I stood there staring at Pippa like she had gone out of her mind. "Okay, Pippa, that's a great story. But unfortunately, some of us have to live in reality. Some of us have a business to run."
"Rachael, I am warning you. If you buy that shop, and try to get rid of the painting, you will pay the price!"
* * *
I told Pippa I needed to run to the post office so that she wouldn't try to stop me, but as soon as I was out the door, I went off in the opposite direction, towards the mortgage firm where I was meeting the landlord of the antiques shop--a tall, thin man named Bruce who had a pencil thin mustache and eyebrows that always looked raised.
He pushed the contract over to me and I gave it a look over. "That should all be in order."
Yes, I decided. This is the right time to do it. Time to take the plunge.
"Great," I said, smiling at him. "I'll give it to my lawyer to look over, and then sign it. I should have it back to you by tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" he asked nervously, his raised eyebrows disappearing even further up into his forehead. "Why can't you sign them now? I can assure you everything is in order."
I stood up as a show of confidence. "I just need to make sure everything is in place. Tomorrow will be fine, won't it? Not much can change by tomorrow!"
As soon as I stepped out of the bank, the heavens opened and I stared up at the sky, mouth agape, to find the sky, which had been a bright blue before I'd stepped into the bank, was now practically black, filled with angry swirling clouds that spewed icy rain all over the streets.
And I didn't even have an umbrella with me.
Using my purse as a shield over my head, I raced back to the bakery, cursing the fact that I hadn't looked at the weather forecast.
"It wasn't predicted by the weather weather man," Pippa informed me warily as I shook myself off, causing a small puddle to form in the entryway of the shop. "Where have you been?" She stopped frothing the milk for the cappuccino she was making and looked me up and down.
"I told you, the post office."
"The way to the post office is totally covered. You've been the other way."
Sprung.
"Okay, fine," I said with a sigh, pulling the contract out of my bag to show her.
"Oh, Rachael..." Her face was grave. "Aren't you going to listen to anything I told you?"
"Pippa, it will be fine. I can't be put off by a silly superstition."
She handed the contract back to me and crossed her arms. "It's more than that, Rachael." She shivered and looked up at the ceiling. "You've set events in motion now by taking that contract."
"I haven't signed it yet," I pointed out. Not that I believed anything she was going on about.
"That doesn't matter, Rachael. It will already be starting."
I sighed and took off my soaking wet red peacoat and hung it on a hook by the door. As I stepped back towards the counter I heard a snapping sound and heard my heavy coat fall to the floor, the hook taking off a chunk of paint and plaster with it as it tumbled after the coat.
"It's just an old hook, Pippa," I said, staring at it. "And the coat was heavy from the rain."
"I'm telling you..."
There was a crashing sound and all of a sudden we were encased in darkness. Outside, the sky was so dark that without lights in the shop, there was no light at all.
Pippa let out a shriek and rubbed her arms as though she had the worst case of the chills the world had ever seen.
"It's just a blown fuse, Pippa," I said, catching the gleam of the whites of her eyes. I could tell what she was thinking before she even said it. "Or a power line has come down in the storm. Calm down, Pippa. Think rationally."
"It's the curse, Rachael. It's already started."
Thanks for reading a sample of my book, Donuts, Antiques and Murder. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:
FairfieldPublishing.com/donuts-antiques-murder
Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of Murder in the Mountains.
FairfieldPublishing.com/donuts-antiques-murder
Preview: Murder in the Mountains
Screams were not a normal part of the workday at Aspen Breeze. When Jennifer heard the anguished cry of the maid, she ran around the desk and sprinted out the door. Clint, not through with his breakfast, followed at her heels. The door to the room had been left open. The maid stood on the thick burgundy carpet in front of the unmade bed and pointed at the hot tub.
Water remained in the tub, but it wasn’t swirling. The occupant, a red-haired, slightly chubby man whose name Jennifer had forgotten, was face down. His blue running shorts had changed to a darker blue due to dampness. Reddish colorations marred his throat. Another dark spot of blood mixed with hair around his right temple. Pale red splotches marred the water.
For a moment, she felt like the ground had opened and she had fallen into blackness. Legs weakened. Knees buckled. She shook her head and a few incoherent syllables came from her mouth. Clint’s arm grasped her around her waist.
“Step back. It’s okay,” he said.
It was a silly thing to say, he later thought. Clearly, it was not okay, but in times of stress people will often say and do stupid things.
He eased her backward, and then sat her down on the edge of the bed. He walked back and took a second look at the hot tub. He had seen dead bodies when he covered the police beat. It wasn’t a routine occurrence, but he had stood in the rain twice and on an asphalt pavement once as EMTs covered a dead man and lifted him into an ambulance.
By the time he turned around, Jennifer was back on her feet and the color had returned to her cheeks.
She patted her maid on the shoulder. “Okay, it’s all right. We have to call the police. You can go, Maria. Go to the office and lay down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at Clint and saw he had his cell phone out.
“…at the Aspen Breeze Lodge,” he was saying. “There’s a dead body in Unit Nine. It doesn’t look like it was a natural death.” He nodded then slipped the cell phone in his pocket. “They said the chief was out on a call but should be here within fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” Jennifer put her hands on her hips. Her gaze stared toward the hot tub. A firm, determined tone came back in her voice.
“Clint, those marks on his throat. The red on his forehead. This wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“We can’t really say for sure. He might have tripped and hit….” The words withered in the face of her laser stare. “I doubt it. I…I really can’t say for sure but…I doubt it.”
They looked at one another for a few seconds. Light yellow flames rose up from the artificial fireplace and the crackling of wood sounded from the flames. Jennifer sighed. She realized there was nothing to do except wait for the police.
The silence was interrupted by a tall, thin man, unshaven as yet, who rushed in.
“Bill, what are you doing with the door open? It’s still cold….” He stopped as if hit by a stun gun. Eyes widened. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell to the carpeted floor. “Oh, no! What happened?”
Jennifer shifted into her professional tone as manager. “We don’t know yet, sir. I assume you knew this man.”
He nodded weakly. “Yeah, Bill’s been a friend of mine for years.”
“I remember you from when you checked in yesterday, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”
“Dale Ramsey.”
Ramsey had a thin, pale face that flashed even paler. There was a chair close to him and he collapsed in it. He had an aquiline nose and chin but curly brown hair. His hand went to his heart.
“Sorry you had to learn about your friend’s death this way, Mr. Ramsey,” Jennifer said. “I regret to say I’ve forgotten his name too.”
“Bill Hamilton.”
Jennifer turned back to Clint. “Do you think we should move the body? Put it on the rug and cover it with a blanket?”
Clint shook his head. “I
think the police would prefer it stay right where it is, at least for now.”
Jennifer nodded. A steel gaze came in her eyes. She looked at Ramsey, who almost flinched. Then he shook slightly as if dealing with the aftermath of a panic attack.
“Mr. Ramsey, I am the owner of this Lodge and obviously I am very upset someone used it as a place for murder. So I trust you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions - just to aid the police, of course.”
Ramsey swallowed, or tried to. It looked like a rock had lodged in his throat. “Of course not. I…I do will anything I can to help,” he said.
“Six single individuals checked into my lodge last night. That’s a little unusual. I was commenting on that to Clint just last night. Now it turns out that you knew the deceased. Do you know the other four people who checked in?”
“Yes…I…yes.”
There was a pause and Jennifer noted the look of sadness in his eyes.
“I realize you are upset, Mr. Ramsey, so just relax and take your time.”
“We are all members of the Centennial Historical Society. All of us are history buffs,” he finally answered.
“Why did you all check in here?”
Ramsey shifted in his chair. “This may sound unbelievable.”
“Let’s try it and see,” Jennifer said.
“About a hundred and twenty-five years ago there was a Wells Fargo gold shipment in these parts. An outlaw gang headed by a man nicknamed The Falcon stole it. He got the name because he liked heights and the Rocky Mountains and had actually trained a falcon at one time. Rumor is, the gang got about a hundred thousand worth in gold, coins and bars. What’s known is the gang drifted apart and a few members got shot, but the gold was never found. We believe it’s buried very close by, up in the Rocky Mountain National Forest.”
Jennifer nodded. The entrance to the forest was less than five miles from Aspen Breeze. All drivers had to do was turn left when they left the lodge and they would hit the entrance in about ten minutes.
“The Rocky Mountain National Forest is a huge area, thousands of miles there of virtually unexplored wilderness. You better have a specific location or you’ll spend your lifetime looking and never find anything,” she said.
‘We have researched this gang for years. We think we know approximately where the gold was buried. It’s more than just recovering the gold. This would be a historical find of enormous significance. We were going up there today to try to find the site.”
“Maybe someone didn’t want to share,” Clint said.
Ramsey shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve known these people for years. I don’t think anyone would kill Bill. Besides, whoever it was would have to kill all of us too if he wanted to keep the gold to himself. Bill was in the high tech field, lower management, but he also liked the wilderness. He knew this forest better than any of us. We were counting on him to help find the site of the gold. He had searched the forest a number of times during the past five years.
I came out with him a few times. He thought he knew where the outlaws had hid their stash. He shared his opinions with us, but he was the one with the most expertise. Eddie, Eddie Tercelli, one of our group, is the second most knowledgeable about the location. He was out a few times too with Bill searching. But it would be tough for him to find the place on his own.”
A blue light waved and flickered in the room. They heard a car door open and then slam shut. They looked up as the officer walked in. He wore a fine, crisp blue uniform with a bright silver badge. He had a slight paunch over his belt, but it didn’t make him look old or slow. The intense gray eyes under the rim of the black police cap took in everything. His revolver was clearly visible on his right hip.
“Chief Sandish,” Clint said, nodding.
Thanks for reading a sample of my first book, Murder in the Mountains. I really hope you liked it. It is available on Amazon at:
FairfieldPublishing.com/murder-in-mountains
Or you can get it for free by signing up for our newsletter:
FairfieldPublishing.com/cozy-mystery-newsletter-2/
FairfieldPublishing.com/murder-in-mountains
A Pie to Die For: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 9
