As I’d recognized before, I was spending a lot of time these days at the resort. Was the Knobcone Heights Resort somehow a magnet for people who got involved in murders, or in solving them, or …
Well, no matter. Here I was, and I would soon see Neal—and, hopefully, have an opportunity to casually ask Jack some more questions relating to Wanda’s murder.
Despite the large number of cars in the lot, Reed found a great spot not far from the resort’s door, and I exited the car before he could do his gentlemanly thing and come around for me. I opened the rear door and scooped my little Biscuit into my arms. Reed closed that door for us and, taking my arm, led us to the front of the large, sprawling white building.
The lobby was busy, but when wasn’t it? The large televisions hung from the ceiling had a couple of different football games on. I suspected they were recordings of earlier games, since it was past seven thirty in California, but I wasn’t interested enough in them to try to find out.
Neal’s workday had already ended, so I didn’t try to walk by the registration desk as I usually did. Instead, I accompanied Reed into the traditionally dark and noisy bar.
Sure enough, in an area against the far wall, some tables had been pushed together and Neal sat there with Janelle, apparently waiting for the gang. But the gang wasn’t all I’d hoped for at this moment, since Jack wasn’t there yet.
What would I do if he didn’t show?
Well, I’d enjoy a drink or two at least. And storm—internally only—about not being able to accomplish what I’d hoped to do that night.
Reed and I joined the others, and although I considered ordering a stronger-than-usual drink, I instead just stuck with wine, a rosé this time.
Then, so I could get my head together and decide how I’d handle things next if Jack didn’t appear, I handed Neal his Bug and headed to the restroom.
On the way there, I wasn’t surprised to see Elise Ethman Hainner, chin up, strutting in the same direction. This resort was her realm, after all.
She surely wasn’t aware that I’d been talking with her brother—was she?
Judging by the determined expression on her face as she got closer, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. But if so, why would Harris have said anything to her?
“Carrie, I’m glad I caught you,” she said as we both reached the restroom door at the same time. Her outfit today appeared designer chic, as I had come to expect. Her gray suit jacket, its sleeves three-quarter-length, was trimmed in black, matching her mid-thigh skirt. She had a colorful, leaf-like necklace over her white shirt, and her black shoes had high heels that were far shorter than stilettos but still looked uncomfortable.
And here I was, still in my knit shirt with a store logo on the pocket and dark slacks. But our careers were quite different, and I refused to feel out-fashioned.
Elise’s face was attractive, her makeup impeccable, and I wondered why she had wanted to catch me. I really didn’t want to talk to her about Harris or Wanda—unless she was about to confess to the murder to save her brother from suspicion.
Fat chance. Although if Harris had told her what Wanda was up to, maybe she would have felt compelled, on behalf of her family’s reputation, to do something to prevent her brother’s downfall.
“How are you, Elise?” I asked politely, turning to open the restroom door. I would at least pretend to assume that she simply had the standard reason to go inside, as I did.
“I’m fine,” she said, then barely paused before she continued. “We need to talk. Come to my office when you’re through in here.”
No invitation, just a command. I wanted to tell her no, but what if she told me something useful—about Harris or otherwise?
Before I answered, though, I noticed that the door was already open, and Gwen had exited, but we blocked her ability to get back to the restaurant. The expression the server leveled on me appeared quizzical, as if she could see how conflicted I was feeling. I just rolled my eyes.
“Hi, Gwen,” I said, moving out of her way. “And okay, Elise. I’ll see you in your office in a few minutes. I’ll have to tell the people I’m having drinks with where I’m going, though.”
“Fine.”
She pushed past me into the restroom, and Gwen was already on her way toward the restaurant. I had a slight respite from talking to anyone, thank heavens, as I strode inside and found an empty stall. I felt pleased to lock it, as if I was locking everything else in the world out, but that lasted only for a minute. I fortunately didn’t see Elise as I exited after washing my hands, but I’d already decided to conform to her edict.
I headed into the bar, where I told everyone, my eyes on Neal, that Elise and I were getting together briefly. My brother’s expression went grim. “Just be careful with her, Carrie.”
“I won’t say anything to jeopardize your job,” I assured him, although I knew that wasn’t what he’d meant.
“And don’t say anything to jeopardize you,” Reed added. He was the only one with whom I’d shared any details of my conversation with Harris. Plus, he was the most inclined to try to warn me away from nosing around about the murder.
I just said, “There are a lot of people around here, so I should be safe. I don’t know what she wants to talk about, but my preference will be just to listen. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
I looked at Janelle, who appeared skeptical, then bent to pat Biscuit. “You stay here,” I told my dog. “Take care of these people. They need it as much as I do.”
I slipped out of the bar and into the lobby crowd. As I headed to the far side I saw Gwen coming toward me, a tray in her hands. We met up right outside the office door, which surprised me. Her skirt today was beige, her blouse white, and she wore a traditional coppery pinecone necklace to call to mind Knobcone Heights, which was named after knobcone pine trees.
The tray she held was moderate-sized, metallic, and round. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “but I eavesdropped a little and I know Elise wants to talk to you. I just figured I’d bring some refreshments—not as good as what you’ll get in the bar, but maybe it’ll make this meeting more fun. I saw your face—”
“And I know I didn’t look thrilled. Thanks,” I told her.
I looked at the tray and saw two large orange mugs of coffee, some taco chips, and salsa.
“No problem. But—” She hesitated.
“But what?”
“I gather you’re looking into that latest murder, right? I overheard your friends and family telling you not to the other day. Does your meeting with Elise have anything to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I’m not sure what she wants to talk about. Maybe she wants to have some of my dog treats available for guests, for all I know.”
Gwen appeared relieved. “Oh, that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? It’s none of my business but I could see how much everyone was concerned about you the other day, worried that you could get hurt—Neal included. We’re still friends, even though we’re not dating now, you know.”
“That’s great. Anyway … ” I turned, knocked on Elise’s door, and then pushed it open. “You go ahead in and put all that down. It looks heavy. And thanks again.”
I heard a voice say, “Come in,” which was a good thing since we were already inside.
Elise’s office looked just as it had the other day, when I’d been granted a reception with the queen of the Knobcone Heights Resort and her royal family, only today it was empty of everyone but her—and now Gwen and me. It was small but nicely furnished, and Elise stood behind her desk frowning at Gwen.
“What’s this about?” she asked the server.
“I thought you might want refreshments.” Gwen bent her head and smiled a little as if hoping for forgiveness—or maybe recognition that she was one really good server.
“Good idea. Thanks.” Thus, Gwen was
dismissed and all but backed out of the room. Then it was my turn. “Have a seat, Carrie,” Elise commanded.
So who was I but another subject of this queen—not. Nevertheless, I wanted to get as much out of this meeting as I could, so I obeyed.
I immediately bent forward, though, and took a coffee mug off the tray, as well as a couple of chips, which I dipped into the salsa.
Then I looked up at Elise, raised my eyebrows, and smiled a bit grimly, inviting her silently to explain why she wanted to talk to me.
She immediately complied. “Why did you do it, Carrie? Are you protecting the people you’re friendliest with now that you think you’re some kind of detective?”
I assumed my confusion showed on my face. “What do you think I did, Elise?”
“You were at the Emporium, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” I had already figured that this meeting had something to do with my speaking with Harris, but what was she driving at?
Elise rose, all but hovering over me despite remaining across the desk. “Harris called and told me what you did. You went to his store and confronted him and called him a murderer. You can’t do things like that in Knobcone Heights. Not if you want to stay here and have your brother work at this resort and make sure your own businesses are successful. Got it? You can never, ever attack an Ethman that way.”
Nineteen
My mind swirled. How could I attack an Ethman—like this one, who was all but attacking me?
More importantly, how could I get her to stand down and tell me what, if anything, she knew about the situation, such as whether she or her brother actually was the murderer?
I attempted to sound calm. “You got part of that right. I did visit the Emporium. I also had a conversation with Harris. But—”
“He says you barged into his office and began accusing him. You claimed he argued with that Wanda woman, then killed her.”
“It wasn’t like that.” I finally rose to my feet, crossed my arms, and grew confrontational, too. “Now, if you want to discuss what really happened, sit down and let’s talk.”
To my surprise, she listened to me even though she didn’t appear at all happy about it. “Okay,” she grumbled. “Tell me your version.”
I started doing so slowly, from the time I entered the Emporium till I suggested I wanted to talk to Harris and he invited me into his office. How he’d told me that, if anyone deserved to be murdered, it had been Wanda. But I didn’t want to feed Elise any information that might be important, so instead of continuing, such as disclosing his possible motive, I asked, “Do you know why he thought that? Why he might have argued with Wanda in the first place? I didn’t accuse him of anything.” Not directly, at least. “But did he tell you anything about knowing Wanda, or what she might have said to him?”
Elise seemed to calm, if only a little. Her expression, from enraged, turned sad. “Yes, my brother talks with me a lot, especially now that he’s lost his poor wife.”
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been especially fond of Myra. Elise was right. Harris deserved to be treated sympathetically because of his loss.
Even so—“I’m sure your closeness means a lot to him. But I’d still like to know what he told you about Wanda, and why he’d been upset about her.” And why one of them had made up this story about me supposedly accusing Harris directly of the murder.
“I don’t know who Wanda thought she was. Harris told me she was trying to coerce him—an Ethman—into carrying out something he definitely had no intention of doing. Something illegal, something that could not only ruin his reputation but destroy his whole wonderful store if he ever got caught.” She glared at me. “Did he tell you the details?”
“I’m not sure I got it all,” I told her, settling back onto the chair. “Something about changing the quality of some products?” I purposely kept it vague, hoping she would reveal what she actually knew.
“Exactly. She wanted him to taint some of the healthy products he sold, supposedly under Jack’s orders. And if he didn’t do it, she would tell the world he was doing it anyway, on his own. To make money at the pets’ expense, and to harm her poor VimPets company’s reputation. It’s no wonder he considered her scum. Maybe she even deserved to be killed.”
So said another Ethman. Well, Wanda might have deserved some kind of comeuppance, though I didn’t think getting killed was the right thing. But that was just me.
I wondered about Harris and Elise’s latest conversation, and any others they had shared. When had Harris told her about Wanda’s threats? After he’d killed Wanda? Or at a time that allowed Elise to get so furious that she killed the woman?
Or did they simply both have motives for murder yet remain innocent?
And want to dump some level of guilt on me, at least for making possibly false accusations.
Elise knew what I was thinking, of course. “Don’t even bother asking. Yes, she deserved it. And no, neither my brother nor I is mourning that bitch’s death. But did either of us kill her? Nope. No way. N-O. You got that, Ms. snoopy, inexpert, incompetent, unprofessional amateur detective?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got that.” I didn’t bother correcting her largely inappropriate adjectives about me. Nor did I remind her she’d claimed just a minute ago that I had been brazen enough to falsely accuse Harris.
Even more important, I didn’t necessarily believe the rest of what she’d said either.
But at least she’d said it. That gave me more to mull over about Harris’s involvement—and Elise’s.
I took a sip of coffee from the mug that I now held on my lap. It was time to go. I doubted I’d get anything else out of Elise, particularly anything useful.
And I’d achieved, more or less, what I’d hoped to—learning from Elise what she apparently knew, which did provide a possible motive for her, as well as her brother, to have murdered Wanda.
I wasn’t certain how I’d ensure that my detective friends learned about this, if they didn’t already know, but I’d do something. The knowledge should hopefully remove at least some of their attention from Billi, and even Jack, as the top suspects.
“I’m glad we had this conversation,” I told Elise. “Of course I don’t condone murder, but no matter who got to Wanda, I’m glad she didn’t have the opportunity to harm any animals with poor quality foods—or to blame an innocent person for it.”
“Amen.” Elise stood. I was obviously being dismissed, which was fine with me. She shook her head, slightly messing up her deep blonde hair. “I don’t know how you can handle nosing into all these terrible situations, Carrie. Just be careful.”
How many times had I heard that lately? I was close to most of the other people I’d heard it from and appreciated their concern, even if I didn’t just back off and stick my head in a hole. But I didn’t know the Ethmans very well, nor what they were capable of doing to protect themselves and each other.
Those words could definitely have been a warning, coming from Elise.
I was glad to rejoin Reed, Neal, and Janelle, particularly since they were still sitting in the bar. Biscuit, too.
But Jack apparently remained a no-show, darn him. He wasn’t with them.
Without saying anything, I slid into my empty chair at the table. “I need a drink,” I announced as they all looked toward me, Biscuit standing on her hind legs with her front paws on my thighs. I resisted getting on the floor with her, although a big doggy hug sounded good to me.
Maybe from one of the people, instead. Later. Any of them, but preferably Reed.
“The fee for your drink,” Neal said from across the table, “will be your description of what that was all about.” His voice was so soft in the noisy environment that I could hardly hear him, and he spoke only after looking around, presumably to make sure that neither his boss nor any member of her family were close by.
“Wine first,�
�� I insisted. “Whining later.”
That brought a grin from Reed—a sexy one that appeared fond, and I found myself smiling back, kind of. Smiling took energy, and often was meant to express happiness. If anything, my grin was small and wry.
Neal gestured toward a nearby server, and despite what I’d said, I ordered a piña colada, a sweet drink, sure, but with rum—a harder alcohol than either wine or beer. I needed that.
“Are you okay, Carrie?” That was Janelle, and her expression was full of concern and compassion. “You look—well, exhausted.”
“Arguing with an Ethman has always taken a lot out of me,” I half joked, though it was definitely true the couple of times it had happened—with Myra, and now with Elise.
“What did you argue about?” Reed asked. He was sitting right beside me, and his gin and tonic looked great and I was suddenly very thirsty, maybe from drinking the coffee before. I reached for his glass and took a sip without responding. Just a sip. I wasn’t driving for a while, and I needed some alcoholic sustenance—quickly.
“It wasn’t exactly an argument,” I began, returning his glass to where it had been. “We discussed—okay, all of you can guess the underlying topic, right?”
“Wanda,” Janelle said, and at the same time both of the guys proclaimed, “Murder.”
“You’re all spot-on.” I opened my mouth to start explaining the Harris-Wanda connection to Neal and Janelle, who hadn’t heard it before, but before I spoke I was surprised to see Jack edge up through the crowd behind Janelle. “Oh, hi, Jack,” I said. I didn’t want to get into a discussion of any other potential suspects with him there—not yet, at least.
He held a half-empty beer glass, which he raised slightly as if to toast me. “Hi, Carrie. I’ll go get another chair.” He bent to put his glass on the table, then walked off again.
“Was he here before?” I asked the others. Maybe I’d stolen his chair, which was fine with me. I didn’t mind a minute of respite before I got into whatever discussion we would have.
Bad to the Bone Page 16
