I had just ended the call with my parents when my phone rang in my hand. The display informed me it was Crenshaw.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said.
All I heard was the sound of muffled static.
“Crenshaw?”
“Drat it all,” he said. “Keli, is that you?”
“Yes. You called me. What’s going on?”
“I don’t have much time. I need to conserve my battery. But I had to warn you.”
“What are you talking about? Why does it sound like you’re in a wind tunnel?”
“I seem to have slid off the road. I’m currently hunkered down in my car somewhere along Rural Route Three.”
“Oh, my gosh! Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes. I’ve already contacted the authorities. They assured me I’ll be rescued in due time, though it could be a while. Fortunately, I always carry an emergency kit in my trunk.”
“Well, that’s good. Where were you going anyway?”
“I was going to find you. Are you at the Stag Creek Lodge?”
“Yes. Looks like I’ll be staying the night here. But why—”
“You must be careful, Keli. I’m afraid you could be in grave danger.”
The phone filled with static again.
“Crenshaw? Are you still there? Crenshaw?”
There was the sound of rushing wind, then his voice cut in, apparently in the middle of a sentence. “. . . information I uncovered. I have reason to believe Edgar’s killer . . .”
“What? Can you speak up? I can barely hear you.”
“I’m going to have to hang up,” he said. “The connection isn’t good. Please promise me . . .” Again, his voice was drowned out by the background noise.
“Crenshaw! What did you say?”
“I don’t have proof, but I believe the killer is there, at the lodge. You must—”
An abrupt silence filled my ears as the line was disconnected.
Chapter 23
I stared at my phone in disbelief. As Crenshaw’s words echoed in my mind, a prickle of fear crawled up my skin. I tried calling him back, but he didn’t pick up.
What had he learned? And why would I be in danger? Whatever it was, he said he couldn’t prove it. Yet, he did sound awfully certain.
“Was it Marley?”
I jumped at the sound of Farrah’s voice. She stood next to me with an amused expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Was it Jacob Marley? Or the Ghost of Christmas Future?”
I bit my lip and looked over her shoulder as a few other guests entered the room.
“What is it, hon?” Farrah touched my arm.
“Well, for one thing, Crenshaw is in a ditch. He’s one of those poor stranded motorists Tucker was telling us about.”
Farrah clapped her hand over her mouth.
“He’ll be okay,” I said. “Hey, can we get out of here? Is our room ready yet?”
“I have our keys,” Farrah said, handing me a key card. “But let’s grab dinner first. I’m famished.”
“Yeah, okay.”
The dining room was bustling. Between the planned guests and the unexpected guests, like us, there was hardly an empty seat in the house. Farrah and I placed our orders. Then I dropped my voice and told her what Crenshaw had said to me.
“Holy crap! The murderer is here? I guess that narrows down the suspects. Should we start a list?” Farrah gazed around the room with narrowed eyes. “It could be him, or him, or her, or—oh, there’s your stalker boyfriend. Maybe it was him!”
“Who, Mick?” I followed her gaze. Mick was signing his bill, then he stood up to leave the restaurant. Part of me wanted to hide under the tablecloth. We had already said our good-byes. Any further encounter would be too awkward. “I don’t think so,” I said.
“How about him?” said Farrah, cocking her head to the side. I looked over and spotted Zeke walking across the room. When he noticed me, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at me and then himself, then did it again. The clearly implied question was “You and me?” I assumed he was referring to a dance again. I looked away.
“He’s definitely up to something,” I said. “I just haven’t figured out what it is. Yet.”
Our food arrived, and we fell silent as we ate. Before long, Tucker entered the restaurant and made the rounds, stopping at each table to chat. Farrah kept one eye on him the whole time.
“Has he said much to you about the mayoral race?” I asked.
She nodded and took a sip of water. “Yeah. He’s thinking of dropping out.”
“Really? Why?”
“In the beginning, it was sort of a friendly rivalry between him and Edgar. Now that Edgar is gone, he said he wouldn’t feel right taking the job. He said it’s like winning a contest just because the other side didn’t show up. Winning by default doesn’t seem fair to him.”
“Hmm.” Something about Tucker’s reasoning didn’t sit right with me. Maybe it was because of all the fundraising and campaigning Zeke had been doing on Tucker’s behalf. Why print up pamphlets and ask for money if you’re planning on dropping out? Before I could mention it to Farrah, Tucker walked up to our table. He put a hand on Farrah’s shoulder.
“Ladies, good to see you’re making the best of an unexpected situation.”
I smiled and Farrah raised her glass. “Compliments to the chef,” she said. “The food here is fabulous.”
Tucker dipped his chin in gratitude. “Indeed. If you’d like to have your dessert in the common room, cookie’s got a spread of Christmas goodies in there.”
Farrah nudged me. “Isn’t it cute how he uses cowboy terms?”
Tucker grinned. “Anyway, it’s real cheerful in there. Ricardo, our handyman, is doubling as the deejay tonight.”
“Ricardo?” I asked. The name rang a bell from my conversation with Bob. “Is he also the handyman at the Harrisons’ ranch?”
“Yep. Their ranch is just over the ridge, not far from here. He lives over there and does odd jobs for folks all over the area.”
“He must be extra handy,” said Farrah, “if he can deejay, too.”
“Well, I reckon we’ll see about that,” said Tucker. “This is his first gig. I need to head over there now and see what all he’s picked out to play.” Tucker squeezed Farrah’s shoulder. “Hope I’ll see you in there real soon.”
Farrah dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Actually, I’m finished with my dinner now.” She gave me her pretty please look.
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll take care of the check and find you later.”
Farrah took off with Tucker, and I pulled out my wallet. After paying the bill, I took out my cell phone and shot off a few texts, including one to Wes and one to Crenshaw. Crenshaw didn’t reply, but I still hoped he’d see my message and feel less alone. I felt bad to think he was spending Christmas Eve in his car on the side of the road. I’d have to be nicer to him from now on, I decided.
I was just putting my phone away when I noticed Allison sitting by herself at a table for two in the corner. She sipped from a coffee mug and gazed vacantly in front of her.
Tucker had said to make the most of our unexpected situation. Maybe I should do just that. As long as we were here, I might as well try to get some answers. I walked over to her table.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
She gestured toward the empty chair. “Help yourself.”
A waitress stopped by to see if I wanted coffee. I accepted, if only so I’d have something to hold on to.
“Allison, there’s something I’ve been wondering about,” I began. “Do you remember that day the fire alarm went off at Harrison Properties?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I happened to be outside your office at the time, because I was just coming to see you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing you on the telephone. You were speaking rather loudly. It sounded as if you were upset.”
&n
bsp; She blinked rapidly, then shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t remember being upset. I don’t even remember a phone call. I’m sure it was nothing.”
So much for information gathering, I thought. I blew on my coffee and looked around the room. Lonnie Treat stood at the entrance speaking with the hostess. He sported a new haircut and an elegant fitted tuxedo. I couldn’t help thinking his attire would have fit in better at Edgar’s ball than here. He was a bit overdressed for a hunting lodge.
Allison observed him, too. “I’m glad to see he’s doing better for himself,” she said. If I wasn’t mistaken, there seemed to be a note of bitterness in her voice.
“That is quite a change from his usual brown suit,” I said lightly. I smiled at Allison, but she didn’t return it. “Maybe the mattress business has picked up,” I suggested. Allison only scowled.
I considered Lonnie’s new look and wondered what it could mean. Could he have recently found himself with a large influx of cash? Possibly money he had retrieved from a garbage can as payoff for his silence? With his shifty behavior, it wasn’t difficult to picture Lonnie as a blackmailer. But I didn’t know how he could have been privy to any sensitive information about Edgar.
I glanced at Allison and tried to get a read on her. She was staring into her coffee mug again. As far as I knew, Allison didn’t know Edgar was being blackmailed. Edgar hadn’t told anyone but Beverly. That is, assuming Allison, herself, wasn’t the blackmailer. But she could be the blackmailer’s second victim.
“Allison, how long did you work for Edgar?”
“It would have been thirteen years next month.”
“So, you were around when the Cornerstone project was proposed?”
She looked up sharply. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It’s just that . . . I seem to recall hearing that Lonnie Treat was one of the early investors. I believe he lost money when the deal fell through.” I watched her carefully to see how she’d react to my bluff.
“He did,” she affirmed. “If I remember correctly, he lost more than anyone else. But it was his own fault. He should have pulled out while there was still time.”
“Interesting,” I murmured. “I wonder if he held a grudge against Edgar because of it.”
Allison seemed to consider the possibility. “If he did, he never showed it. If anything, he doubled down on his efforts to join Edgar’s inner circle. Lonnie has always been little more than a wannabe social climber.”
“Oh?”
“I have to hand it to him. He may not be the brightest bulb on the tree, but he is persistent. I bet he’d stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
* * *
After leaving Allison at the restaurant, I walked over to the common room and peered through the wide, open doorway. I was trying to decide if I wanted to pop in and be social, or skip the soirée and go on upstairs. Several people milled about, laughing and drinking, while a few danced in place to the upbeat rhythm of “Feliz Navidad.” It was hard to fathom that one of them could be a murderer.
Now that I thought about it, it was even harder to believe that I was trying to sniff one out. Who did I think I was anyway, V. I. Warshawski? What did I know about murder? Not much, that’s what. I tried to recall what I had learned in law school about the percentage of murders that were premeditated versus crimes of passion. In Edgar’s case, he was the one who set up the meeting on the fourth floor. That would seem to rule out premeditation. Perhaps that’s what the police thought, too. If they were viewing Edgar’s death as a crime of passion, that wasn’t going to help Beverly’s position.
Under normal circumstances, one would think the wife of a cheater would be a more likely suspect than the mistress. But Gretta apparently already knew about Edgar’s extramarital affair and accepted it. Anyway, there was no way she could have pushed Edgar over the railing, not from her wheelchair. And she wasn’t even at the hotel when he died. She had gone home in a mobility van, then returned the same way when the police notified her of her husband’s death.
I thought about the secret Beverly had told me about her final moments with Edgar. Evidently, he was breaking up with her because he wanted to reconcile with his wife. That certainly didn’t help Beverly’s defense. But she wasn’t the only one who might not be thrilled at this turn of events. There was someone else who might not want Edgar to get back together with his wife: Gretta’s companion, Ricardo.
My eyes swept the room until I spotted the source of the music. A modest sound system was set up on a table against the far wall. Behind the table was a short, wiry man with a shiny bald spot surrounded by trim dark hair on the sides of his head. He appeared to be in his late fifties, and, if his big smile was any indication, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
As the song ended and the next one, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” filled the air, Ricardo adjusted the volume. Then he came out from behind the CD player and walked over to the refreshments table where he helped himself to a glass of punch. I decided to make my move.
“Hello,” I said. “Nice music choices.”
“Thanks,” he said affably. “It’s hard to go wrong with country Christmas tunes.”
He started to walk away, so I held up a hand to stop him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Uh, okay. The next few songs are all queued up, so I have a couple minutes. What can I do for you?”
I looked around the room. “Can we go over there?” I pointed to a small reading nook in an alcove off the main room.
Once we were seated, I introduced myself and got right to the point. “How is Gretta holding up?”
“She’s doing all right,” said Ricardo. “She’s a strong lady.”
“She’s lucky she has you by her side.” I gave him a small, knowing smile. He squinted his eyes ever so slightly, as if trying to figure out what I meant.
I leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s okay. Beverly told me everything. I know all about Edgar and Gretta’s . . . arrangement. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Ricardo relaxed his shoulders, but still appeared wary. “Not many people know,” he said.
“She told me something else,” I said, watching him closely.
“Oh, she did, did she?”
I nodded. “She told me Edgar planned to win his wife back.”
Ricardo stared at me a moment, then burst out laughing. I sat back, perplexed. What was so funny?
“I’m sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s just the way you said it, like you thought you were breaking the news story of the year. Bless your heart.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? You already knew?” And if he knew, then that proves he had a motive for Edgar’s murder. Hardly a reason to laugh.
“Knew Edgar was full of s-h-i-t? Absolutely. He probably asked Gretta to take him back a hundred times over the years—especially when he’d had too much to drink, and most especially around the holidays. In fact, after the ball that night, she predicted he’d come home and do it again. It was a—what do you call it? A pattern of his.”
“Beverly sure didn’t act like she’d heard it before,” I said.
Ricardo shrugged. “Maybe it was the first time he said it to her. But, believe me, he’d said it to Gretta plenty of times. The first few times, years ago, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. She’d remain faithful to him, then he’d go off and cheat on her again. She finally wised up.”
Ricardo looked me in the eye. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Edgar was not the most honest person. He lied all the time. Don’t get me wrong, he had his good points, too. Gretta cared for him and agreed to keep up appearances. But she learned long ago that he couldn’t be trusted.
“I see. Well, that doesn’t sound like the Edgar Beverly knew.” And loved.
“What can I say? Love is blind. Maybe she didn’t see his flaws because she didn’t want to. Or maybe she wasn’t around him often enough, or with him long enough.” Ricardo shook his head
. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. I wasn’t too surprised when I heard the police say Edgar was murdered. With his . . . shall I say, ‘lack of scruples,’ it’s more surprising somebody didn’t try to bump him off long before now.”
Chapter 24
The room Tucker assigned to Farrah and me was a charming double at the end of the second-floor hallway. With Southwestern-style quilts, lamps made from bleached driftwood, and knotty pine dressers, it was easy to imagine I was in a cabin in the woods. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t too far from the truth.
After leaving the holiday party downstairs, I’d come upstairs to kick off my shoes and get some rest. It had been a long, eventful day. Now I flipped on the TV in time to catch the weather report at the tail end of the local news. Snow was predicted to continue throughout the night. Rural Route 3 wouldn’t open until sometime tomorrow morning.
There was a tap at the door and the lock clicked open. For a brief moment, my heart jumped to my throat. I hadn’t forgotten about Crenshaw’s warning that I could be in danger. Farrah stuck her head in, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is it safe to come in? Are you decent?”
“Why wouldn’t I be decent?” I asked, flopping down on the bed nearest the window.
“You never know,” said Farrah, as she came into the room. “You could be in here doing some naked witchy ritual. Or you could have a guy in here, like your old ‘Micky Bear.’”
I rolled my eyes. “I knew I was gonna regret telling you about that nickname.”
Farrah laughed. “Actually, forget old Mick. You’d more likely decide to rob the cradle and hook up with that cute young IT guy.”
“Hey,” I protested. “Have you forgotten about Wes? I’m a one-man woman now.”
“You know I’m only teasing.” She waved away the idea. “Here, I brought you a present.” She tossed me a plastic shopping bag. I dumped it out on the bed to find two large T-shirts and an assortment of complimentary toiletries.
Yuletide Homicide Page 19
