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Adele stared at the woman. “All right, so you didn’t like the Benevetis.”
The barkeep shook her head once. “Not much to like. Rich assholes. They tipped well; that’s fair. But, if you’re making as much as they are, it’s easy to tip and hope your problems go away. Not saying it wasn’t good of them. But yeah, I didn’t like them. A lot of people didn’t.”
Adele tapped the counter. “I’m beginning to get that sense. Well, I’d like to thank you for your time. There anything else you might’ve noticed? Anything strange? Anyone you know who might’ve had a grudge against the Benevetis?”
“I thought it was a bear attack,” she repeated.
Adele shrugged. “Just crossing our t’s and dotting our i’s. Anything you can think of?”
The woman began to answer, but just then, her carefree expression and candid attitude shifted. A mask of worry quickly faded to a docile, obedient expression. She stood straighter, her shoulders back, and smiled politely. “Will that be all?” she said in a pleasant, careful tone.
Adele frowned, then heard the quiet jingle of a bell behind her and glanced back.
A man in a gray suit was standing in the door. He hadn’t even worn a jacket. He was round and small and balding. One jacket hung over the arm of a busboy behind him. The man was shaking his head, and his face pulsed red. “Excuse me,” he said, sternly, “excuse me, you two!”
It took a moment for Adele to realize the man was indicating her and Agent Marshall. She turned. “Yes?”
“Are you harassing my employees?”
Adele realized a second later, the man holding the coat was Otto. Mr. Klein winced sheepishly and shook his head, mouthing, Sorry.
Adele looked back at the shorter man. “And who are you?”
“I’m Manager Adderman. I run this establishment. I hear you’re bothering my employees.” He spoke sternly, but quietly. With the practiced ease of someone in authority. Loud enough for Adele to understand his distaste, but quiet enough for most clients not to overhear. He approached, his voice following his footsteps. He was shorter than Adele by a good head. Even Agent Marshall was taller than him.
“I need to ask you to leave immediately,” the manager said.
Adele quirked an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you can’t do that. This is a criminal investigation.”
Manager Adderman’s face turned even redder. “Keep it down,” he said, sharply. He reached out as if to grab Adele by the wrist and drag her toward the door.
Adele stood still and twisted her wrist out of his grasp. She glared at the manager. “I’ll advise you not to touch me again. We’ll leave when we’re ready. We don’t answer to you.”
“This is private property,” he said, wagging his finger at her.
Agent Marshall shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re investigating. If you’d like, you can take it up with my boss.”
“And who is your boss?” demanded the manager.
“Director Baumgardner,” she said without batting an eyelid.
Some of the steam seemed to fade from the manager. “BKA? And you? Where are you from?”
Adele shrugged. “FBI. Interpol. We’re investigating the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti. We heard they were regulars at this place. Is that true?”
The manager’s face was even redder than before. He shook his head. “Just stop harassing my employees. Leave the clients alone. You have to investigate, fine. I can’t stop you. But stop ruining my business.”
“How might we be doing that?” Adele said, frowning.
Now, dropping his voice even more, the manager leaned in and hissed, “This was a bear attack! That’s what search and rescue said. That’s what we’re going with. Stop scaring the clients. A couple of them have already been asking questions. If you chase out my business, God help me, I’ll sue you. I’ll sue you until there’s nothing left. Understand?”
Adele studied him and shook her head. “Is the resort perpetuating the story? Pushing the narrative it was a bear attack?”
The manager studied her, shrewd. His reddened cheeks seemed flushed from both anger and the cold. He stepped back and shrugged. “We’re just going with whatever the search and rescue team reported. The investigating is up to you. But stop bothering my employees and my clients. Thank you.”
He stepped aside and gestured toward the door in a sweeping fashion.
Adele glanced at his hand. Out of spite, she wanted to stay. Part of her thought of what John might’ve done. He’d likely order a drink and down it right in front of the manager, enjoying the ever-increasing red along the small man’s face. But Adele wasn’t John. She wasn’t someone who let her pride make all her decisions. The manager didn’t want her here. He was rude, obnoxious. Scared. Scared of losing business. Another resort was opening up nearby, just as expensive, and perhaps that was what had him on the fritz.
A lot of money in places like these. More than she’d suspected. And where there was money, there was motive.
Adele trailed her hand along the counter. Something about the cold wood beneath her fingertips made her glance past the manager toward the windows displaying the snowy slopes beyond.
Again, she was only ten. Again, she pictured her father and mother, sitting across from her in… the dining room? No, not a dining room. A restaurant. Also on the slopes. She remembered skiing as a child. In the Alps. Adele paused, frowning.
Beautiful memories, but splintered by scenes of anger. Arguments. Shouting.
Adele shivered, wanting to retreat from her thoughts.
She shook her head, as if to dislodge a headache, and got up, moving away from the counter. She nodded in gratitude toward the barkeep and gestured stiffly in farewell toward the manager. Agent Marshall followed along behind. The two agents exited the bar and moved down the steps.
“Well, that was eventful,” said Marshall beneath her breath.
“Yes,” said Adele. “The manager has a vested interest in stopping the investigation.”
“What are you thinking?” Marshall asked, quiet now.
Adele took another few steps, making sure they were out of range of earshot from the bar. “I’m wondering if there’s anything else they might’ve covered up. Anything. There’s a lot of money on the line here.”
Marshall frowned. “You don’t think the manager had something to do with the killing, do you?”
Adele lifted her shoulders. “I can’t be sure. There are a lot of suspects here. It’s our job to narrow the list.”
“That Swiss couple in France, any news on that front?”
Adele shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance to catch up with the investigators.”
“You know them, though? I know you worked with the French before.”
“I’m part French. American too and German.”
Marshall whistled as they approached the golf cart. “Three citizenships? Impressive. You speak the language very well.”
“Thank you. But no, no further information about the Swiss. I’ll talk to the investigators when I have a chance.”
Adele got into the golf cart with Marshall, and the younger agent began to drive them back toward the main part of the resort.
Adele frowned as they moved, her face pawed by wisps of wind and cold. She studied the cliffs and the trees beyond, her eyes tracing the snowy trails. The Benevetis had been murdered. She was sure of it. The medical report couldn’t come in soon enough; that would confirm it. But conjecture was nothing without clues. A gut instinct meant little without direction. If she was going to get others on board with her instincts, she would have to come up with solid proof.
CHAPTER TEN
Adele reclined in the cushioned chair by the fireplace. Many stones stippled the walls, placed in the fire pit, and circling up into a chute that led through the ceiling. At her back, the walls of glass remained bare, the curtains open, allowing starlight to twinkle through. The soft, white glow from the sky melded with the flickering orange radiance from the hearth.
She waited.
The medical examiner’s report was due any minute now. It would confirm her suspicions. It had to.
Already, she had pissed off the manager and riled up a couple of the employees. This was a political game. Agent Marshall’s presence proved that. What she’d been told about the situation only further underscored the need for answers, and soon. Tomorrow, the new resort would open. Thousands of jobs, hundreds of millions of dollars. An entire industry flush with cash.
And in the mountains, two couples, missing. One of them found dead, ripped to shreds.
Adele glanced at her phone, but the screen was dull gray, stagnant. No notifications just yet. She leaned back, crossing her hands over her stomach and staring into the fire.
Flames had an entrancing quality that demanded attention. Some memories were similar. Emotions fueling the flames of thought, and hearkening back to a different time. Just such memories inserted themselves across Adele’s mind.
A specific scene played out in her mind. Her father was a stern man, but at the time he’d been smiling. He rarely smiled nowadays. But then she pictured him reclining in the outdoor hot tub of the resort they’d stayed at. Banks of snow all around him, with a slight separation between the edge of the bubbling, steaming hot tub and the start of the snow. The heat from the water and the bubbling jets extended toward the snowflakes, catching them and turning them into just another droplet in the hot water.
Adele remembered her father grabbing a handful of snow from outside of the bath and launching it at her mother. Playful, silly. She remembered her mother grabbing some snow and throwing it back, underhanded, and pegging the sergeant in the side of the face.
She remembered laughing so hard that she had fallen off the edge of the hot tub and tumbled into the water.
The laughter had faded. Her parents’ smiles had disappeared. They both had rushed to her side and pulled her out, making sure their young daughter was okay.
The one thing her parents had in common until the very end. Their daughter. Adele. They had expressed their feelings in different ways. The sergeant was always cold, demanding, expecting better. His greatest fear, she suspected, was that she end up in a dead-end job, as he had. He never advanced beyond sergeant. Her mother, though, had been gentle, quiet, encouraging. She’d gone out of her way to see the best in Adele, even when it was unwarranted. She would drive Adele to any sport, activity, or friend’s house. Anything her daughter had wanted. She hadn’t been a pushover. She hadn’t let things slide, but her corrections had been kind, soft. Gentle.
Her mother had died right after Adele had left college, more than a decade ago. The killer was gone, escaped. No clues. Once upon a time, Adele thought she might’ve unearthed a new lead or two, but as always, they’d faded into the background. Little more than stagnant, white noise.
She thought of her father. There were other memories circling in her mind around the same time. Many memories of fights, of arguments. What sort of arguments? She thought she remembered her small self pressing an ear to her parents’ bedroom door at the resort. She thought she remembered screaming. It didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t she remember fully? Her hand inched toward her phone, hesitant. For a moment, her fingers hovered over the device, and her body seemed caught, stuck between two choices.
Then her brow narrowed, and she grabbed the phone, her motions quicker all of a sudden. The hesitation faded. The focus returned. She pressed the phone to her ear after dialing her father’s number.
Her father still lived in Germany. Only a couple hours away. He still worked as a sergeant in the local police force. He’d been a military man for a while, but no longer.
He had investigative skills. Perhaps nothing as impressive as Robert, but he was a smart, shrewd man. And he had answers. Answers to the memories. She wasn’t sure why she did it. But as the phone rang, she didn’t feel cold feet. She didn’t back down. Instead, she felt an increase in zeal. She needed him here. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought struck her as imperative.
A few rings later, a crystal clear voice grumbled, “Hello?”
“Dad?” said Adele. She spoke in English, but then, a second later, switched to German. “Hello, Dad? It’s Adele.”
A pause, perhaps her father turning off the TV, arising from his table. Or maybe turning off the stove while he boiled some soup. Her father always liked soup.
“Adele?” he said. Not Sharp. He didn’t call her by her last name this time. Mild improvement.
“Dad, I’m in Germany. The Alps.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. In fact, I was wondering, but what are you doing this weekend?”
A longer pause. “Nothing planned. Nothing important, at least. Why?”
“Would you…” She hesitated, the word stuck in her throat. This felt uncomfortable. She didn’t want to ask him. Vulnerability. The sort of thing he had often thrown right back in her face. The sort of thing he had been unequipped to deal with. Her father was an emotionally stunted man. A man who hadn’t accepted emotions as a fact of life. A man who would see them as weakness. But in his own way, it had locked him in his own cocoon of coldness. Indifference. A trait she’d seen in a lot of people of her father’s generation. Not one that she blamed them for. Life was different back then. But now, the divide, the gulf between them only expanded, it seemed. And yet, at last, she summoned the words with what little courage she had. “I was wondering if you’d like to come up. To help in the case,” she added quickly. Nothing too vulnerable. No, she couldn’t afford it. Rejection would just hurt too much then. “If you could just come up and give me your insight. I know you know the area. We used to go skiing when I was a kid. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to pitch in a hand.”
A crackle, a deep breath. “When?”
“As soon as you can make it, honestly. Tomorrow if you want. If not, then Saturday.”
“I can make it. All right. I’ll see you then. Just send me the address.”
Then her father hung up.
Adele felt equal parts relief and annoyance. She would have to work with him on farewells. It was a jarring thing to simply be hung up on. But at the same time, she felt elated. Her father had agreed to come. And if there was one thing that could be said for Sergeant Sharp, he was a man of his word. An honest man. One she could trust. If he said he would come, then he would.
She stared at the fire. Again, her phone lowered back on the armrests. Sergeant Sharp would be coming. And while it was true she needed help in the case, honesty wasn’t Adele’s strong suit in the same way. She wanted his help, but she also wanted his memories. She wanted answers.
Why was it pressing all of a sudden? Why now?
She couldn’t be sure. But something was nagging at her mind. Something niggling at her consciousness. Something she’d forgotten. Something important.
She shook her head, trying to focus, thinking. When her father came, he would provide answers. Just then, the phone beneath her hand began to buzz against the armrest.
Jarred from her thoughts, Adele glanced back at the device. Was it her father? Calling to apologize for hanging up so abruptly? Her father hated apologies. But maybe he was learning.
With a kindling of hope in her heart, she turned her phone over, but realized a second later that it wasn’t her father. Just a notification. An email.
The medical report was in.
Quickly, Adele scrolled to the contents of the file. She opened the tabs and glanced at the pictures, scrolling past to the medical findings. She stared, reading the file. She reread it.
The fire seemed to have died a little bit, as if the fuel were suddenly vapor. She looked away from her phone, blinking, processing.
She’d been right
.
Not a bear attack.
A blunt weapon. Sharp once, but no longer. The medical report said most likely a hatchet or an axe.
Someone in these mountains had stalked the Benevetis, hunted them down, and chopped them to pieces with a rusted axe. Someone had killed the millionaires and disposed of their corpses by the ski resort.
Adele clicked her phone, putting it back in her pocket and steepling her fingers beneath her chin.
Was the motivation money? Did it have a connection to the Swiss couple who had died in France? And why in the Alps? Was it something to do with the new resort opening tomorrow? A political motivation perhaps?
Adele stared into the fire, allowing the cycle of thoughts to rip through her brain again and again and again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“We’re getting close, I can feel it,” said Robert. He nodded and patted his hands together in a small clapping gesture.
John, who had had it up to here with the small man’s chipper attitude, growled, “Close?” He gripped the end of his shovel, glaring. “Explain to me exactly why I was left on digging duty?”
Robert pressed his hands daintily together and nodded over the tops of his folded fingers at John, as if conceding this was a good question. The two men stood within sight of their resort, beneath the first beams of morning sunshine, scanning the nearest ski trails and overturning fresh snowfall, looking for the missing persons. Robert was coughing again—but seemed to be trying to hide it. John frowned.
“I understand your frustration,” said Robert, his face paler than it had been before. Something about the weather didn’t seem to suit him. “But you’re just so big and strong. And I am old and frail.”
“Don’t start with that shit,” said John, growling again. He began to shovel with renewed intensity, throwing pile after pile of snow over his shoulder. There were three other digging teams the local search and rescue had provided them at the government’s insistence. Each of the teams was out in a square grid, all of them shoveling in a checkered pattern to cover the most distance possible. There were gaps between the squares, but small enough so a body couldn’t be hidden.