Murder in D Minor Boxed Set

by Virginia Smith

  Standing in the carpeted hallway in front of the door to Grandma’s suite, Liz took a moment to gather her courage. She resolved to be pleasant, no matter how trying her grandmother became. This was a special time for Debbie, and Liz wasn’t going to be the cause of family strife. Besides, now that Grandma had gotten her chastising out of the way, maybe they could put the issue of the brooch behind them and enjoy the day.

  She straightened her shoulders and rapped her knuckles against the door. It swung open immediately.

  Debbie heaved an exaggerated sigh in her face. “Finally! Where have you been?” She shifted her eyes toward the room behind her and mouthed, “She’s driving me crazy.”

  Liz stepped forward and folded her cousin in an embrace. “Sorry,” she whispered, then went on in a louder voice. “The sheriff wanted to ask me a couple of questions. But that’s over, and I’m ready to go. What’s on the agenda today?”

  “The sheriff?” Grandma’s sharp voice snapped across the room. “What did he want with you?”

  Liz released Debbie and stepped into the room. The layout of Grandma’s suite was exactly the same as hers, though the furnishings looked newer. From the e-mails Debbie had been sending for months about the plans for this week, Liz knew that her mom and dad would stay in the second bedroom with Grandma when they arrived on Friday. She also knew Mom wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement, but since Grandma had volunteered to foot the bill for the out-of-state family’s hotel and airfare, she was prepared to make the best of it.

  Liz stepped into the living area and dropped onto the sofa beside her grandmother, her purse still slung over her shoulder. “I saw a snowboarder out on the slopes last night. The sheriff just wanted to hear about it in case it turns out to be the same person they found this morning.”

  Grandma’s sharp eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning to involve yourself in another scandal, are you, Elizabeth?”

  Another scandal? Liz bristled, but at the sight of Debbie’s anxious expression, bit back a quick reply. She forced a pleasant smile to her face. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” Grandma gave a firm nod. “Deborah doesn’t need anything else to mar her wedding. A death on the premises is quite enough. And I still think we should find another location.”

  Debbie’s jaw tightened. Despite her irritation, Liz bit back a smile. Apparently, she and her cousin were going to spend the day calming each other down from Grandma’s verbal barbs.

  “So.” Liz slapped her hands on her jeans and stood. “Where to first?”

  “The florist,” Debbie answered. “I want to check on the bouquets and boutonnieres, and I need to make the final payment.”

  “It’s ridiculous what they charge for wedding flowers.” Grandma scooted to the edge of the cushion and held her hand out for Liz to help her stand. “And why you insisted on fresh I’ll never know. They’ll be gone in a few days, and what will you have left?”

  “Pictures,” Debbie answered instantly. “And lovely memories.”

  “You’d better get some good pictures, for what that photographer is charging you.” Liz helped Grandma heave herself up off the sofa. “It’s a racket, I tell you. The florists and the caterers and the photographers all got together and formed a conspiracy to fleece brides for every penny they have. Outrageous.” She headed for the bedroom. “Let me get my coat and hat and I’ll be ready to leave.”

  When Grandma disappeared into the other room, Debbie grimaced. “She’s right, you know. Take my advice, Liz. When it comes your turn, go on a cruise and get married on the beach in Jamaica. It’s got to be cheaper.”

  Liz refused to acknowledge the image that rose in her mind at the mention of her wedding. She’d had such plans … once.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she told her cousin.

  Duke sat in his car, his gaze fixed on the front entrance of the lodge. The sheriff’s Durango made an ominous specter parked directly beneath the awning. It was risky being here while the police were running around the place, but according to his partner, there wouldn’t be a better opportunity than this morning. And besides, the sheriff would be up on the top of the mountain looking at the body, not running around in the hallways of the lodge.

  If Sinclair hadn’t been such an amateur, Duke wouldn’t have to dirty his hands with this. But he’d learned a lesson in his dealings with the two-bit thug: Rely on no one. The men he was playing with now wouldn’t tolerate unprofessional behavior.

  Where was that girl? He glanced at his watch. Anxiety tightened his hands into fists. He couldn’t wait around much longer.

  The doors swung open. Three figures stepped outside.

  She was one of them.

  Instinctively, Duke slid lower in the seat. The old lady was a stranger, but he’d met the other girl. As long as she didn’t spot him he’d be okay. His breath came in excited gulps. This was going to work out.

  The trio headed toward him. For a short, breathtaking moment it looked like they might walk right up to his car, then they turned and crossed to a row of handicapped parking spaces. The family resemblance between the two girls was pronounced. Same height, same build, same dark hair. He examined the musician.

  You’re in my territory now, Kentucky girl.

  His hand strayed to the bulge in his ski jacket where the gun nestled in the inside pocket next to his heart. The girls followed the old woman to a maroon Taurus with Utah plates and climbed in. He waited until the Taurus backed out and pulled away.

  When they had disappeared from sight, Duke turned the ignition key and started his car. The way he figured, he had at least half an hour. Plenty of time, as long as his partner had given him the right room numbers.

  “There’s one right there, Elizabeth.” Grandma’s finger stabbed at the windshield. “I assume you know how to parallel park?”

  Liz eyed the space Grandma indicated. It looked pretty small. She would have preferred to park in the garage the next street over, but Grandma didn’t want to walk up the steep incline of Park City’s Main Street to get to Alpine Jewelry. And she had flatly refused to let Liz drop her off in front of the shop. After listening to Grandma berate the florist over the scandalous price of white roses for the past half hour, Liz didn’t want to give her any further cause to argue. She caught Debbie’s eye in the rearview mirror and received a supportive wink. After a quick silent prayer, she maneuvered the Taurus back and forth into the parking space.

  She shoved the gearshift lever into Park and turned a victorious smile toward Grandma. “There.”

  Grandma opened her door and looked out. “You’re a little close to the curb, but at least you didn’t hit anything.” From Grandma, that almost counted as praise.

  Main Street in the historic mining town boasted an eclectic collection of shops, some touristy, most outrageously expensive, all trendy. Liz had spent a lot of time here with Tim when they were dating, investigating every store on the steep street and wandering through the small art galleries. As she rounded the front of the car to follow Grandma and Debbie into the jewelry store, it was all she could do to keep her gaze from straying uphill toward their favorite pizza restaurant. There, seated at the little table by the window, was where Tim first told her …

  No. I’m not going there.

  A tone announced their presence when Debbie pushed the door open. Liz followed Grandma inside and let the door swing shut behind her. The heat in the shop stung her cheeks, a startling but welcome contrast to the frigid temperature outside. Glass display cases lined both walls of the narrow shop, their sparkling surfaces gleaming in the fluorescent lights. A collection of clocks decorated the walls, some new, but most appeared to be well-cared-for antiques. Liz even saw an old-fashioned cuckoo clock.

  A clerk seated over a worktable behind the rear counter looked up. “May I help you with something?”

  “I’m here to pick up a ring,” Debbie said. “The name’s Carmichael.”

  A man came through an open doorway next to the worktable. “I’l
l take care of it, Christy.” He shifted his gaze to Debbie and smiled. “How are you, Miss Carmichael?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Getting nervous about the big day?”

  Debbie dimpled. “Not yet, but I still have a few days for the jitters to set in.” She glanced at Liz and Grandma. “Mr. Cole is the manager, and a very talented jewelry designer. He designed my engagement ring and did a beautiful job.” She straightened her arm in front of her to admire the ring. “Mr. Cole, this is my grandmother and my cousin from Kentucky.”

  “A pleasure to meet you both.” He shook Grandma’s hand first, and then took Liz’s. He held it in an icy-cold grip for a moment, a polite question in his blue eyes. “All the way from Kentucky? I hope you’re going to have a chance to enjoy something of Utah before you head back.”

  “I’m just here for the wedding,” Liz replied, “but I think we’re going to ski at least one day.”

  “We sure are,” Debbie said. “Tomorrow all the bridesmaids are hitting the slopes at Eagle Summit together. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’m sure it will.” He stepped toward the back room. “Will you be picking up both rings today?”

  Debbie shook her head. “Just Ryan’s. He’ll be in to get mine soon.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He left, and Grandma said, “Girls, come look at this.”

  Liz stepped up beside her and looked down into the display case. Dozens of pieces of jewelry lay artfully arranged on velvet. The gleam of jewels winked up at them, sparkling with an array of colors from beds of gold, silver and platinum. Liz let out a breathless “Ah!” as she admired the beautiful rings, bracelets, pins and pendants.

  “Look at the design of that bracelet.” Grandma’s voice held a note of awe as she tapped on the glass with a heavily ringed finger. Grandma had a weakness for jewelry, as evidenced by the amount she wore and the overflowing jewelry cases Liz had loved looking through as a young girl. “Notice the braided gold, the way the emeralds are woven into the pattern. It’s absolutely stunning.”

  Liz agreed. She had never seen anything quite so lovely. “And look. There are earrings to match.”

  “I told you Mr. Cole was talented,” Debbie said.

  Grandma looked up, her eyes gleaming nearly as much as the gemstones beneath the glass. “He designed these pieces?”

  Debbie nodded. “He showed them to us last year when he was working on my ring. He fixes expensive watches and antique clocks, too.” She pointed toward the collection on the walls.

  Mr. Cole returned at that moment. “Here you are, Miss Carmichael. Please inspect the inscription and make sure it’s exactly what you wanted.”

  He handed a small box to Debbie, and while she looked inside the ring, Grandma tapped on the display case. “Mr. Cole, am I to understand you are the man who created the pieces in this case?”

  He looked modestly down at the jewelry display. “Do you like them?”

  “They’re nice enough,” Grandma answered in an offhanded tone. “Tell me, what do you get for a piece like … oh, let’s say, that bracelet there?”

  Liz turned away to hide her grin. If there was anything Grandma loved more than jewelry, it was haggling for a bargain. If she could combine the two she’d be as happy as a cat in a fish market the rest of the day. Which meant maybe she’d be easier to get along with.

  While Mr. Cole took a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the door in the rear to show Grandma the bracelet, Debbie grabbed Liz’s arm and pulled her away.

  “Look at this.” Debbie handed her the wedding ring, her eyes suddenly as full of sparkles as the jewelry on display. “Can you believe in just a few days I’ll be Mrs. Ryan Baxter?”

  Liz took the ring carefully. A row of small diamond chips studded one side of the simple gold band. Inside, the inscription read “God blessed me with you.”

  “It’s great, Debbie.” She handed it back with a smile and folded her cousin in a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

  She really was genuinely happy. If only she could put her own tumultuous emotions about this trip aside and focus on Debbie. But the longer she was in Utah, the more those emotions tried to surface. And the harder Liz had to fight to keep them at bay.

  If she could just manage to stay out of Tim’s way, she’d be okay.

  NINE

  Tim’s ears had gone numb with cold. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tried to warm them with his palms. At least his ski suit was warmer than the other deputies’ uniforms. He cast a sympathetic glance toward the tree line, where two men with equipment bags painstakingly searched the snow for signs of a trail leading from the trees to the chairlift.

  He stood beside the sheriff at the bottom of the Crested Eagle lift and watched an evidence tech snap pictures of the machinery inside the hut. The man’s fingerprint kit lay on the snow, ready for use. Tim doubted they’d need it. The person who entered the building would surely have worn gloves—ski gloves, probably. But it was an exercise that had to be performed to satisfy the rules of the investigation.

  “Look at those scratches.” The sheriff held the padlock toward Tim. “Think someone might have picked the lock?”

  Tim wasn’t wearing gloves, as the sheriff was, so he examined the object without touching it. It was a heavy-duty lock, a two-and-a-half-inch body with a steel shackle. Nothing at all remarkable about it. You could buy them in any hardware store. The sheriff held the keyhole toward him, and Tim noted the scratches on the casing.

  “Could be,” he agreed. “But those could also be made through normal usage by a key scraping across the metal.”

  The sheriff cocked his head sideways, looking closer. “Maybe so. The owner says all the keys are accounted for.”

  Tim glanced at the lift operator hovering nearby and spoke in a lower voice. “Which might mean it was opened by someone with a valid reason for having a key.” Mrs. Harrison had also told them that the padlocks in use all over Eagle Summit Mountain were keyed alike. That might indicate that the killer was an employee, or at least someone with access to an employee’s keys.

  Assuming it had been the killer who put the dead man on the lift and sent him up the mountain, and not someone else. Tim wasn’t comfortable making any assumptions at this stage of the game. They had too many unanswered questions, and very few facts.

  For instance, since the dead man wore ski clothing, they assumed he’d come to the mountain for some unauthorized night skiing. But where were his skis and poles? They hadn’t found them near the body. Tim had personally ridden with a ski patroller slowly down the run beneath the lift, and hadn’t seen a sign of any equipment that may have been dropped from a chair. Nor had he seen any sign of blood spray on the snow or on the chair that had carried the body to the top of the mountain. Which might indicate the man had been dead when he was put on the lift. But if so, where was he shot? And why would the killer drag the body to the lift? It made no sense.

  “Sheriff Daniels, we found something.” Excitement pitched Adam Goins’ voice high, making it carry clearly across the snow from the area near the trees where he searched.

  Daniels glanced at Tim and set off across the slope at a slightly uphill angle. Tim followed.

  “Careful,” shouted Farmer, the deputy working with Goins. “Come straight toward us.” He aimed his hand in a straight path across the snow between them. “If you veer left you’re going to walk across the prints.”

  Tim searched the snow as he walked. Strong winds last night had blown off a lot of the fresh snow that fell yesterday afternoon. Nearest the lift, the surface was hardpack powder, scarred by the signs of an uncountable number of skis. Impossible to see an individual trail. But the closer they drew to the trees the softer the snow became, and he found what could possibly be identified as boot prints. Faint and nearly obscured, but getting deeper the farther they walked. None of the telltale gouges a skier wearing ski boots made as he dug hard heels into the snow. These prints looked like …


  Snowboarding boots.

  “Sheriff, look at that.” Tim pointed toward the ground.

  The sheriff nodded, but did not stop. He spoke without turning his head. “I saw.”

  As they neared the pair by the trees, Goins gestured toward the ground. “Someone came out of the trees here. Look. It’s a perfect set of prints.”

  He was right. Tim noted a couple of deeper boot prints in the softer snow that bordered the actual ski run, just inside the tree line. They’d been obscured, but not obliterated by a smoothed-down swath about twelve inches wide that ran right over the top of them. The pattern looked familiar.

  “That was made by a snowboard.” He looked at the sheriff. “This had to be the same person Liz saw last night. Whoever made those prints was pulling a snowboard behind him to cover his prints. And the boots were snowboarding boots, the regular kind, not the kind with a step-in binding. Like these.”

  Tim lifted one foot and showed the bottom of his boot to Sheriff Daniels and the other deputies.

  Daniels pursed his lips as his gaze slid from Tim’s boot to the prints. “A snowboard sliding across the snow wouldn’t be heavy enough to smooth down the snow like that.”

  Goins spoke excitedly. “It would if it had the weight of a body on it. Take a look at that.”

  Tim looked where he pointed. A little way beyond the smooth swath, the clear lines from the snowboard disappeared beneath a double line of uneven gouges. Tim approached cautiously from uphill and stooped to examine the snow more closely. He could still see the edges of the indentation made by a board.

  “It looks like something was dragging behind the board.” He looked up and caught Daniels’s gaze. “Like legs, maybe? Our dead guy was wearing ski boots, and those would leave a trail like this.”

  The sheriff sucked in his cheeks and stared at the snow. His eyes moved as he traced the trail into the trees.

  Tim followed his gaze. Was that where their mysterious skier met his fate?

  “Richards, you’re dressed for a hike in the snow.” Daniels dipped his head toward Tim’s ski suit.