Liz opened her eyes wide in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me. I think Nicholas would like that color.”
For a moment, Liz was speechless. She looked at me and I shrugged. I hadn’t seen this side of Grandma, ever. Grandpa George would have had a fit if Grandma ever wore Neon Coral nail polish, so she had obviously subdued the more colorful part of her accessories, if not her personality. But now she was free to seek more open-minded men. Which was blowing me away.
Finally, Liz smiled sweetly at Grandma and said, “You’ll have to wait until I’m done.”
“That’s fine with me, because I can’t reach my toenails all that well, anyway. I want you to paint them for me.”
Shaking my head, I left to eat some of Grandma’s yummy spinach salad, one of my favorites. But as I neared the dining room, I heard the murmur of voices from the parlor. When I entered, Martha and Alexis were looking out the big front window, their backs to me, watching the snow still falling.
Apparently, they hadn’t heard me, for Martha asked, “Is your boyfriend treating you well?”
“Oh, yes. Things are good.” There was definite coolness in Alexis’s reply, though Martha asked nicely enough.
Martha saw me first. “Hi, Mistress of Murder. The view is simply beautiful. I’ll bet the turning leaves were gorgeous.”
“They’re always magnificent.”
Alexis turned around. Her face looked tight, as if she were in pain again. Poor woman. I was glad I didn’t have migraines.
Seeing the large window behind them reminded me of the wet one. “Did either of you happen to open the hall window on the second floor last night?”
Martha raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “Someone needed below-freezing fresh air? Not me, honey. I prefer things toasty warm. As for Alexis, she was dead to the world with her migraine, remember? She wasn’t out opening anything.”
Alexis nodded at that, though the coolness lingered in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have noticed if someone opened the window in my room, much less in the hall.”
“Have you ladies had lunch yet? My grandmother set it out.”
“Bless her.” Martha smiled, and turned to Alexis. “I’m glad to hear everything’s good for you. Think about the offer and let me know. Now, I’m going to eat.”
As we watched Martha exit the room, like an exotic bird in brilliant plumage, Alexis relaxed into a chair with a deep sigh.
I was immediately concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes. I’m fine. She wants me to sign a contract.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s hard for me to talk to Martha.” She lowered her voice. “I feel like she screwed me over on a contract a few years ago, and I never got over it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Alexis nodded. “It’s the reason I signed with Gregorio.”
Well, that certainly put a different spin on things. “I was under the impression some of the authors had a problem with him.”
“Yeah, well, not me. Gregorio got me my first bestselling book. I’ll always be grateful to him.”
“Did BJ have any problems with him?”
“You’re joking, right?” Alexis laughed and winced. “She was having sex with the guy. What problems would she have?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I answered. “None.”
“Besides, lots of authors are indie publishing now and some of the others want to do their own books.” Alexis shook her head and grew pensive. “It’s hard to figure out why anyone would kill him, though. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“You know what I’m afraid of?” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “That the person might strike again.”
I shivered, too, and wondered what I could do to help find the murderer so we could go back to living without fear.
* * *
Everyone ate lunch in the dining room except BJ, who insisted on eating in her room again. I offered a meal to the Summit County people, and some of them took me up on it.
The guests ate in the dining room, and family and friends were fed around the kitchen table. I may have planned the menus for this weekend, but Grandma was a genius at stretching food to feed extra people.
Now, thirty minutes later, only Liz, DeWayne, Paul and I were still seated. Zach and Grandma were back in the dungeon, as Liz called it. Stephanie, Lonny and Xavier were playing Clue in the parlor.
Paul eyed the plate I moved to the counter. “Can I have another sandwich, Vicki?”
I sighed. “I live to serve.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” Liz said, pointing at Paul’s slight paunch. “Jennifer told you to stop eating so much. ‘Grazing,’ I think she called it.”
“I live to graze. And don’t you go telling Jennifer, or she’ll just get all irritated because she’s nine months pregnant and could bite your heads off.” We snorted and Paul smiled, as he leaned back with his arm on the back of the chair next to him. “We ran police records on your guests.”
I perked up. “What did you find?”
“They’re all clean.” Paul smiled. “Except for one.”
“Quit teasing us,” I said.
“Now, now, Victoria, Elizabeth, how many times did Dad tell you both to be patient?”
Liz took up her tough gangsta pose again and said, “Tell us right now or I’m taking away your grazing rights.”
I laughed. “She looks serious.”
An admiring look in his eyes, DeWayne said, “She does.”
“I am serious.” Liz folded her arms. “Well?”
Paul laughed. “All right, already. One man has a prior for an assault during a barroom brawl five years ago.”
“And does this man have a name?”
“Kevin Higgins.”
I knew it. Kevin was the most logical suspect. He had motive, opportunity, and a prior record. But as I watched Paul closely, I noticed he wasn’t meeting my eyes. Or Liz’s, either. I hadn’t grown up with this man and watched him lie to our parents without picking up a hint or two. He rubbed the nape of his neck. Maybe lying was too strong a word. Withholding pertinent information might be closer to the truth. “And?”
Paul looked at me and paused, as if weighing whether to go on. I could tell the instant he decided that, no, he wasn’t going to. Instead, he surprised me with, “Vicki, I know you’ve been asking questions.”
“I’ve been making beds, delivering towels, and feeding guests. I make conversation while I do that.”
Liz, ever the snitch, said, “Oh, yeah, she’s been asking questions.”
“I wasn’t, either. You were.”
My brother put his hand on mine. “Just be careful. I’m hoping we’ll find Higgins soon. But there’s something not quite right with these guests.”
I started to speak, but this time, DeWayne interrupted me. “Questioning the wrong person might trigger another attack.”
Paul nodded. “Let the professionals handle it.”
Liz sighed. “Can the professionals speed it up at all?”
Paul frowned. “I mean it, Liz. You both be careful. When you go to deliver towels, make sure that’s all you do.”
I heard the roar of another snowmobile and looked out the back kitchen window. Kent and Cielo Freestone. I’d already freshened the bathrooms, but there was still plenty for them to do.
Through the window, I watched them park the snowmobile by my back door and knock the snow off their snowsuits— hers baby blue and his royal BYU blue— before coming in the back door. They took off their snowsuits, which revealed Kent’s favorite BYU sweatshirt.
“You got it running. Is there anything you can’t fix?”
Kent had faded brownish hair, but his neatly trimmed beard and moustache were a bright red. He shrugged and smiled warmly. “It’s my calling. What can I say?”
Cielo slipped off her snowsuit to reveal tight jeans and a clingy blouse, showcasing sexy curves. If I didn’t know their story— Ken
t meeting this Sophia Loren lookalike on his mission to Italy twenty-five years before— I would have said he robbed the cradle. She did not look forty-five. No way.
“He is so— how you say? — humble, no?” I could tell by the gleam in Cielo’s eyes that she knew exactly what the word was.
I grinned. “I think it’s closer to—”
Kent interrupted with, “Manly.”
We all laughed. I said, “Yeah. Manly. That’s it.”
Kent turned serious. “The police came to our door and told us about the murder. Asked if we heard or saw anything.”
“We are shocked, Vicki.” Cielo spoke with a slight accent, tinged with concern. “How terrible this is for you.”
“It has been tough,” I admitted.
“That’s exactly what we wanted to get away from when we moved here from L.A. But here we are, three years later, and murder followed us to this mountain. It’s just not right.” He shook his head. “So, where do you want me to start today?”
“The generator was acting up yesterday. When the power went out, it didn’t kick on. A guest fixed it.”
“Generator,” Kent repeated with a sharp salute. “Check.”
DeWayne and Paul came out of the kitchen. DeWayne chuckled when he saw the BYU sweatshirt. “Kent, how many times do I have to tell you? This is not Cougar country.” DeWayne was a University of Utah man. I didn’t get caught up in the U/BYU rivalry at all, even once having committed one of the seven deadly sins by wearing Ute red to the BYU stadium on the very day they played the U.
Kent patted the big, white Y on his chest. “Manly,” he repeated with a grin, pulling his gloves on before going outside.
DeWayne and Paul followed him.
As Cielo went off to clean up the dining room after breakfast, Garrett chose that moment to jog down the stairs. He watched Cielo appreciatively as she entered the parlor, only turning his head after she disappeared. He was wearing— what else? Black. A black tee-shirt under a dark, charcoal gray sport jacket atop black jeans, and boots.
And I had to admit he looked darned good in black. I guess I must’ve been watching him appreciatively, too. I was glad Liz wasn’t there to witness it. Or Grandma, heaven forbid.
“If your brother doesn’t let us leave for a week or two,” he said with a grin that had undoubtedly set many women’s hearts aflutter, “you’ll have some grouchy writers on your hands.”
“You’re not already grouchy?” Liz’s warmth took any sting out of the words, as she came out of the kitchen. “I thought writers liked places where they can retreat from the world and write. Vicki should be charging you extra. Besides, Paul can’t keep you here.”
“Not grouchy.” Garrett shrugged. “Though I can see why you might have gotten that impression. I was upset when we arrived.”
I smiled. “It wasn’t a good day for any of us.”
Handing me his American Express card, he asked, “Half of three nights, right?” He did seem to be in a good mood today. And the unwelcome thought struck me that it could be because Calabria was no longer around to keep him in the restrictive contract.
I smiled. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
He smiled back and I swear the temperature in the room rose.
As I ran the card and printed the receipt, as Garrett signed it, as the three of us chatted, I wondered two things. How motivated could a man be to break a contract? And how did Martha learn about my mortgages?
A glance through the window stopped my wondering. Four Summit County officers carried a big, black, body bag. Down the carriage house stairs. Across packed-down snow. Securing it into the back of the big Snowcat, they climbed into the cab, and the great vehicle rumbled and began to move.
I got the shivers again at the sight of Gregorio Calabria leaving the Inn and heading toward Park City.
* * *
I was shivering again nearly an hour later as Paul, DeWayne, Liz, and I stomped through the snow to the carriage house. With the body removed and the crime scene officially released by the Summit County Sheriff’s Department in the mid-morning, Paul wanted to see if anything was out of place. I didn’t want to see the blood.
I glanced at Liz, who gave me a thumbs up for encouragement, and felt grateful she was there to provide moral support. I held the key in my trembling hands and tried to insert it into the keyhole. Finally, Paul took it from me, gently unlocked the door, and handed it back. Kicking snow from his boots, he stepped inside, followed by the rest of us.
It was kind of surreal. Here I was, in the carriage house I’d been in all my life, now newly remodeled, but in need of a thorough cleaning. I looked at the carpet where the body had lain, my eyes drawn to the dark spot of dried (I hoped!) blood. The stain was huge.
DeWayne said, “There’s a company you can hire to clean it.”
“That’s what the sheriff said.” I looked at him, slightly panicky. Seeing his warm, caring brown eyes, I calmed a little. “You think they can hide this?”
DeWayne nodded reassuringly. “Sure, they can. I got one of their cards for you.” He handed it to me.
Liz, now green around the edges, grimaced and said, “But Silver City has never had a murder before. How do these guys know how to deal with blood?”
“They’re based in Salt Lake,” DeWayne said. “Trust me.”
And I did, so I sighed deeply, nodded my head, and glanced at the card. Under Emergency Clean-Ups was the name of the company, Martin & Sons. And their motto: We Clean Anything.
Paul continued, “Look around, Vicki. Is anything missing?”
I could see the fine powder I recognized from watching television shows that was used for dusting fingerprints. I walked around— but not where the body was lying— and looked more thoroughly. Everything seemed to be in place. Except the piece of lava rock.
When I told Paul that, he nodded. “The deputies took it as evidence.”
Otherwise, things looked as they had before the murder.
Liz sank into one of the chairs. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so quiet. Or looking quite so green. Then she made a dash for the bathroom. I thought maybe I’d join her.
“Sit down,” Paul ordered as he motioned toward a chair. “You’ll be okay.”
I did as he said and the urge to be sick passed. In a moment, Liz returned.
We went upstairs and I looked around. I asked if BJ could have her suitcase back, and Paul said that was all right. I had no clue what would happen to Calabria’s stuff.
When I stepped into the upstairs grand bathroom, I gasped. Paul was right behind me, then DeWayne, and Liz. I pointed at the large bathroom mirror above the sink. Dead center was a vivid lip print in lipstick. A kiss mark. And underneath it, in the same lipstick, was printed, in block letters, HOW DOES IT FEEL?
“We saw this before,” DeWayne said. “Ms. Killian must have been admiring herself with a kiss. We’re not even sure why she would leave that message to herself, unless she was congratulating herself for getting engaged.”
Paul shook his head. “Can you say narcissistic?”
I shook my head. “No, guys. Not narcissistic.”
Liz raised an eyebrow. DeWayne quieted, a frown settling on his face. Paul humored me. “Okay, can you say egotistical?”
“No, I mean it’s not what it looks like. That’s not BJ’s lipstick.” I’d recognize that audacious shade of fuchsia lipstick anywhere. “That’s Martha’s lipstick.”
“Why would another woman come into this bathroom and kiss the mirror?” DeWayne shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Are you kidding?” Liz put her hands on her hips. “Martha, the ex-wife, was rubbing it in the face of the fiancée, BJ.”
“So,” I said. “Martha was here in her ex-husband’s bathroom off the bedroom. Last night. The night of the murder.”
We were all silent for a moment, staring into the mirror, our reflections overwritten by block lipstick letters.
Finally, Paul said, “I think it’s time
for another chat with Ms. Martha Turner.”
Chapter Seventeen
Back at the main house, DeWayne took Liz downstairs to lie down as she was still not feeling well while I trailed Paul to the second floor. As we reached the top of the stairs, the door to Martha’s room opened and out slipped Xavier. Standing at the door, Martha waved to him and smiled, a soft, little smile. Was I imagining things? Or had the woman just made love to Xavier, too? He certainly looked relaxed and happy.
When Martha caught sight of Paul, her look hardened. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Well, I just saw something disturbing. Suppose you explain it to me so it makes sense.”
When Xavier saw me, his smile vanished. He tried to slip past me without talking, but I caught his arm and said, under my breath, “Xavier, what is going on here?”
He stopped, without turning to face me. “We were talking.”
“Talking?” I repeated skeptically.
I saw the light dawn in his eyes as he realized what I was insinuating. He scowled. “That is none of your business, but it’s not what it apparently appears.”
“Xavier, this is important. I want you to promise you will not get involved with the guests.”
He stopped, turned smartly, frowned and said mockingly, “I promise I will not get involved with the guests.” As he left, he muttered something about people’s dirty, little minds. I guess I was just put in my place, wherever that was.
Paul’s voice snapped me back to the moment. “Coming?”
As I followed him into Martha’s room, Paul motioned to me. “I’ve asked Mrs. Butler to join us.”
Martha shrugged as she sank onto the comfy antique couch and patted the seat beside her for me. I sat. I also glanced at the bed to see if it was rumpled. It was not.
Martha didn’t motion to Paul. He remained standing.
She had the candle warmer on and the scent of orange creme filled the air. My favorite. I was surprised, though, that Martha didn’t ask for something spicier. Risque, even.
Martha smiled pleasantly and waited. It was the longest I’d seen her remain quiet since I met her. She crossed one long, sexy, black-stockinged leg over the other, and her black skirt slid open at the slit, revealing her thigh and nearly more.
Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn Page 17
