Ahead of us, Ian, Yumi, and Roman were waiting for everyone to catch up. After we all regrouped, Roman pointed to a steep side trail to his right, between various prickly looking bushes.
“It’s steep, but it’s not long. Everyone doing good?”
We affirmed we were, and began the last, but most strenuous part of our walk.
Ian walked beside me.
“We should have come here years ago,” he said to me. “Instead of spending all that time in the city.” He sucked in a deep breath. “You can taste the beneficial health qualities in the air, can’t you?”
I took in a deep breath of my own. “No. I think it’s just colder.”
“No, it’s definitely not colder. Look, I’m sweating.” He wiped his brow. “That’s from the energy I’m getting. I do love it out here.”
Ian’s conversation lapsed as we hit a particularly steep part of the trail and his breathing became heavier. I couldn’t help but wonder how long his new outdoorsman persona would last. For the rest of this walk? Or the entire week we planned to spend out here? Or could it even be forever? Please, please, I thought, don’t let it be forever. Outdoorsman Ian would be too much to handle.
We continued on. After several turns, and scrabbling around some boulders that some fool had left in the middle of the path, Yumi called out from in front of us. “Here it is! We made it! Pickaxe Peak.”
“This… was… nothing…” Ian panted to me as we caught up with Yumi. “Later in the week… I’m going to… go… way… higher.”
I didn’t have the breath to respond. A moment later, I had even less, as the stunning vista before me took the last of my breath away.
“Wowzers,” Uncle Joe said as he came to a halt beside me. “Isn’t that something?”
Spread out before us was the kind of view you just don’t get in the city. Rolling hills. Steep mountains. Tiny little trees that would be massive if we were closer. A few distant buildings. A tiny little road with a toy truck driving down it.
“Wow,” I finally managed to say.
Ian folded his arms in front of him and nodded in approval. “Good, this is good. I bet there are better peaks around here though.”
“Not ones you’ll get a little child up,” Roman said, nodding toward Angel, who, along with her mother, was just about to reach the summit.
“Or a seventy-year-old man,” Joe said. Looking at him, he seemed to have coped with the walk just fine. I didn’t want to say better than me, but that was perhaps more to protect my own pride. I was sure he could handle any summit that Ian could manage.
Marcus and Jini had been quietly admiring the view beside me. They weren’t talking, but it wasn’t because they were out of breath, but because they were simply taking a moment to admire the panorama.
Marcus stretched out his arm. “They don’t look too promising.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The clouds. Looks like they’re coming in fast.”
“They weren’t there when we came up earlier, were they, love?”
Yumi shook her head at Roman. “It was pure blue earlier.”
“Looks like we might be in for some weather,” Joe said.
Ian was holding his phone in front of his face. “Can’t get a signal up here, but when my app last updated, it was saying we should have fine weather right through the weekend.”
“What does your app say about those clouds?” I asked him.
He shook his head at the view in front of him. “They’re not supposed to be there.”
“And yet…?”
Ian shook his head again, disagreeing with what his eyes were telling him. “It’s probably a mirage. Or they’re going the other way. That’s it, they’re a long way away, and it’s only because we’re up here we can see them. We wouldn’t even know about them if we were still down at the house.”
“Looks to me like they’re heading this way,” Joe said.
“Your eyes can play tricks on you, out on the mountains.” Ian sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“The weather can change fast up here,” Roman said. “At Beryl’s, about three weeks ago, we had the clearest day you’ve ever seen. Then bam, these clouds dropped on us like a ton of angry bricks. Then the rain started. The road was impassable for days after.”
“And I didn’t get to see him at all that weekend,” Yumi said while poking him in the side with a finger.
“I was worried I wouldn’t be able to make it by the next one! But sure enough, the sun returned and dried up the mud.”
“Smells like a storm,” Jini said.
“Does it?” I wasn’t sure if she meant literally or metaphorically.
“Yeah. You can sense it in the air, can’t you?”
“No,” Ian and I said at the same time, though for different reasons. “I don’t think I’m that sensitive.”
“Looks like trouble to me,” Marcus said. “What do you think, Dad?”
“I think we should admire the view for a minute or two, and then hotfoot it back down. Whether they’re supposed to or not, those clouds are rolling this way. And they look heavy.”
I held my arms against each other and rubbed them. I was only wearing a sweatshirt. It had been so pleasant when we left it had seemed like more than enough. But now there was a definite chill in the air, despite what Ian had said earlier.
Marcus nodded at me. “Temperature’s dropping fast. Might even see snow.”
“Snow?” Ian said incredulously.
“Sure. Up here, it’s possible. And it sticks. Not like down in the city where it melts as soon as it tastes the Vegas asphalt.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Ian said, shaking his head. “Not according to my app.”
“What are you gonna believe?” Joe asked him, “Your eyes and senses, or your little magic box?”
Ian held his phone against him protectively. “There’s a million times more computing power in my little box than we used to put people on the moon, Uncle Joe, and I have access to the entire wealth of human knowledge through wireless connections.”
“I don’t think those clouds care much.”
Ian glared at them. They were getting closer, despite what he thought.
“I think the weather app needs updating. But there’s no signal here. I’ll check when we get back to the house. Right, come on!”
Ian took the lead on the way back, at a significantly faster pace than Roman and Yumi had led us there. But I was pretty sure it was because he wanted to see the updated predictions on his phone, rather than fear of the oncoming clouds.
* * *
“Unbelievable,” Ian said, jabbing at his phone. “The forecast has completely changed since this morning.”
We’d returned to the house, and were standing in the entrance lobby while the rest of our group continued to arrive back in dribs and drabs.
“Yeah? What does it say now?”
“Cloudy.”
“And?”
“Chance of storms.”
“Anything else?”
“A seventy percent chance of precipitation.”
“Are you still planning to spend a lot of time outside?”
“A little bit of rain won’t stop me. I’m equipped for anything.”
We’d see about that.
Maeve entered the hallway from the far end. She marched over to us with a disapproving look on her face. I was pretty sure it was permanently glued on. “Lucky you got back in time.”
“Yeah? Bad weather coming?” I asked.
“Yep. You can taste it in the air. It’ll snow before too long, you mark my words.”
“As long as it clears in time for the party on Sunday!”
Maeve raised her eyebrows at me but said nothing, which I found rather ominous. “I prepared sandwiches for Beryl and that lawyer of hers. Will the rest of you be wanting some?”
I decided to make an executive decision on behalf of us all. “Yes, please!”
“I’ll light a f
ire in the drawing room first. I shall serve them there. The dining room is only used for dinner, so don’t expect it to be made available for sandwiches.”
“That’s fine.”
Maeve gave me a curt nod.
Twenty minutes later, all of us had returned and were waiting eagerly in the drawing room, as she’d called it. Angel had been disappointed to find that it lacked any kind of art supplies. I agreed with her that it was a silly name.
In the same way that in a normal family home the television tends to dominate the living room or den, in this house the drawing room was dominated by a large fireplace. I couldn’t help but think that watching the crackling flames was, in some ways, an improvement over a lot of the junk that’s served up as entertainment on the television.
There were two large sofas, four large armchairs, and several other padded high-backed chairs against the wall which could be pulled in if the numbers required it. We didn’t need them.
Maeve was soon back in the room, with her loud, clattering trolley loaded with a giant platter of simple ham, beef, and cheese sandwiches, as well as a large urn of hot chocolate.
“Will Beryl be joining us?” I asked. I didn’t want her to, but I thought it might be prudent to let us all mentally prepare if she were planning to.
“No. She’s taking her afternoon nap. You will see her at dinner.”
“Great. And the lawyer’s gone?”
Maeve jerked her head in a flurry of annoyed shakes. “No. He has not gone. He’s still in the library. They have not yet finished their business.”
“Actually,” called a voice from the door to the room. “I’m right here. I heard your trolley and…” He nodded toward the sandwiches.
“You already had sandwiches,” Maeve said with barely concealed hostility.
“I thought I might have another?” Norman walked fully into the room, a wide smile on his face. A rather wolfish one, I thought. “I can pay.”
“Pay?” Maeve repeated in much the same tone one would use responding to someone asking to borrow your toothbrush to clean the rims of their car. “When the others have taken their sandwiches you may take from the remains.”
“Ah, as generous and hospitable as ever, Maeve.”
By way of response, she stomped out of the room, leaving us to help ourselves to the sandwiches.
“Snow!” Angel shouted.
We all looked at her. Face pressed up against the window, she was staring outside, bouncing up and down on her toes in excitement.
“Just a few flakes,” Ian said.
Uncle Joe stood with a tired sigh and walked to stand behind Angel. “It’s going to pick up. Those clouds are here already, and they’ve dropped right down on us. They’re heavy with it.”
“Lots of snow?” Angel asked with unconcealed excitement.
“I’d say.” Joe turned to the lawyer. “You’d better leave soon.”
“Beryl still needs to sign her will. I can’t leave yet.”
Joe shrugged. “If you don’t leave now, you might not be leaving at all.”
Norman shook his head. “I drive a Mercedes Benz. It’ll get through the snow no problem.”
“You’ll want something with four-wheel drive.”
Norman waved away his concern. “I don’t think so.” He reached down and took a couple of sandwiches off the platter. “I’ll return to the library and get things ready for Beryl. Nice to see you all.”
And with that, he was gone, and we were left to dig into the sandwiches. I wasn’t sure whether it was because of all the exercise or because of Maeve’s sandwich-making abilities, but either way, they sure were delicious.
The fire crackled.
The hot chocolate was drunk.
The food was consumed.
And most of us closed our eyes, just for a few moments.
It was that kind of afternoon.
Chapter Five
I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I had this vague idea that our second dinner with Beryl would go better than the first. Perhaps she might have mellowed in the intervening twenty-four hours, or maybe she had just been nervous to see us all at the first meal. She wouldn’t upset anyone again—would she?
None of us had seen her since we left for our walk. It wasn’t until just after six o’clock that she left the library on the ground floor, which she used as her office, just in time for dinner which Maeve had informed us would be served at six-thirty.
The weather hadn’t improved in the slightest, and the earlier scattered falling flakes had become thick flurries interspersed with lighter moments. I was glad to be inside rather than outside.
Beryl drew us to her by smashing her cane on the floor of the hall with vengeance.
Whap! Thwap! Thunk!
“Mr. Langan is leaving!” she cried.
Which meant he was, of course, due a formal farewell from us all. Most of us were still relaxing in the drawing room, with only Roman and Yumi having departed to their own quarters.
Dutifully, we emerged from the pleasant warmth of the fire to the drafty chilliness of the hall. Marcus and Yumi descended the stairs, with Yumi now wearing a warm-looking forest green shawl around her shoulders.
When we were all assembled, Beryl, who again looked like she’d been dressed by an explosion in a warehouse full of exclusively pink items, repeated herself. “Norman is leaving now.”
“Good luck,” Joe said to him, extending a hand.
Norman shook it. “Luck?”
Joe nodded toward the door. “The snow’s coming down pretty good. Road might be rough. And it’s getting dark.”
“No problem. I drive a Mercedes—”
“Weather don’t care much about what you’re driving. You be careful.”
“Norman is an excellent driver, aren’t you?” Beryl’s tone had just a hint of wariness to it, as if needing confirmation that he could handle the conditions outside.
“I am. Not one accident in fifty years on the road.”
“Better than any of you, then,” Beryl said with a smirk. I was certain she was just assuming we all had blemished driving records, but who knows? She may have been right.
“See you on, Sunday!” Beryl called as he headed out the door.
“Sunday?” Joe asked.
“Of course. It’s my birthday party, I told you. I have to invite my dearest friend.”
“‘Til Sunday,” he called over his shoulder.
When the door was closed behind him, Beryl rapped her cane on the floor again.
“Well? What are you all dithering for? Dining room. Off you go, chop chop.”
The dinner, when it was presented, looked remarkably similar to what we had the day before. The main difference was that the meat was a lighter beige color. It was turkey. Or perhaps chicken. Although curious, I thought it might be rude to ask Maeve to confirm.
As before, Joe insisted on Maeve joining us, only getting an eye roll from Beryl by way of argument this time.
“Dinner rolls?” Beryl asked her housekeeper.
“No. I made bread today. For the sandwiches. Remember?”
“Should have made dinner rolls too.”
“I can get you some bread if you would like?” Maeve didn’t sound like she wanted us to accept the offer.
“Yes. Bread and butter. Anyone else?”
We all shook our heads and quietly declined.
While Maeve went to fetch the bread, Beryl placed her knife and fork down while she waited and ran her eyes over us all like an eager executioner excited to pick her next victim.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
She stared at Joe’s son for several long seconds before continuing. “Age?”
“You mean how old am I?”
“That’s what an age is, yes. Go on. Age.”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
Beryl jabbed a finger in the direction of his fiancée, Jini. “You?”
“Thirty-five.”
Beryl slowly shook her head at Marc
us.
“Is there something the matter?”
“She’s too old for you.” Beryl thrust her chin in Jini’s direction. “Aren’t you? Too old for him?”
Marcus’s mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut. I got the impression he’d never been asked such blunt questions before. Jini answered Beryl with a silent death stare, which the old lady blithely ignored.
“We don’t think so,” Marcus finally said.
“Well, now you know. I’ve told you. She’s too old for you.”
“She’s only six years older than me.”
“Five years and two months,” Jini said coldly.
“Beryl?” Joe said. When she didn’t immediately respond, he snapped his fingers at her. It would normally be a rude gesture, but it didn’t seem like it then.
“What?” Beryl glared at her ex-husband.
“You were twenty years older than me. Twenty. Five years is nothing.”
“Six. And our marriage was hardly a success, was it? What did you get out of it? Nothing, that’s what. You were a dummy, Joe. Still are.”
“Our daughter, Beryl. We got our daughter.”
“Oh.” Beryl waved her hand dismissively. “I suppose so. That’s not the point.” She turned back to Marcus. “You should always date someone younger.”
“Not everyone can date someone younger. That doesn’t work.”
“I’m ninety years old on Sunday, Marcus. I’ve picked up a lot of wisdom over the years. You would be wise to heed it.”
Maeve returned and slapped a small plate down next to Beryl’s dinner. On top of it were two slices of buttered bread. “There.”
“Thank you, Maeve.” She didn’t sound thankful.
“You may begin,” Beryl announced rather grandly.
And so, we dug into our meal. As I began to chew I began to think about the atmosphere in the room. I couldn’t quite figure out if it was cold, due to Beryl’s demeanor, or whether it was getting hot with anger. From the look on Jini’s face, it was tending toward the latter.
“That lawyer of yours is going to have some job driving back to Las Vegas in this weather.” Joe was diplomatically trying to change the topic of conversation.
“He’s not going to Las Vegas, he’s just going to Mount Washington. He has a holiday home there. It’s only ten miles.”
Reunions and Revelations in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery Page 4
