by Patti Larsen
“Do you mind if I sit?” I turned to find her looking out into the empty lobby. “I won’t be any trouble.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Your feet must be killing you. No one to spell your shift?”
She smiled then, quick and perky. “Nancy, our other clerk, made it home before the worst hit. She has a baby and couldn’t stay.”
“And your manager? Donna Walker, right?”
“She’s been in meetings with Mr. Day, Mr. Adler and Chef for the last little while.” Not a trace of complaint in her voice. “There’s not really much to do, so I’m fine.”
“Where are you from, Paisley?” Chit chat wouldn’t do me any harm while I did my research and would keep me awake, at least.
“New York,” she said promptly.
“City?” I turned and smiled when she nodded . “I was there five years. Quite the town.”
“I like it here,” she said, voice low and quiet. Almost regretfully. She cleared her throat then. “The lodge is a great place to work and Reading is a nice change from the big city.”
“It’s a change, that’s for sure.” I squinted at the images of Mason and the parties, trying for a better look at the lurker, but even with the bigger screen it was hard to see details thanks to flash and focus issues.
“Is that Mason, Mr. Patterson?” Paisley sounded sad.
“His social media,” I said. “I’m trying to identify someone in his life. A lurker who seems to be in all his photos.”
“Who is it?” Her voice had dropped to a bare whisper as if she were fascinated.
“I don’t know,” I said, sitting back with a frown. “That’s the problem.”
“Surely the people he cared about are easy to pick out?” She came to my side and sat in the other office chair, pointing out the usual suspects. “Ethan, Noah, Ava, Simone?”
“It’s this person,” I said, pointing at the girl in the background. “Have you seen her around here?”
Paisley didn’t answer, squinting too before leaning away. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She shook her head then, met my eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“I think it might be Elizabeth Adler,” I said. “If so, I’m chasing a ghost.”
She started like I was serious before her shock turned to a small smile.
“Some ghosts need chasing, I guess,” she said. And hesitated. “I heard about her. We all know, because of the staff. It went around to everyone. That he might have hurt that girl. Mr. Adler’s daughter.”
I nodded. “Well, if he did,” I said, “he’s paid for it, hasn’t he?”
She shrugged. “What a horrible way to die.”
Whether she was talking about Elizabeth or Mason or both I had no idea. Even while the lingering question remained—did Elizabeth really die on that mountain? Or did she find a way to get revenge on Mason, possibly with her father’s help?
Only one way to find out.
***
Chapter Twenty Five
My search for James Adler was quickly curtailed by the huddle of people who caught my attention near the door to the dining room. Crew had been holding his interviews there, rather a bulky location, but I understood his motives. The scene of the crime, while protected as much as it was getting, not to mention the body laid out on the stage, was great incentive to make people talk. And the giant, empty room had to feel oppressive with the looming sheriff standing over you asking very pointed questions while you felt more and more guilty as the seconds ticked by.
Yes, I’d been interrogated by him and knew his tactics. And though they didn’t work on me thanks to being raised by a man who perfected said tactics long before I was born and taught them to me whether he planned to or not and my newly discovered talent to ignore blah blah blah thanks to my ex, Ryan, I hadn’t felt the pressure of being questioned by Crew Turner. But yes, most certainly, I understood it. And his reasons for it.
Thing was, Crew might have been a budding expert—or a master for all I knew—compared to my dad and whether my father believed in that technique under these circumstances or not. But the woman who stood with her shoulders back and her shining hair tossing as she delivered whatever it was she was saying? She’d achieve the rank of super empress of do it now and don’t you dare backtalk.
Olivia Walker’s tirade was easy enough to guess at and my mind filled in the blanks pretty quickly when I closed the gap, pug in pursuit, and caught the thread of the conversation. No, not convo. Tyrannical oration.
“—clean up this mess in the next sixty minutes, I’ll have your job, Crew Turner. And don’t think that means for one moment you’re off the hook for this disaster, John. Both of you have fumbled this investigation from the get go and I’ve spent the last several hours not only calming my guests but assuring our visiting funders that this town of ours isn’t some kind of cesspool of murder and dark secrets!” Except from what I’d seen so far, it was. At least two murders in eight months and a whole lot of covering up to do in the meantime? How much had she done to distract from the shoddy building practices of one Pete Wilkins? I was pretty sure if it weren’t for Jared being a good guy and owning up to his father’s illegal and unethical practices, this lodge would likely be condemned for structural issues.
While the two sheriffs, past and present, looked hangdog and did their best to mumble their apologies, I stepped into the circle—pug immediately sitting on my feet in her delight at stopping—and observed the true mistress of all things awesome in action.
Olivia might have been mayor, but she held zero candles to the power of my family’s matriarch. Mom, her green eyes shining and a brilliantly constructed smile on her face, used her very best teacher voice as she tilted that red head and unleashed the Fleming all over our dear mayor’s ass.
“Dear Olivia,” she said, “while I voted for you and I’m happy I did so, let me tell you in no uncertain terms if you don’t ease up for five minutes you’re going to die of a self-inflicted aneurysm.” Olivia gaped at her while Mom forged on in the nicest possible way. “Now, let me tell you what’s going to happen from here. You are going to go back to the investors and tell them everything is under control.” She stepped close to Olivia, cutting through the circle and hooking her hand through the mayor’s arm. “And I’m going to join you. Together, we’re going to make sure those lovely ladies and gentlemen and their development money are happy to stay in Reading while the three people I trust most to handle this little stumbling block find the answers we need.”
Olivia tried to resist, but she obviously didn’t know Mom like I knew Mom. “They’re going to run like rabbits.” Was that a wail in the back of her voice? “All my hard work, Lu.”
“It’s fine,” Mom said with a pish-tosh kind of snort. “Let’s stop at the bar and pick up some liquor. That’ll take care of everything.”
“You really think so?” Poor Olivia was clearly exhausted. How long had she been working on tonight? I’d seen the barest signs of strain in her even when she’d come to Petunia’s to order me to attend. Surely she’d worn herself thin before the night even got started. Instead of fighting, clearly at the brink of her energy, she let Mom lead her away.
“I know so.” My mother waved at us and hustled to the bar with the mayor in tow while I giggled behind my hands and Petunia farted with great enthusiasm.
“Your mother,” Crew said, then laughed.
“Your mother,” Dad said. Snorted.
“My mother,” I finished for them with a big grin, “needs to run for mayor.”
The three of us broke into weary laughter. It really wasn’t that funny except we were all tired and humor seemed the cure to our ills. I sobered at last, the two sheriffs joining me, though the mood had lightened somewhat and I felt, for the first time ever, like I belonged in this little circle with them.
Funny how that happened.
“Don’t put that idea in Lu’s head, please,” Dad said then with a wink. “Bad enough she bosses me around.”
“Yes,” Crew groaned.
“Please. Olivia’s hard enough to deal with. But I’d never be able to say no to Lucy. She’s too…”
“Fleming,” Dad and I said together. More giggles. That felt good.
Mom reappeared, Olivia hurrying across the foyer from the bar toward the elevators with her arms full of bottles. My mother’s rapid approach told me she was on a mission and the look on her face said she was out of patience at last.
How did I know? Because Lucy Fleming looked annoyed and Mom never, ever showed it when she was pissed.
“You three.” She stopped and stabbed an index finger at us. “Whatever I said to Olivia, forget it.” Wow, Mom. “I’ll do what I can to keep her off your back, you’re welcome.” I would have sniggered except I was pretty sure any sign of amusement would have set her off. I’d never seen her like this before. “But you’d better get to it. Your murderer? Literally trapped here. It can’t be that hard to find a killer when that killer can’t leave.”
“Lu—”
Dad. Oh, Dad. Shut up.
“Johnathan Albert Campbell Fleming.” She’d pulled out all four names. Not good. “My feet hurt. I’m tired and hungry and I didn’t get my cake.” Why did she sound most put out by that last fact? “And I’m willingly about to spend the next hour or so with Olivia Walker appeasing her silly funders with a smile on my face. The least you can do is find one little murderer. Get cracking.” With that, she spun on her heel and marched off to Olivia, taking some of the bottles from her, punching the number to the penthouse. The two stepped on the elevator without another look our way and I waited until the doors closed to punch Dad in the arm with a snorting giggle that turned into a near breathless he-haw.
“Dad,” I said, trying to breathe. “What is wrong with you?”
“Just a little murderer,” he muttered while Crew shook his hand with a solid nod.
“I envy your courage,” he said with utmost sincerity before cracking a grin. “I’ve known her one short year and I wouldn’t try to talk back to your wife.”
Dad grimaced. “Okay, very funny. Knock it off and let’s focus.”
“Just one little murderer,” Crew said. And laughed.
That set us all off again but when we pulled ourselves together at last, I sighed and shrugged.
“We’re back where we started,” I said. “I have no idea who tried to kill me, though I’m pretty sure it was our little murderer.” Wasn’t so funny now.
“At least that means your mother’s right,” Crew said. “And the killer didn’t escape before the storm. So we do have time.”
“Ava and Simone are out of the picture,” I said and then filled them in on the scene in the bathroom, leaving out Ava’s confession about her personal life. “Ethan may or may not have known she was staying, depending on how cruel Mason was feeling.”
Crew nodded. “So are Bill Saunders and Carol Chaney as far as I’m concerned. If the chef wanted to kill Mason why do it in a way that points right to her? And the maintenance man was here thanks to Mason.”
Dad grunted. “Really, our only solid suspects remaining are Ethan Perry—”
“And James Adler.” I finished for him. I hated to think Elizabeth’s father had anything to do with it. Surely he’d lost enough when he lost her.
“Agreed,” Crew said. “One long, last chat with Mr. Adler and then we lock the two of them up until my forensics team can get here. Or until one of them confesses.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
***
Chapter Twenty Six
So strange to be part of the team, the portly pug my constant companion as I joined Dad and Crew in the dining room and wasn’t being glared at for interfering or anything. It would have been rather exciting if I cared about such things. Which I didn’t. Yeah, okay then.
Crew led the interrogation though, of course and I couldn’t help but wonder how Dad felt about that. The blank mask my father wore hid most things from the world, though I could often see past his deadpan stare into the little tells that showed what he was really thinking and feeling. I’d spent enough time with him as a small girl—my best friend growing up—his grumbling grumpiness never intimidated me. Not that Dad was open about his feelings or anything. Heaven forbid John Fleming showed a hint of weakness, tough old-school sheriff that he was. But I saw past his bluster enough times it was usually easy to read him.
Not tonight, though. Wait, this morning, right? It was now past 3AM if the clock in the office was correct and hadn’t been accidentally reset by the loss of power. Maybe I was just tired, but Dad’s empty expression and stolid stance as he observed Crew gave me nothing.
That could have meant there was nothing to see. Though I doubted it.
James Adler, on the other hand, was a fount of emotions, probably because he’d imbibed enough alcohol between the last time I’d talked to him and now that from the smell of him he’d turned his insides permanently liquid. It was possible Lucas Day’s business partner thought he was doing a great job of hiding how he felt, but with every question Crew asked his face twisted, his words slurring through a range of volume and timber while I alternated between sympathy for him and the kind of hysterical amusement that came with over exhaustion.
“They never found Elizabeth’s body, then, is that what you’re telling me?” Crew had to start with the man’s loss, didn’t he? Okay, no judging, because Dad likely would have, too. If this was my interrogation I would have gotten there eventually and in a way that soothed the poor man’s grief.
James’s eyelids flickered, entire expression turning downward while he reached for a glass that had been empty the last three times he tried to drink from it. He stared down into the last drops of amber whiskey as he answered, just this side of plastered so he was coherent, but not by much.
“Call the cops in Aspen,” he said, heart in his voice, “they’ll tell you everything.”
“They aren’t here,” Crew said without a hint of compassion while I tsked beside him. He threw me one of those looks I was getting used to but chose to ignore and without actually deciding to interrupt, I interrupted. Pulled a chair over beside James and relieved him of the glass before holding his big hand between mine.
“Mr. Adler,” I said with as much kindness as I could muster, Petunia standing on her back legs to push her head under his hand. He automatically stroked her wrinkled noggin while I went on, the soothing presence of my dog a boon as always. “I know how hard this is. That Mason’s death is stirring up things you would rather remain buried.”
“I didn’t get to bury her.” James broke down into tears at my choice of words, leaning forward and I hugged him while Petunia sank to her haunches and whined sympathetically. His forehead rested on my shoulder while I glared at Crew and he glared back at me. There it was, the expected reaction from the sheriff. Now I could carry on.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, patting the weeping man’s shoulder, choking a bit on the fumes from the whiskey on his breath. There was no way he drank as much as he had if this wasn’t a regular thing for him, because a normal person with a typical routine wouldn’t have been able to stomach so much. Another sign of his suffering. “Can you tell us what happened? It’s important, maybe more important than you know.”
James sat back, nodded, snuffling. I handed him one of the napkins left discarded on the table behind me and he used it liberally on his face, though after he was done he cleared his throat and somehow pulled himself together enough when he met my eyes his weren’t as unfocused as they had been.
“I miss her so much,” he whispered, coughed softly. “Her mother died when she was just a little girl and Elizabeth was all I had. She was never the prettiest or the smartest or the bravest. But she was my daughter.” I feared he might devolve into weeping again but held his composure past the short, deep sob that followed his last word then went on. “I didn’t want her hanging out with Mason and his friends. They were so cruel to her and she refused to see it. But I saw it.” He jabbed a finger at the body unde
r the sheet twenty feet away. “I watched him abuse her and treat her like garbage and laugh about it. Him and his pathetic unfriends.”
“She just wanted to fit in.” I nodded and squeezed his hand still in my grasp. “It’s hard when you’re that age, trying to find your way.”
“She could have had lots of friends,” James said, sagging. “So many wonderful people out there. But she chose to chase that worthless piece of trash. And I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”
Yeah, no animosity there, then, right?
“Mr. Adler.” Dad’s tone matched mine while Crew huffed softly under his breath. In protest? Well, considering I’d gotten more out of James in the last minute or so than he had in the previous ten Crew had been questioning the man, he could just hold his freaking horses already. “What happened that day?”
“Elizabeth didn’t make that cake,” James said, like it meant something. Of course she didn’t. Carol did. She told me as much.
And then, in a flash, everything made sense. And my annoyance with Simone and Ava made me want to stomp off to give the pair of them hell for not telling me what I now understood. “Mason thought Elizabeth baked the cake that almost killed him last year.” Whatever misplaced loyalty the girls felt, whatever their reasoning for holding back Mason’s blame about the cake, it was an important piece of information I could have used going into this little chat instead of sitting there, gaping at Elizabeth’s father and at a loss for words.