“Actresses often have fans. Did you or your niece Holly ever experience a stalker situation?” questioned Cody.
“Oh, sure,” said Eleanor, straightening in her chair. “I have dealt with a mega fan or two in my day—especially in my younger years. But I could hardly blame them. Who wouldn’t have loved me back then? It’s such a shame we have to age, isn’t it, my dears?” She motioned her head to Eve and Gloria who both gave her some serious cut eye in return. Her intended audience was not in agreement. “Thankfully, they were scared off with the threat of a restraining order.”
“Pfft… actresses and their egos,” sneered Mateo. The look on his face matched his unfriendly tone.
Eleanor took Mateo’s sneer in stride. “Yes, too true,” she joked. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but my niece wasn’t the most humble of girls either. I’m afraid I rubbed off on her in all the wrong ways and I worried for her safety more than once. Unfortunately, we actresses are expected to manage our admirers; however, you wouldn’t believe the loons that come out of the woodwork after a show.”
“Perhaps if our mental health system was better,” said Amélie, and then she was off and running. While she lectured on the inadequacies and stigma surrounding the mental health system, I sneaked another look around the room. Felix was nowhere to be found, Marie-Angelique was working, and Mateo limped away at the suggestion that more counseling was the answer.
I ate the last bite of pizza on my plate, and whispered to Cody, “Time to leave?”
Lucas pushed his chair back and jogged across the dining hall to catch up with us. “How about our meeting?” he demanded in a whisper.
I turned. “Let Eve and the other ladies know to meet us in my tree house in half an hour,” I said.
Twenty
_____________
T he electric fireplace hummed to life as I switched it on and resumed my seat beside Cody. The gang had all showed up and settled in. It was a bit tight but, considering my tree house was private and central, we’d just have to make due.
“Well, fearless leader,” said Gloria, shifting in her seat. “What’s the plan?”
“First,” I said, arranging my face into a look of competence, “I’d like to hear everyone else’s theories.”
Eve’s eyes lit up. Of course. She was probably full of theories.
“Go for it, Eve,” I ordered.
“You saw her,” Eve said, straightening in her chair.
“Saw who?” I asked.
“Marie-Angelique,” she replied, her voice thick with pleasure.
“And…” I prodded.
“Jeez! Can’t you see? The woman will do anything to protect her family!”
Cody stroked his stubble as if giving it thought. Meanwhile, Lucas was shaking his head in disbelief.
Cody turned to him. “She could be right. Holly was toying with her husband and her son, wasn’t she?”
Lucas winced at his words, then nodded sadly.
“And Noel Bluebird was getting in the way of her happy little family. Then he bought it! Don’t you see? It’s a pattern.”
“All right,” I said finally. “It’s a possibility.” Then I turned to Lucas. “Who do you see as the murderer?” I asked.
Lucas took a big breath. “Justin Tremblé,” he announced. He ducked his head guiltily. “I mean, I don’t know for sure but he might have…”
I nodded my understanding. “Why do you think it might be Justin?”
“He’s not all there,” Lucas answered.
Eve shivered. “The way he flips personalities. It gives me the creeps! And I heard he argued with Holly right before she was killed. Maybe he convinced himself she had to die for something. Could have been as simple as a voice in his head told him to do it.”
Cody sighed, so I intervened. “Multiple personalities and hearing voices are two different things, but I see where you’re going with this. And Noel?” I asked.
“That’s easy,” Lucas answered. “Noel was dating Justin’s sister when she killed herself. Then he shacked up with the guy’s wife, got her pregnant and moved in. I mean it’s like they were rubbing Justin’s nose in their affair.”
I frowned. “Well, it didn’t exactly happen like that, but I can see how that would look to Justin.” The more I thought of it, the more I could imagine Justin killing both Holly and Noel all too easily. I shook off the image. I wanted to keep my mind open.
I turned to Cody, who sat next to me on the bed, his head low in deep thought.
“Lots of possibilities.” He raised his eyebrows, revealing troubled eyes. “Eleanor, for instance. Could Holly have blackmailed her for something?”
“Like what?”
“Anything: a lover, the theatre…”
“But she wasn’t even here when Holly died,” objected Denise.
“That we know of,” Eve said. “And anyway, she could have hired someone. Criminals are smooth, or don’t you remember the lyrics to that popular song released a few years back.”
“I think you mean thirty years ago and it was based on the mob,” I chimed in. Eve had recently watched a documentary on the King of Pop and now she liked to reference—or rather, confuse—fun facts.
“Whatever.” She waved her hand. “You get my point. Eleanor could be a smooth criminal.”
Gloria nodded slowly, considering.
“She could have hired someone who needed the money… like Noel Bluebird,” Lucas murmured. “And then Eleanor could have taken him out herself. Maybe Noel was getting cold feet about the whole thing and threatened to confess,” he said, really getting into his theory. “She could have been staying here the whole time—”
“No, that’s not possible. Noel didn’t need the money,” Gloria interrupted.
“How do you know that?” Lucas asked.
“The bank—”
“A little birdie told Gloria earlier that Noel was loaded,” I said, cutting Gloria off before she got herself and her friend in trouble. “Which makes me wonder: who stands to inherit? We assume Felix but we don’t know for sure.”
“Interesting,” Cody said before I could go on. “I don’t see the boy offing Noel, though; he was just too distraught over losing him. I have to agree with Lucas about Justin.” Lucas looked up in surprise. Cody continued. “Justin Tremblé’s insane and Holly could have been blackmailing him. Or someone else could have killed Holly and Noel’s death became a situation of opportunity. For example, if Justin found out that the boy stood to inherit Noel’s money then maybe he decided to just go ahead and off him and blame it on whoever murdered Holly.”
“Perhaps not realizing his own son was the killer,” Lucas added.
Cody scowled down at his hands. “Yes, so maybe Marie-Angelique had to step in to help cover it up. They can’t have their only son going to prison. How about you, Penelope?” asked Cody. “Who’s your choice?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Too many possibilities.”
“Come on,” prodded Cody. He leaned forward attentively, an ingratiating smile on his face. “I know you. You must have a favorite,” he purred.
“Okay,” I said slowly. I didn’t like putting the thought into words. But that was what this meeting was for. “I agree that Marie-Angelique could be involved. They are in financial trouble and she’s put her life into the resort.” I paused and then finished in a spurt. “I have a feeling she would kill to keep it, even if it meant sacrificing Noel.”
The group was excited now, nodding enthusiastically.
“Then, to revise Eve’s theory, Eleanor could have hired Marie-Angelique to kill Holly,” Cody whispered half to himself. His gears were turning audibly. “Although I’m not sure how Eleanor would have known she needed money. I would have said perhaps Amélie was their mutual link but there appears to be tension with her and Marie-Angelique now.”
We sat in glum silence for a while.
“So, how do we prove our theory?” Denise asked peevishly.
“Organization time,” Eve answered s
mugly.
I nodded. “When in doubt, make a list.” I went to my bag and pulled out my notebook. “All right,” I said. “We do categories. Motive, means, opportunity, and character.” I added a column for more information needed.
“Let’s start with means,” suggested Cody eagerly. “Between them, the victims had been caught somehow while moving at an increased speed, possibly strangled, and bludgeoned.”
“It had to be someone fast and strong,” said Lucas softly. I looked into his unfocused eyes and wondered if he was seeing Holly’s body again.
“That lets out Amélie,” said Cody.
“Not necessarily,” I argued. “Just because she’s female doesn’t mean she’s weak.” I was in favor of an equal opportunity approach to this murder.
Lucas straightened his shoulders and went on. “How about Mateo?” he asked. “At least we can rule him out. He is definitely at a disadvantage–the man can’t walk or even balance without his cane.”
“Upper body is strong, though,” Cody pointed out.
“I don’t like him. He’s off-putting,” Gloria said. “Did you see his eyes? He’s always staring and they are much too yellow—like some sort of feral cat. Untrustworthy, if you ask me.”
“You're hardly in a position to judge someone based upon their eyes.” Denise turned away, and whispered, “Four-eyes.”
“I heard that!” Gloria huffed, taking her glasses off and wiping them down rigorously.
“At this point, it looks like anyone could have done it,” I cut in, hoping to calm the waters.
“Let’s call it a night,” said Gloria softly. “I’m getting tired.”
“You’re just mad,” said Denise.
“It’s probably for the best. I need to call into the office and check my messages,” Cody added.
Eve, Denise and Gloria rose up from their seats and stood by the door, zipping coats and pulling on mittens. Lucas followed them out the door with suspicious energy. “Adios,” he called as he clattered down the stairs.
Cody and I chatted for a minute about our findings and then he pulled out his phone and realized he’d missed a call from work. As he was calling into the BLPD, I noticed Eve’s oversized yellow bag.
“Damn!”
“What’s up?” asked Cody, pausing his conversation.
“I… I need to give Eve back her bag,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Cody looked at me hesitantly. I could tell he didn’t want me to go alone.
“Cody, I’ll be five minutes. She’s an old lady, how fast can she be?” I said.
“Don’t let her hear you say that.” He winked and went back to his conversation.
I opened the door, and the wind struck me full force. I took a deep breath and hurried along the path, head down, holding my hood up to block the wind. After five minutes of following what I thought was Eve’s footsteps I realized I was lost. Eve’s cabin was not where I thought it was supposed to be. I could just see the chalet off in the moonlight and I realized with a chill that I must be close to the edge of the mountain.
I heard a woman’s groan and stopped short, my muscles tensing. Had I conjured up Holly’s ghost? I clicked on my flashlight and peered down over the mountain’s edge where the sound was coming from and saw a body on a frozen shelf below. Oh God, this resort really needs to increase its safety measures. I thought. Please, not another dead body. Then the body moved.
Twenty One
_____________
W ith another groan, the body heaved itself on its back. Then it lay still, boots dangling a few inches over the far end. The ledge wasn’t that far below. A tree root dangled from the side of the cliff; maybe I could use it to get down there.
“Stay still or you’ll fall off the mountain!” I yelled.
Wrapping my gloved hand around the tree root, I tugged and pulled to see if it would hold. My stomach clamped tight, and I swallowed hard as I imagined it letting go while I lowered myself. Fear forced me, for the moment, to block out the ominous space looming around and beneath me, instead I studied the ledge. Slowly, I faced the awful truth: Even if I climbed down on to that tiny ledge, god only knew how I would lift an unconscious body back to the main path. Besides, didn’t safety courses tell you not to move an accident victim? The body looked almost comfortable, except for its legs, which were twisted up at an unnatural angle. I shivered, sweating in the cool night air.
“Don’t know if we should try to move her,” Lucas’ low voice whispered in my ear as if echoing my own thoughts. I looked at his anxious face.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I saw you leave and followed you. I wasn’t sure what you were doing, and I didn’t want to call out and scare you or give you away if you were working an angle.”
Frantically, I tried to remember my first-aid rules as Lucas turned and crouched, grabbing hold of the tree to climb down.
His boot slid at first while getting into position and sent me into panic mode. In my adrenaline-fried brain I suddenly worried he might slide right off the mountain into the dark abyss below. I moved quickly, getting closer to him, ready to grab him if he needed my help.
He took another step down. I reminded myself that Lucas had climbed many mountains and there was a ledge directly below. But I couldn’t help but notice the huge drop outside of that. From that vantage point I looked down and recognized the body sprawled on its back. It was Dr. Amélie Belle, now a ghostly moonlit collage of snow-smeared flesh, hair and cloth. Her glasses were gone. And her eyes were closed. Was she even breathing?
“Amélie!” I called out loudly, suddenly afraid that she was dead after all. Or dying.
She groaned again, the sound echoing eerily. But her eyes remained closed.
Lucas squatted down and touched Amélie’s twisted legs carefully. He shook his head hopelessly, which to me meant that her legs were badly broke.
“Amélie!” I called again, even louder this time.
Amélie’s snow-smeared eyelids pulled up slowly. Her eyes were unfocused beneath them.
She was alive.
Lucas walked around the edge of the cliff like a tightrope walker. When he reached the spot on the edge closest to the doctor’s head, he squatted down again and put his hand on her chest.
“Breathing’s okay,” he called up. “Can’t see any bleeding, either but I think she’s probably going into shock.”
Amélie’s eyes focused on Lucas’ face above her for a moment. “Something around my legs,” she rasped. Then a tremor shook her body. She raised a hand, then dropped it again. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“Don’t see anything,” said Lucas, moving his hand gently up Amélie’s legs. Then he peered closely. “Maybe she tripped over the tree root,” he called up to me.
Yeah, right? I thought to myself. What the hell would she be doing out here on the edge of a mountain where there’s no railing or fence.
Amélie’s eyelids popped open suddenly, revealing the terror in her eyes.
“You’re okay now. We’re with you.” He took off his jacket and placed it over her.
“Thank you,” murmured Amélie, closing her eyes once more. “Thank you.”
A few moments passed. Amélie looked far too still as she lay there. And why didn’t she straighten out her legs?
“Shall I try to help you to sit up?” Lucas suggested. I knew what he was doing. He was going through WARTS, the treatment for shock: warmth, ABC (airway, breathing circulation), rest & reassure, treatment, semi prone.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Amélie answered dreamily, her words barely audible. She didn’t bother to open her eyes. Damn. She may have been breathing and talking, but it was obvious that her faculties were seriously impaired.
“Okay, don’t worry about it,” answered Lucas, his deep voice taking on a soothing tone. “You’re probably just going numb from the cold. You’re fine now. Just fine. I’m going to get underneath you so you can place your head in my lap.”
“Who did t
his to you?” I asked softly. Amélie didn’t answer. And as I asked that question, a related one blossomed in my mind. Where was the person who did this to her? I looked over my shoulder anxiously, seeing no one through the opening in the trees. But I wasn’t reassured. However long it felt, I knew we had been with Amélie only a few minutes at most. Was the would-be murderer waiting nearby? All I could hear was my own heart pounding as I strained for the sound of someone in the dark. I felt a trickle of fresh sweat drip down my face.
“My glasses,” rasped Amélie, breaking the silence. “Where are my glasses?”
Lucas felt around in the snow, but pulled his hands out empty.
“It’s all right,” I soothed. “We’ll get you another pair of glasses.”
She murmured an inaudible reply.
“Do you remember who did this to you?” I asked once more, raising my voice as much to give myself courage as to get Amélie’s attention.
Her eyes fluttered open briefly. “Someone did this to me?” she asked.
I restrained myself from cursing aloud. So much for a quick identification.
It was time to get help. And I doubted anyone would hear our shouts this far away from the main building. Except, perhaps, the murderer. I would have to go on foot.
“I’d better get an ambulance,” I said to Lucas. I looked toward the dark path I would have to take and shivered. “And the police,” I finished.
I turned to go. I had wasted enough time.
“Wait!” Lucas called to me. He lowered his volume to a whisper. “Could still be out here.” However incomplete his sentence was, I knew he meant the doctor’s attacker.
“I know, but one of us has to stay with her,” I said, an unwelcome quiver in my voice belying the decisive tone of my words. “The other has to get help.”
I turned to see Lucas’ strained face in the moonlight. I knew he wanted to choose the more dangerous task for himself. But which was more dangerous? Going as a messenger? Or staying as a guard? The assailant might be waiting on the snowy path, ready to incapacitate the messenger. With the messenger out of the way, they would be free to finish the job on the doctor and pick off the guard at leisure. My hands began to Tremble. But maybe the murderer was only interested in Amélie, just waiting until the messenger left, to attack Amélie and her only remaining guard. The trembling spread to my legs. Once Lucas and I split up, neither of us was going to be as safe as we were together. But we couldn’t leave Amélie alone.
Murder, She Slopes Page 14
