The Most Slippery Crime of the Year: Death On The Slopes: A Massanutten Tale (The Artzy Chicks Book 4)

by Judith Lucci

  We walked to the elevator in silence and exited the newspaper building.

  "What do you think, Lily? Did you like him?"

  I looked into Benson's eyes. "Yeah, I did. Young men like Jeremy Futrell make me feel good for our country. I think he's top-notch."

  Benson nodded. "Let me run you to your car and then I'm on the road. I'm meeting up with Kenzie in Winchester and we're gonna go over the evidence. I’ll let you know what we come up with."

  Twenty minutes later I was on my way home. It'd been a busy day and I was ready for a long winter’s nap.

  Chapter 22

  It was after 4 o'clock when Benson arrived at the office of the medical examiner in Roanoke, Virginia. He found Kenzie in her office with the shades pulled down. She was stretched out on her

  sofa. He tapped softly on the door. She didn't respond. He tapped a little louder and spoke a little louder and she opened her eyes. She quickly swung her legs off the sofa and sat up.

  "Benson. When did you get here?" she asked as she stifled a yawn.

  "Just now," he said with a smile. He looked in Kenzie's eyes and immediately knew something was wrong. She had an uneasy, tortured look about her.

  "How was the drive over?" she asked as she rose and moved towards her desk.

  "Pretty good. There were a few snow flurries, but it doesn't look like it's going to amount to anything."

  Kenzie nodded. "That's good to hear. Do you have any news? Any new information? Did you learn anything today?"

  Benson studied her carefully. Her eyes were tired, her face wan. He wondered if she were getting sick. "I learned a couple of things. But first, I want to know if you're doing okay?"

  Kenzie nodded and yawned again. "Yeah, just a little tired. She looked over at Solomon who thumped his tail on the floor. She sat down at her small conference table, reached in her treat bowl and tossed Solomon a piece of jerky. He gobbled it up in an instant. Kenzie laughed. She seemed more like her old self. She turned back to Benson. "So, what's new?"

  Benson sat opposite her at the small conference table. "I went back over to the mountain and talked to a couple of the Massanutten employees that work the Slopes. One guy told me he'd seen Hamn’s truck up at the slopes earlier this week." Benson raised his eyebrows.

  Kenzie’s eyes widened. "Hamn, as in Hillbilly Mob Hamn? The huge guy with a giant truck with the stacks?"

  "The one and only," Benson responded.

  Kenzie’s pupils dilated. She clicked her fingers against the wood on the table. "When, when did this guy see his truck?"

  Benson shrugged his shoulders. "Guy says he's not sure if it was Monday or Tuesday. He was going to go back and check the work orders and send me a text."

  Kenzie frowned. "What do you mean he can't remember. Why can’t he remember? Today's only Saturday?"

  "I know, but these guys are all over that mountain. They’re up and down, here and there and I believe it's logical that he can't remember exactly where he was each day."

  Kenzie’s shoulders slumped. "I guess I can buy that," she admitted, her voice flat. "They could have taken that boulder up to the mountain anytime and left it on a flat bed. Then rolled it out on a day they knew Sam Painter was gonna ski.”

  Benson chewed on his thumb nail. "Do you think the Hillbilly Mob could be connected with Sam's death?"

  Kenzie nodded. "Sure. Why not? They’re known criminals, I think the old guy just got out of prison before Christmas. Seems like a notice of his release came over my desk."

  "Yeah, it probably did. I'll follow up. I also met with Jeremy Futrell, the newspaper reporter." Benson reached in his brief case for a bottle of water.

  Kenzie arched her eyebrows. "Yeah, what do you think?"

  Benson sat down at the table. "I think he's a good guy. Intelligent, engaging, and idealistic. He liked Sam and is upset by his death."

  "Yeah. I'm upset too." Kenzie’s voice was sarcastic. "What else did he tell you?"

  Benson sighed deeply. "He said Sam had a lot of enemies – from his fellow farmers, to people in commercial development and some issues with his brother."

  Kenzie’s eyes widened. "His brother? Ralph? What kind of issues? Ralph spends most of his time in the state mental hospital. He's been diagnosed as psychotic." She scratched her head. "I think he has bipolar disease, unspecified."

  Benson continued." Like Lily's friend, Rosemary, Jeremy Futrell thinks Wendell Hallet and his company have the most reason to get rid of Sam."

  Kenzie didn't respond. She rose from the table and walked over to her desk. "Is there anything else?" she asked as she picked up Sam's file and brought it over to the table.

  Benson shook his head. "Nope, nothing. I did another run through of the Diamond Jim slope. Massanutten resort management want to reopen the slope tomorrow for the holiday week."

  Kenzie nodded. "Yeah, that's okay. I don't think there's anything else for us to find. I’ll send them a text and tell them to reopen."

  Benson pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent the text. "Anything new on the lab reports?"

  Kenzie sat down at the conference table and stared her hands. She seemed to be at a loss for words. Benson noticed that her eyes twitched. He’d learned that Kenzie’s eyes often twitched when she was troubled. He touched her finger. "Look at me, Kens. What is it? We’ve gotta solve Sam's death."

  Kenzie’s eyes flooded with tears. "He was poisoned. Someone poisoned Sam. I'm sure that's why he lost control and crashed on the slopes."

  Benson took both of Kenzie’s hands and wrapped his large hands around them. He squeezed them and looked into her eyes. "Okay, one thing at a time. How was Sam poisoned?"

  "Someone filled him full of a beta blocker drug. Beta blocker drugs treat high blood pressure. Of course, as with many drugs, the main ingredient is poison." Kenzie let go of Benson's hand and walked over to her desk and returned with a box of tissues. She blew her nose and then walked over to her small office refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

  Benson sat patiently until she was able to continue. "So, what do you think happened? What effects did the drugs have on Sam?"

  Once again Kenzie studied her hands. She didn't speak. Her face had a pained expression.

  "Kenzie, tell me what happened. Take as long as you want because it's something we both need to know." Benson's voice was quiet, gentle but firm.

  Kenzie’s shoulders heaved. Benson could see her grief. It was written all over her. Sam was part of what Kenzie had left from her old life. He knew that by living through Sam's death she was also living again through the death of her husband.

  "He... he had ten times the normal dose of propranolol in his body. Ten times the normal dose!” Kenzie’s eyes were wide with anger. “His heart was compromised, I'm sure he was incredibly short of breath, probably gasping for air when you consider the cold temperatures and the speed of his skis. I would imagine his vision was blurred, possibly doubled so that he couldn't see. I imagine he had some heart failure although his heart looked good on autopsy." Kenzie picked up at tissue and wiped her eyes. “What Sam went through is horrific and cruel.”

  Benson shuddered as he considered how frightening Sam's last ski experience was. He could only imagine whipping through the air and trying to stand up in the rigid cold temperatures. He couldn’t imagine not being able to breathe or see. He shook his head. “That was cruel. Malicious. I am sure Sam was frightened beyond belief.” He shook his head.

  Kenzie nodded.

  “That required a lot of premeditation, Kenzie, and a lot of thought. It's a terrible way to die."

  Kenzie nodded as the tears flowed. "Yeah, yeah it is! Sam always liked to know what was going on. I can’t imagine the fear and the confusion that ran through his brain as he was about to crash, especially since he couldn’t breathe or see. I'm sure he knew death was coming."

  Benson nodded. "I imagine he would. It was so sad."

  Kenzie took a drink of her water. "Well, I got the DNA report back on the c
offee cup."

  Benson arched his eyebrows. "And...?”

  "And, it's certainly not Wendell Hallett's. I don't know whose DNA it is.” Her face was disappointed. “My technicians are running it through a couple of databases. They said they should have some more information around five pm."

  "Well," Benson said as he stood. "It's about five o'clock now. Maybe I'll walk down there and see if they have any answers."

  Kenzie nodded. "It’d be nice if you could find us a bunch of answers. Bring them all back," she insisted, a ghost of a smile on her face.

  Benson returned a half an hour later, a strange look on his face. He had an envelop in his hand.

  Kenzie looked up at him. "What's up? You look funny! Did you find all the answers?" Her voice was uncertain as she stared quizzically at him.

  Benson shook his head. "No. No answers, but I have more questions."

  Kenzie frowned. She shook her head. "What questions?"

  "The DNA on the coffee cup you found on the mountain is familial with Sam Painter." He gave her a long look as the realization of what that meant set on her face.

  "Familial DNA? Why, that means the person must be kin to Sam! How can that be?" Kenzie’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

  "There's only one way I know of," Benson said. "At least, from what I've read in the file."

  Kenzie nodded at his phone. "Call it in, Benson. We've got to know."

  Chapter 23

  LauraLea and I sat around the round table at the gallery, a glass of wine in front of each of us. We’d just closed the doors for the night when three police cars and an ambulance whizzed by.

  My heartbeat rose. I had a bad feeling deep in my belly. My blue eyes locked with LauraLea’s green ones. LauraLea spoke first. "That doesn't sound good."

  "Nope, it doesn't." My voice shook. "I wonder what's wrong." My heart beat so fast I could hardly breathe. I had to pull myself together. LauraLea and I were going over to Sarah Painter’s house in an hour or so to help her plan her son's funeral. We’d both cooked several casseroles and I’d made a pot of soup. The food was packed in LauraLea’s trunk.

  We were less comfortable as another police car roared past the gallery. "I'm gonna call up to the Lodge and see if Angie's working. See if she knows what's going on." LauraLea walked over the counter to get her cell phone.

  I watched, my body numb as LauraLea spoke with Angie. Her voice was quiet. I heard her ask Angie to call us if she'd had any news. LauraLea clicked off her phone and looked at me.

  "Wha...what’s happening up there?" I stammered.

  “Angie said the police are looking for a tall guy who just left the General Store. He escaped into the woods. They’re searching for him now.” LauraLea shrugged her shoulders. “That’s it. That’s all Angie knew.”

  "Well, who is it? Who are they hunting?"

  LauraLea shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. That's all Angie knew."

  "Let's get out of here. I've had enough of Massanutten for this week. Let's head out to the Painter farm." I rose from the table and put on my hat, coat, and gloves.

  Just before we reached the bottom of the mountain my cell phone rang. It was Sarah Painter. She was upset. "Lily, Lily, please don't come tonight, we’ve just gotten more upsetting news. Lowell and I want to be alone. Can you come tomorrow?" I could hear a sob on her end of the line and hysteria in her voice.

  "Of course, Sarah,” I said softly. “We can come anytime you need us. Are you sure there's nothing we can do for you this evening? We're on our way." My heart was about to burst. What else could have happened to those poor people.

  Sarah’s voice sounded far away. "No. There's nothing you can do. Please don't come." I heard the phone click and I realized Sarah had hung up.

  “What’s, up, Lily?” LauraLea stared at me, her face confused.

  I didn't know what to think. I looked over at LauraLea. "Something else has happened at the Painter’s house. Sarah was almost hysterical. She doesn't want us to come at all tonight.”

  "That doesn't sound right to me," LauraLea’s voice sounded perplexed. "Are you sure?"

  I nodded my head. "I'm positive. She asked me three or four times to come another time."

  LauraLea shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I guess we'll go tomorrow. Let's go out to dinner. Do you feel like Irish?" I looked into LauraLea’s huge green eyes.

  "Irish is perfect. I loved the cottage pie served at our only local Irish restaurant. And after my strange conversation with Sarah Painter, I could use a Guinness.

  An hour and a half later LauraLea and I had finished dinner and were enjoying an Irish coffee. My cell rang and it was Kenzie.

  "Where are the two of you?"

  "We are finishing up dinner at Corgan's," I confessed. "It was delicious."

  "I bet it was. Are you and LauraLea up for a quick visit from Benson and me? We’re on our way back from Roanoke and could slip by your house in about twenty minutes."

  "Sure, is something up?" It wasn't every day that Kenzie and Benson visited me at ten o'clock in the evening."

  "Yeah, we know who killed Sam." Kenzie's voice was low and subdued. “And it was a total surprise.”

  "We’ll be home before you exit the interstate. I'll put a pot of coffee on," I promised.

  "I'd rather have something stronger if you have it," Kenzie admitted.

  "You've got it," I promised. "See you in a bit."

  LauraLea’s eyes had left my face. "What's up, what's wrong?"

  I looked over at her. Kenzie and Benson are on the way to my house. They know who killed Sam."

  LauraLea reached in her purse and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the table. "Let's go, the service was great," she offered as I stared at the money.

  My belly burned in anticipation. I couldn’t imagine who’d killed Sam. I wanted to know.”

  Two months later

  It's spring and the mountain laurel has begun to bloom up at The Lookout. It’s been two months since Sam Painter died on the Diamond Jim Slope at Massanutten Resort. It has been two months since his brother, Ralph, had contracted with the team of hoodlums from Shenandoah County to drug and kill his only brother. Ralph Painter had been arrested and was in jail. He awaited his trial, but everyone knew he’d be found not guilty by reason of insanity. I don't even think Ralph realized he killed his brother, but police had said he was mad at Sam because he had ‘everything’ and he had nothing.

  Throughout the trial, Ralph had been dubbed “The Satan Killer” and I had to admit, the name fit him. He was tall, with large ears and hollow, empty eyes that seemed to burn through you, but hardly even saw you. His long black hair completed the look.

  I guess part of Ralph’s mantra was true. Sam had his physical health and he was heir to the Painter farm. But only a person who was mentally ill would kill their brother in the heinous way he'd killed Sam. Angie told us that when the police had arrested Ralph he cried over and over that “voices” had told him to do it. It was a sad story. Lowell and Sarah are doing well. Fortunately, they have a strong faith that will see them through a lot of hard days.

  And, life goes on. All we can do from our everyday experiences is to learn, take note, and become wise. Life is for the living and LauraLea and I have decided to do just that. In a couple weeks we're driving down to the Gulf Coast and taking her animals. We’ve rented a beautiful house for several weeks. Friends will join us the second week, but the first week is for us. We need to grieve and mourn, for our own personal loss and for Sarah and Lowell Painter. But most of all, we need to find our creative muse and paint and I suspect we’ll paint ten hours every day, or at least for as long as the sun is out.

  I looked up from my teaching area when I heard a bunch of laughter. Four lovely women had entered the classroom. I smiled at them. "Are you here to take my watercolor class?"

  One of them said, "Yes, ma'am, and we’re so excited. What are we painting today?"

  I smiled. "Why, we’re painting sunflowers and fantasy flowers because
it's spring and we’ve come through a long cold winter.”

  I pulled out my reference picture and listened to their chatter. They were gonna be a fun group and I knew it. LauraLea came in with four large wine Slushees, one for each of the students. After all, it was a paint and sip course.

  So, regardless of the pain and suffering in life there is always peace and beauty. Life is good and life is beautiful we need to value and treasure it every day.

  The End

  Until the next case...

  Thank you for reading, Death on the Slopes, the fourth book in, The Artzy Chicks Cozy Mystery Series. The next book will arrive in 2020.

  While you wait please enjoy, The Case of Dr. Dude. The first book in The Michaela McPherson Cozy Mystery Series.

  Set in Richmond, Virginia, the series features an ex-cop turned Private Investigator, Michaela McPherson, whose informal partnership with an ageing Italian noblewoman, Countess Dorothy (Dottie) Borghese, and backed-up by her retired police dog Angel, make for an intriguing and heart-warming trio that tackle the most brutal of crimes. In this first novel of the series the issue is the kidnapping and selling of young girls into the white slave trade.

  Click Here To Start Reading The Case of Dr. Dude!

  PLEASE STAY UP TO DATE with this author at www.JudithLucci.com.