Runways and High Heels and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Okie doke. I headed for the lodge, my mind on Faith and that notebook, though when I ran into Alicia and inquired about Crew she was surprised I asked.

  “I haven’t seen him this morning,” she said. “But the fashion show is back on for tomorrow night. He didn’t tell you? He cleared the crime scene.”

  Apparently a lot happened between last night and this morning he hadn’t told me about. Cue grumpier mood than ever, though in all fairness he wasn’t required to fill me in on his job. He was sheriff after all. Still. Grumble.

  I checked in on Mom in the kitchen, still calmly managing things, and left her to her work. Right, she’d been at the lodge last night, so my worry about where she’d been prior to dinner at Petunia’s had a logical explanation. Worry about Dad resurfaced and sank again as quickly while I hurried through the back hall toward the ballroom rear door, almost tripping over the giant folding sign in the middle of the corridor proclaiming the pool was closed for maintenance. I scowled at it for getting in my way and shook my head. So many distractions, so many tugs at my train of thought. No wonder I’d been fighting to keep this murder in the forefront of my mind. It had nothing to do with Vivian.

  Sure, Fee. If you say so.

  I stepped through the back doors into the ballroom, worried I might run into Jill and not sure what to tell her, surprised then instead to spot Grace and Mateo huddled near the wings to the catwalk. Frederick turned and offered that smarmy smile of his, reaching out to catch my hand and stop me on the way by. I resisted the urge to swat at him, hands clenched at my sides, but forced myself to pause and be polite.

  “You’re looking lovely, Miss Fleming.” Seriously? A woman was murdered, he’d been a suspect, and he was thinking about how I looked? Me in jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt that should have been tossed months ago and a jacket that was more unisex than feminine? Come to think of it, I wasn’t really trying these days, was I? Poor Crew. He had to look at this disaster of a woman I put out to the world. Resolving to make more of an effort, I smiled at Frederick and thanked him silently—if sullenly—for the reminder.

  “Have you seen the sheriff?” Maybe that mention tied to the possibility of finding Crew might serve me on both ends.

  Frederick’s smile faded slightly but returned at full wattage. “I hear he has a suspect in custody,” he said. “Noel Lewder? Or was Libby Kim the culprit?”

  Fishing, was he? I ignored his question as I spotted Grace across the stage. As soon as she spotted me she gestured for me to join her and I did, Frederick trailing after me. Let him stare at my butt, not much to see. But maybe I’d change that, for Crew’s sake…? I nodded to Mateo who gave me the once over enough to make me scowl. When I turned to Grace I noted Frederick and the handsome young designer exchanged unhappy glares. Over me? Sigh. Boys.

  Grace’s hand settled on my elbow and tucked me in to their little circle before she spoke in a tight whisper.

  “Fee, what’s happening?” She glanced up as we were joined by a clearly agitated Noel. How had she gotten on stage? No one seemed surprised to see her, so maybe she’d been welcomed back into the fold. Noel, for her part seemed happy to see me and nodded for me to answer while Frederick alone glared in her direction. Likely because she refused his advances, the cad.

  “I can’t tell you anything,” I said.

  “Kami’s been arrested.” Grace bit her lower lip, shook her head while Mateo inhaled sharply, clearly news to him. Noel looked equally upset, Frederick looking suddenly sick. “She couldn’t have killed Faith.”

  Did she know something I didn’t? “She doesn’t have an alibi,” I said. I caught myself before I spilled the rest, knowing I’d been in this spot before and accidentally released details, refusing to let my big mouth get in the way this time.

  Before Grace could argue, Henry appeared, scowling at me while I stared up at him with a decision to make and regret already stirring. “Mr. Ostler,” I said, “is it true Miss Derham was pregnant with your child? And that she had an abortion to end it?”

  I was expecting Henry to be angry, but I wasn’t planning on Grace’s reaction. She blanched, swayed and then, with a shriek of fury, launched herself at him. Henry caught her, held her off, his face not furious as I expected but full of sorrow.

  “Grace—” That was all he got out when she jerked free of him and slapped him across the face so hard his head rocked back.

  “You bastard!” She sobbed once, hands clenched at her sides while the others stared in a mix of horror, surprise and uncomfortable voyeurism. Yes, me included. “You knew I wanted children, you knew it was all I wanted. You said you couldn’t be a father. You lied to me!” She spun then and ran off, face in her hands. Noel went after her, judgment in her expression as she glanced over her shoulder at Henry. Even Mateo and Frederick seemed put off by Henry’s silence and the two drifted away, whispering to each other while I stood there next to the man I’d put in this terrible position.

  He had every right to be enraged. Instead, he sighed, rubbed his face with both hands, the arrogance in him gone, only brokenhearted sadness in his eyes when they met mine. “Miss Fleming,” he said, “I have no idea who told you Kami was with child of my progeny, but I can assure you, that would be quite impossible.” I believed him. His hurt was too raw. “Barring a miraculous shift in physiology, there is no way in Heaven or on Earth a child’s beginning could come from this body.” He gestured at himself, staring after Grace with longing that confirmed what I’d been suspecting all along. How could love go so wrong for two people who clearly loved each other that much?

  “Why didn’t you confront Kami when she said the babies were yours?” He could have cleared this up by calling her on the lie. But why would she lie?

  He shrugged. “She chose to eliminate the first one when her blackmail attempt failed.” I blinked and he offered the faintest of smiles. “She wanted money, Miss Fleming, for the abortion. When I paid it, she used that as ‘proof’ I was the father and tried to extort more from me.” Again, no anger, just weariness. “An old story. So I gave her some and told her to quit modeling. I, of course, made the human error of trusting her when she begged for a second chance. I have a soft spot for models, you see, damsels in distress, though there are those who would judge me for it.”

  Whatever, not my problem. “So who’s the actual father?” Why the elaborate ruse?

  Henry finally showed a different emotion, but again not what I was expecting. He actually looked worried. “I don’t know,” he said. “I fear now, however, perhaps Kami was the killer after all. If Faith discovered Kami was lying about the paternity, was somehow using Kami’s pregnancies against her… if she knew who the real father was, could she have committed the murder to stop Faith from revealing the truth? Too many flags point to that unfortunate young woman.”

  He was right. Which made me nervous. Because either I was yet again a horrible judge of character or Kami was the victim of an elaborate setup to protect the real killer.

  Henry wasn’t about to stay for the answer. “To be honest, I don’t care anymore.” He shook his head, hands outstretched in front of him, staring at them like he didn’t know who they belonged to. “All I long for, Miss Fleming, is the one thing I could never give the only woman I ever loved. If I could have fathered her children, I would have. I would have given her the world.”

  With that, head down, he walked away, leaving me to juggle my own set of emotions, not the least of which was empathy.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty

  I wasn’t prepared to run into Jill, though I should have been. It wasn’t like I didn’t know she was there, lurking in the background. Okay, not really fair, but I was already struggling with feeling badly and when she appeared while I wavered on the edge of compassion for Henry Ostler, her aggressive expression and clear antagonism set me off like it wouldn’t have normally.

  Who was I kidding? I never did well with confrontation, friend or not.

  “Why do you keep interfering?�
�� Jill’s voice vibrated with anger, her whole body trembling with it, the dark suit she wore making her look like a federal agent, maybe, but her face looking like nothing more than a petulant child playing dress up and knowing she didn’t deserve to be mistaken for more than she was.

  It was a powerful insight, but lost on me as I overreacted (there’s a shocker).

  “Why are you suddenly such a jerk?” I shot that back at her and might as well have struck her from the impact it had. Jill rocked back on her heels, her eyes wide, lips twisting into what looked like the prequel to a good sob session. What battle was she fighting with herself? Was it more than her feeling like an imposter, like she didn’t belong here?

  “I’m doing my job, Fee.” Jill’s tone hadn’t softened, though she seemed more sullen than angry now.

  “No,” I said, jabbing her with one index finger, knowing even as I touched her I’d gone too far but unable to stop myself. “You’re not. You’re doing a rent-a-cop’s job while channeling Robert Carlisle and treating your friends like crap.” Yup, way too far as her pupils dilated, her whole body tensing like she was ready to body slam me to the ground. But I was on a roll, whoa boy was I, and there was nothing stopping this freight train of Fleming heading for a crash into Mount Wagner. “Friends who have stood by you and supported you since day one.”

  She shook, a tremor as if she’d suffered her own personal earthquake, jaw jumping, broad shoulders taking on a twitch before she settled again. “Friends who’ve made a fool of me time and time again until I can’t do my job effectively and doubt every decision I make.” She looked away, licking her lips, as if she regretted speaking and hated the taste of admission in her mouth. “Doubt my choice to be a cop, a job I’ve wanted since I was a little girl.” She looked back again, met my eyes, hers totally cut off, her heart walled away while I relented inside if not outside at the fact I’d just done irreparable harm to my friend and friendship. “Thanks for that, Fee. I needed the reminder.”

  I grabbed her arm as she turned to leave, unwilling to just let her go. “You have nothing to doubt about yourself,” I said, hasty and unprepared for this turn in the conversation. I expected a fight, not to have to defend her from her own inner demons. “You’re an amazing deputy, Jill.”

  She shook her head, a tight motion that bobbed her ponytail across one shoulder. “No,” she said, “maybe I could have been. But I made the wrong choice, coming to Reading. Listening to Crew, to you.” Jill shuddered my hand from her arm and I let her. “You know, I never thought that I’d end up agreeing with the likes of Robert. He’s been getting in my head, and I’ve let him because I just can’t seem to get past the fact I’ve failed as a cop. So maybe it was meant to be, that I ended up here. I needed the wakeup call, that the dream I had, this job,” she looked down at her hands as she raised them in front of her, clenching them into fists, “is better than me.”

  God, what had Robert been saying to her? “Jill.” I inhaled, scrambled for words. But I was too late, wasn’t I? She’d been fighting this battle for a while now and I’d failed to see it. Failed her, ultimately.

  “I knew it when you were almost shot,” she said, voice now low and dull, empty of hope. “When I botched the Black Mountain investigation, when you solved it before I could, almost died twice because I wasn’t up to the job.” She met my gaze one last time, hers devoid of the energetic and passionate woman I’d called my friend, only the shell of her remaining. “Maybe I should be grateful I found out before I was too old, too jaded and broken by the job, that I need to move on. But I’m not, Fee. I’ll never be grateful. I hate it here.” Those fists tightened further, her whole expression altering to utter fury, body shaking once more while I gaped and wished there was something I could do or say. “Hate it. I’m quitting, leaving Reading. And I’ll regret coming here for the rest of my life.”

  She spun and stomped away, leaving me to watch her go with my heart in my shoes and my frustration levels at an all-time high. There was nothing to be done, with Crew absent and still not answering his phone. I did take a perfunctory look around for Mila but came up empty, so I headed for my car, texting as I walked, the inevitable trip over my own foot making me pay more attention. Seriously, I knew better. I paused to finish, wondering where Crew had gone but determined to put it out of my mind.

  The rest of the day passed without a whisper from him and I grew increasingly worried, angry and—you guessed it—frustrated by the entire situation. Why invite me into the investigation if he was going to ignore me? Of course, then I spun into concern he was hurt or the killer had somehow incapacitated him winding toward the fact he really didn’t care and was trying to placate me by offering to allow me access to what he knew.

  Whew. When I chose to I could really make myself crazy.

  It was late, after 11PM as I huddled on my couch with my pug in my lap, scowling at my TV while it tried its hardest to entertain and distract me, failing miserably. I had finally decided to just go to bed after several rounds of fighting off the urge to go looking for Crew when a new message popped up and turned me around the way I’d come.

  I found the list. It had to be from Mila. How did she get my phone number? And I know who the real killer is.

  Holy crap. Where are you? I looked up from my screen, already on my feet, heading for the stairs, Petunia whining as I left her behind.

  Back stage, she sent.

  One more drive up the mountain? Okie doke.

  I slipped in the rear door of the lodge to avoid questions. Fine, to avoid Jill and Matt. I didn’t want to stir that particular pot any further. Instead, I used the entrance by the ski lift, the doors further down locked tight from the outside, something I knew from personal experience. Yeah, I really didn’t want to think about almost dying in a snowstorm on Valentine’s Day right about now, not when the thought struck me as I entered the dark back hall and let myself into the quiet staging area that there was a distinct possibility the text message I’d received hadn’t come from Mila.

  That stopped me in my tracks and made my heart speed up. Wow, Fee, way to just trust and act like some kind of first timer. I knew better than to throw myself into danger like this and anticipated Crew’s disapproving scowl after he hugged me within an inch of my life.

  I hesitated and considered retreating, noting the back stage area screen off by towering black velvet curtains was silent, dark, still. Yeah, this really was a terrible idea.

  “Mila?” That came out in a squeaking whisper, met by silence. I caught myself trembling, feet frozen to the floor, ears straining for any sign I wasn’t alone. Nothing, save for the muffled sounds coming from the lobby outside the main doors what felt like miles away and the hum of air conditioning overhead.

  Well, I was here, and Crew wasn’t and I could just call Jill and Matt for help if something happened, right? Sure thing, Fee, you just keep telling your ridiculous red head that if it makes you feel better. I shook off the internal talk and forced a step forward. I’d just find Mila, get the list and catch the murderer and everything would be fine.

  By the time I’d finished searching the back stage area my fear had turned to annoyance at my own fears. There was no one there, not a soul, not even Mila. Frustration and anxiety were not my favorite mix of emotions and so when I finally sorted out that I’d come on a wild goose chase, I was vexed enough I paused to kick at a rack of clothes just to vent some of my pique.

  I glanced down as I did, and noticed a small, pink notebook next to my foot. No way I was this lucky…? I bent, retrieved it, flipped it open to the last page. And gasped as I realized I now knew who the killer was, too.

  Two things happened in that instant, both of which fed into each other in a slow-motion unfolding of fresh fear I shouldn’t have let slip. First was the reveal of the unconscious form of Mila Martin, once hidden by that very rack of clothing, now exposed as I looked up from the book, her pale face turned toward me. That would have been bad enough, thanks, but life wasn’t done with me. />
  No, in the instant it took me to understand what I was seeing, I felt something cold press to the base of my neck just as a sharp jolt of electricity raced through me and brought me to my knees.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty One

  My eyes fluttered open, head aching, heart skipping a bit before it settled down into a more natural rhythm while I did my best to make sense of the foggy surfacing memories floating around in my sore noggin. The acutely acrid scent of chlorine assaulted my nose, warm, moist air making me choke a little. I tried to focus, something hard and damp under my cheek, my hand slipping over what felt like tile as I blinked at the edge of concrete rimming an impossibly blue pool of water.

  I registered where I was as a shadow passed over me, stepping across my legs, his face appearing in my vision and speeding my heartrate as I fought to regain control of my spasming limbs. I’d had stun gun training, thanks to Dad. I’d even had one tested on me for a half-second so I’d know what it felt like, and it wasn’t something I’d wanted to repeat. To render me unconscious? My attacker had to have held the gun to me forever.

  Bastard.

  Though I shouldn’t have expected much from Frederick Newmark. It was him, after all, who appeared in my wavering sight, who scowled at me, then over my shoulder as if assessing what he was going to do next. I attempted a gurgled swear at him but all that came out was a grunt. His eyes fixed on me, beads of sweat standing out on his upper lip. Even in my disoriented state I could tell he was in pure panic mode.

  The talk outside his room? I’d briefly thought it had been an act, meant to distract and deflect me, to make me think he was just that clueless. But as I stared in his eyes, I realized it wasn’t. The man was an idiot, gaze vacant of reason or even two crumbs of a plan to rub together and that terrified me.