a familiar tune, but my thoughts centered on my conversation with Marty the night before. The skier he spoke of died instantly, running chest first into a tree. To make matters worse, Marty knew her. Not in an intimate way, but enough to regard her as a friend. She was a local and an experienced skier, which didn’t make much sense. A tree should have been easy for her to avoid. Marty said she loved to go out alone first thing in the morning to take advantage of the fresh powder. A married couple found her motionless body beneath the tree and called Ski Patrol. When they reached her, she wasn’t breathing. The husband administered CPR until the paramedics got there, but it was too late, she was already dead and there was nothing anyone could do.
I switched gears and thought about Nick. My iPod changed songs and Nina sang just for me now, Don’t let me be misunderstood. Nick wanted an all access pass into my life. I knew what that meant and how it would change things. First move in together, followed by marriage, and then what, babies? Of course he wanted babies, but how many––and what if I couldn’t provide them?
My office sat on the North end of Park City’s Historic Main Street. I parked in my usual spot and noted the temperature on the console of my dash which had risen by a single digit. Nine whole degrees, yippee. I fumbled with my keys until I found the one to my office and eyeballed Lord Berkeley.
“Come on then,” I said.
I reached out for him, but he didn’t move. He looked out the window and then back at me and then out the window again.
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said. “Come on, we’ll hurry. Promise.”
That did the trick. I snatched him up and made a mad dash for the door. Once inside I stripped off my scarf, gloves, and coat. I kicked my flip-flops over to the corner and tried to decide what I wanted to drink. Hot chocolate sounded good. With no appointments for the day walking around the office in my bare feet seemed like a wise choice. I squished my toes into the thick shag rug in the center of the room and breathed in the warmth of my office, all seventy-six degrees of it and then walked over to the thermostat and cranked it up a couple notches. Lord Berkeley made a beeline for his dog bed and settled in.
I sat at my desk and pressed play on the message machine. The first two were solicitations. A male caller reminded me I needed to take some time to consider advertising in the local phone book again. He listed the various sizes they offered along with their corresponding prices. I deleted it. The second caller was a female. She gave me a spiel about a great opportunity she had for me. I deleted it and then pressed play on the last message.
“Hi,” the caller said, “my name is Audrey Halliwell. I’m trying to reach Sloane Monroe. If you could please return my call, I would appreciate it.”
I jotted down her name and number and then picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end said.
“This is Sloane Monroe. Is this Audrey?”
“Thanks for getting back to me so fast,” she said.
“No problem, what can I do for you?”
“I got your number from Mr. Langston,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I’d like to hire you,” she said.
“What can I do for you?”
“I don’t want to get into it over the phone if you don’t mind.”
“Why don’t you stop by my office and we can talk?”
She paused.
“That would be…that would be great,” she said.
“When would you like to come in?”
“Would today work?” she said.
“I can do that. Is two o’clock alright?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect, see you then.”
I put the phone down and interlaced my fingers behind my head and leaned back in my chair. I wondered how she knew Marty and why she sounded so uptight over the phone. My questions would be answered soon enough.
CHAPTER 4
At one forty-five I changed from my bare feet into a pair of brown suede pumps I kept around as a backup for occasions like this one. The door jingled when it opened and in walked DD dressed in a pair of bootcut jeans, a long white tunic sweater, and white lace-up snow boots. She concealed her eyes behind a pair of sunglasses which she swept over her head when she entered. Her eyes were puffy and a reddis
h color. She gave me a half smile and then pivoted on her heel and shifted her gaze to the exuberant Lord Berkeley, who sprung from his bed and ran circles around her feet.
“Oh, what a cutie,” she said. “Maltipoo?”
“Westie.”
Lord Berkeley noticed her sentiments toward him and put his best paw forward. She bent down and picked him up.
“Sorry about that,” I said, “normally I don’t bring him to the office when I meet with clients.”
“Oh, don’t even worry about it. He’s adorable.”
She ran her fingers up and down his body a few times and nuzzled his nose and then placed him back down in his bed. Lord Berkeley, the perfect icebreaker.
I motioned to the chair opposite my desk. She sat down and rested her hands on her jeans.
“Can I get you anything?” I said. “Water, tea, coffee?”
“Water’s good.”
I grabbed one out of the mini fridge next to my desk and handed it to her.
“I’m not sure what I’m even doing here.”
“I recognize you from Wildwood,” I said.
“That’s right, I saw you with Mr. Langston. I really should apologize. It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, but I gathered from your conversation that you were a private investigator, and after what happened yesterday, I thought maybe you could help.”
“Were you there when the accident took place?” I said.
The color drained from her face. She twisted the cap off the water and took a sip and then another. For a moment she didn’t say a word and just gazed at the wintery view out my office window. I sat in silence and waited until she was ready.
“The woman who died yesterday, Charlotte Halliwell…”
Tears welled up in her eyes and her hands quivered. I reached for a tissue and handed it to her.
“She was my sister,” she said.
I thought of my own sister and for a moment the past flooded back to me and flashes of memories filled my head. I pressed my eyes shut and then opened them again and tried to focus on Audrey.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I said. “Take all the time you need.”
She angled back in my chair and turned to the side and dabbed her eyes with the tissue.
“I need a minute to get myself together.”
I nodded and waited.
A few minutes went by in silence and then she calmed down and displayed much of the composure she exhibited when she first entered my office. When I felt she could handle my questions I continued.
“Why don’t we start from the beginning?” I said.
“You mind if I smoke?” she said.
I did mind, a lot in fact. But I also realized if she had a cigarette it might allow her to keep it together, for the moment anyway. My office was devoid of ashtrays, but I managed to find a small glass dish in one of my drawers. I took it out and slid it toward her side of the desk.
Audrey reached into her bag and pulled out a narrow cigarette and rested it on the edge of her lips. She cupped the lighter in her hands and lit up. She took a long drag, cocked her head to one side, and spewed forth a stream of smoke. I resisted the urge to plant my fist under my nose and instead cracked the window.
“I went to Wildwood yesterday to meet my sister for lunch. We had talked on the phone the night before, and she said she wanted my advice and needed to talk to me about something and suggested we get together after she finished skiing for the day, but she never showed. After you left, Mr. Langston called me into his office and told me what happened.”
“I see.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’ve experienced a shock. It’s understandable that things don’t make sense right now,” I said. “I know what you’re going through.”
And I did.
She took another drag from her cigarette and then smashed it into the plate.
“You don’t understand. Everyone says it was an accident, but what if it wasn’t?”
She looked me in the eye and gauged my reaction. I tried not to look perplexed, but in truth, I couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“Do you have reason to believe otherwise?” I said.
“I thought so, but now I’m confused. It’s hard to separate my head from my heart right now, you know?”
She sunk down in my chair and tapped her finger on the side of her face.
“Oh to hell with this,” she said, “you want the truth? I’m going to say it like it is. And if you want to believe I’m a nut job, that’s up to you. But I need to get it off my chest before I explode.”
“Go on,” I said.
“I don’t believe it was an accident. In fact, I know it wasn’t. My sister was murdered.”
CHAPTER 5
Audrey’s alleged murder declaration piqued my interest. I mulled it over for a few minutes before I constituted a response.
“Forgive me, I’m not trying to discount what you are saying,” I said, “but from what I understand your sister ran into a tree while skiing and the cops said it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident.”
“I know how it looks,” she said. “I discussed this with the cops already and they laughed it off like I’d just escaped from the loony bin. My sister wasn’t some newbie. She started skiing at the age of two.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, but even experienced skier’s crash now and then,” I said.
“Did you know when she was around twenty she went to the World Championships, twice? Twice! She has a silver medal in downhill for heaven’s sake. Charlotte was familiar with the terrain at Wildwood; she skied there almost every day.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
She took her hand and gestured toward the window.
“Look out there,” she said.
I turned toward the window and saw nothing. Maybe she was crazy.
“Take a good look. Nothing but blue skies all week. Now you tell me, how does someone with her experience run into a tree on a clear day?”
She bounced her shoulders up and down.
“I guess that doesn’t point to murder though,” she said. “You probably agree with the cops.”
In all my years as a PI, no one had ever presented a case like this to me. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Can I ask you some questions?” I said.
She nodded.
“Did your sister ever sustain any skiing injuries that might have caused her enough problems to have an accident?”
“A broken arm a couple of times when she was a teenager and a broken leg once.”
Her eyes flashed like she’d just recalled a memory.
“Now that I think about it,” she said, “Charlotte fell out of the back of our dad’s truck when she was a kid and hit her head on a boulder. She almost died. It knocked her unconscious and when she came to, she said she’d been to the other side, you know died and all that. It was weird. She even said she talked to our grandfather who passed away ten years earlier.”
“I wonder if that would––”
“It wouldn’t. When the doctor checked her out he said she was fine, and she never experienced any issues after that. She was in perfect health the day she died.”
“Did she take any medications of any kind?” I said.
She shook her head.
“You said before that she wanted your advice.”
“That’s right.”
“Any idea what she needed to discuss with you?” I said.
She fidgeted with the bottom of her sweater. It rolled up at the end and she smoothed it back down with her fingers and then it rolled back up again.
“She didn’t say. I tried to ask her on the phone, but she said she wanted to wait and talk to me about it in person. I figured I’d find out later so I didn’t push it.”
“What about her tone of voice during the conversation, did it seem like anything was wrong?” I said.
“She sounded nervous and that wasn’t like her. My sister had a gla
ss half full approach to life, even when she had a good reason not to. That’s just the type of person she was.”
Sometimes the aloof ones had the most to hide.
“How were things at work?” I said.
“She liked her job, but she wanted to transfer to another agency.”
“Any idea why?”
“Money, I guess. She was offered a better commission somewhere else, and she was ready for a change of scenery.”
“What about her co-workers, any problems there?” I said.
“From what I know, she got along fine with everyone.”
“Did she tell anyone she planned to leave?”
“Her partner, Vicki, and her assistant, Bridget, of course. I assumed the three of them were going together.”
“So if it wasn’t a problem with work, then––”
“Let me save you some time,” she said, “I want you to check out her fiancé, Parker Stanton, or ex-fiancé I should say.”
“Why him?” I said.
“A couple months ago she broke off their engagement.”
I took a sip of my hot chocolate. It was cold, and spitting it back into my cup in front of the client seemed an indecorous thing to do so I swished it around and swallowed hard.
“What was the reason for the break up?” I said.
“Parker spent a lot of time away from her. He traveled to New York and was always in meetings and stuff for the family business. They kept him away three, sometimes four days a week. Then he would fly back and spend the rest of the time with Charlotte. Toward the end of their relationship, he only came home about once a week for a day or so and then he flew back out again.”
“And that’s why she ended it?” I said.
I felt like a therapist engaged in a game of twenty questions.
“She acted like it didn’t bother her, but I could tell it did. One weekend we went on a girl’s trip together, just the two of us. She called him several times and he didn’t answer. Then on Sunday night he called and blamed it on phone problems and said he didn’t get any of her messages. He talked to her maybe five minutes and then made some lame excuse about how he needed to go meet with his dad.”
Sloane Monroe Series Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Page 2