by Leslie Caine
“That’s never going to happen,” Mikara said. “Not on my watch, anyway. We’re not looking to expand the profile of the Goodwin estate. We just want it to be the premiere bed-and-breakfast inn in the state of Colorado. If not the country.”
“Good to see that you’re keeping your goals modest,” Alfonso said with a nod. “I’ve seen all I need to see. You know how to reach me. We’ll talk again, maybe.”
We exchanged a brief round of good-byes, and he left. Mikara sank into a chair. “Oh, damn it all,” she said on a sigh. “I came so close to pulling a rabbit out of my hat, just now. Only to watch him hop out the front door.”
“I’m sorry, Mikara,” Cameron said. “I didn’t know he was here.”
“He might want the job yet,” I said.
Mikara looked at me. “You think so? Really?” Her voice was rife with sarcasm.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Cameron asked. “For all he knows, we were dickering about the cost of the drapes.”
“Every kitchen in Snowcap Village is trying to get Alfonso to sign on the dotted line! The man has won Top Chef awards. He just happens to be trying to scale down under orders from his doctor, who said he needs to avoid stress. Stress! Like, oh, I don’t know, people shouting at one another!”
“Well, in that case,” Cameron retorted, “God only knows what he’s doing, looking to settle in Snowcap Village. Half the town will want to lynch him for bringing yet more of the Vail/Aspen scene to Snowcap, and the other half will worship at his feet and want to elect him mayor. Come to think of it, he couldn’t help but do a better job than Henry.”
Chapter 18
I heard footsteps descending the stairs and rolled my eyes, knowing that Henry had just overheard Cameron’s last remark. Cameron turned around and said, “No offense, Henry.” After a beat, he added, “Hello, Chiffon.”
Henry stepped through the doorway, Chiffon hanging onto his arm. “I’m mayor till next November, no matter what happens, and I’m not seeking reelection. Who’s the poor slob you think ‘half the town’ might want to elect to replace me?”
“I was just talking about the cook that Mikara was interviewing. His name’s Alfonso, but he—”
“Is that his first or his last name?” Henry asked.
“The Alfonso?!” Chiffon cried. “Omigod! He’s like only one of the hottest chefs on the planet! We have got to try to convince him to come here.” She scanned our faces, stopping at Mikara, who was still flopped in the easy chair across from Sullivan and me. “Does he know I’m a co-owner? Did anyone tell him I was here?”
“It slipped my mind somehow,” Mikara said in a droll voice.
“Did Alfonso say where he was going next?” Chiffon asked. “I don’t mean to brag, but he needs to be made aware that there is already a celebrity associated with the inn. He’ll be more inclined to accept a position here once he knows that.”
“I told him about Audrey Munroe,” Mikara replied. “In fact, the two of them had a lovely chat about her show just before she had to leave for a taping at the studio.”
“Ha-ha,” Chiffon said venomously. “You know full well that I was talking about my own celebrity status. This is an opportunity we can’t afford to waste. As co-owner, I need to track him down and talk up the inn.” She strode up to Mikara’s chair and leaned down to whisper, “Would you guess that Alfonso is gay or straight?”
“I’m afraid I can never trust my own judgment on that,” Mikara replied. “And maybe that’s because I just plain don’t care either way. People are just people to me.”
Chiffon straightened and trotted back over to Henry. She grabbed his arm and nuzzled against him. “No offense, sweetie. I’m just trying to get the skinny on how I can best present myself to Alfonso.”
“How about not at all?!” Mikara retorted.
Chiffon ignored her. All of the men had mildly pained expressions on their faces, and, like me, were probably mentally concocting excuses to leave the room. “Steve? You’re a designer. You’ve got to have good gay-dar, right?”
“Gay-dar?” he repeated.
“What’s with all the fake birds?” Cameron asked, in an obvious diversionary tactic. He indicated the ornaments on the coffee table, where Audrey had stashed many of them until we had the chance to hang them.
“They’re miniature versions of our holiday theme decorations. Audrey made them for the tree.”
“Holiday theme?” He curled his lip. “You’re not doing ‘Hansel and Gretel’ indoors, too, are you?”
“Of course not. It’s the Twelve Days of Christmas. One day for each of the twelve largest rooms in this house.”
“Good. That will look much nicer than a house full of edible gingerbread furniture.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment nearby, so I’d better shove off.” He smirked at Sullivan. “Don’t worry, Steve. My appointment isn’t with Ben.”
“Super,” Steve snapped.
Cameron glared at him, then shifted his gaze to me and opened his mouth as though he was about to tell me something, but thought better of it. He turned and left without a word.
Wendell joined us for dinner that night at Audrey’s insistence. She made such a fabulous meal—roasted leg of lamb with new potatoes, green beans, and spinach salad—that none of us was about to complain. Afterward, Wendell, Henry, and Steve went to the den to watch some minor football bowl game. Mikara insisted that it was her turn to do the dishes. Audrey and I hung her new Christmas ornaments; she had nine of the twelve days’ worth of decorations ready to go.
With Audrey supervising, I gamely hung the partridge-on-the-pear on the highest bough and worked my way down. I was able to get off the ladder by the time I reached day eight; we were going to have to leave a gap for uncompleted days nine through eleven, but we could hang the twelve drummers down low.
“Should we each hang six of these?” I asked Audrey.
She was staring at me with a stern look on her face. My first thought was that I’d somehow loused things up, but I gave the tree a quick backward glance, and it looked stunning to me.
“Erin, I think it’s important that you don’t lose sight of your priorities.”
“Meaning what? Am I putting too much emphasis on the tree? The holly? The Twelve Days decorations we ordered online will start arriving tomorrow, so we’re going to get into that full-tilt then, and the whole house really won’t take us all that long.”
“I mean with regard to you and Steve.”
She’d thoroughly surprised me, and I asked in complete sincerity, “What are you talking about?” I glanced toward the den to make sure he wasn’t in earshot. The television set was still blaring. “My priorities are completely straight where Steve is concerned.”
“You’re making him jealous over Cameron.”
“No, I’m not! I told Steve flat out that I don’t love Cameron; that I love him.”
“And yet the message doesn’t seem to be getting through to either one of them. Earlier today, Steve told me that he’s afraid to leave you and Cameron alone, even.”
I clicked my tongue. Lowering my voice to ensure that Mikara couldn’t hear me from the kitchen, I said, “That’s because Steve has this ridiculous notion that Cameron killed Angie Woolf. Even though that’s next to impossible. Cameron would never kill anyone. Plus, I saw him arrive that day. He whisked me off to dinner minutes later …all the while acting perfectly normal.”
Audrey hesitated for a moment, then put a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness!” She grabbed my arm and gave it a squeeze. “I assumed Steve believed that you and Cameron were having an affair …but he’s just afraid you’ll be killed!”
I sighed. “It’s symptomatic of how my life’s been going, that your statement made perfect sense to me.”
She gave me a sly grin. “So this is really it for you, isn’t it, Erin? You’re going to settle down with the love of your life … produce a bundle of joy or two …future kick-ass designers, maybe?”
“We haven’t talked ab
out settling down yet.” Annoyed, I turned my back on her and started to circle the tree, paying little attention as I randomly stuck drummers on the bottom branches. “And quite frankly, I’ve vowed not to think about it till I’m absolutely certain that Sheriff Mackey isn’t going to throw one of us in jail for a murder that we didn’t commit. In other words, I’m keeping my priorities straight.”
“Oh, pish posh! Women are natural multitaskers. Your romantic life has absolutely nothing to do with the murder investigation.”
“Unless you consider the fact that my lover thinks my ex-lover is guilty of the crime.”
“Fine. The investigation and your romance are loosely related. In any case, you don’t mind if I do some checking into Steve’s intentions, do you?”
“Yes, Audrey! I do mind! Vehemently, even! I don’t know if Steve’s ready to propose to me. If anything, he’s probably feeling less like doing so now, the way things are falling apart here at the inn. But one thing we all know is that a woman was strangled a few yards from where we’re standing! Now is not the time for you to be snooping into things like if or when Steve is thinking about proposing to me.”
It suddenly hit me that we were standing in the infamous lobby/central hallway, where sound carried as if we were on an acoustic stage. I turned a full three-sixty and saw no one. The television still blared. For once, a truly inappropriate statement had apparently been uttered in this hall without being overheard.
Audrey, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow. “Fine, Erin.” She set down her handful of drummers on a step of the ladder. “Never let it be said that I butt into people’s lives where I’m not welcome.”
She walked off in a huff, and I refrained from retorting that she rarely failed to butt into my and Steve’s lives, regardless of our pleas otherwise.
Something awoke me from a sound sleep. I sat upright, my heart racing. I must have had a bad dream, but, if so, it had already erased itself from my memory banks.
The other side of the bed was empty. The ray of light surrounding the edges of the drapes was muted. I glanced at our alarm clock. It wasn’t even seven A.M. Steve had risen early.
I arose and parted the curtains, peering toward the street. There was a group of a half dozen people gathering out on the sidewalk. How bizarre! Sullivan was trotting toward them from the house, gesturing for everybody to move away from the Santa’s sleigh.
I stared in horror. Below me, I could see Steve slowing his pace as he approached the sled.
Someone must have played a prank on the inn again. Surely that was the only possible explanation. And yet, for all the world, it looked like a man was upside down in the sleigh.
Chapter 19
I ran downstairs, stepped into my boots, threw a coat over my nightgown, and dashed out the front door. The snow was dappled in red near the runners of the sleigh. Blood. This was not a prank. A man had been murdered. It hadn’t snowed since before the open house and all of our snowmen, so the entire front yard was a mass of footprints.
I neared the now gruesome sleigh but, for several seconds, was unable to fully comprehend what I was seeing. The black cashmere coat, tailored slacks, and Italian leather shoes were indisputable. Cameron Baker had been murdered.
“Cameron! Oh, my god!” I cried. I had an image of his poor parents and his little sister. They would be devastated beyond repair.
The half dozen people who’d gathered were watching me, nobody speaking, their expressions blank.
“Erin,” Steve said, grabbing me. “You don’t—”
“Who would do something like this?!”
Steve pulled me into his arms and forced me to look away from the hideous sight. “Erin. I’m so sorry.”
“How long have you been out here? Why didn’t you call me? Why are all these people here?”
“A jogger spotted Cameron’s body. Just a couple of minutes ago. He didn’t have a phone with him. They’d already called the police by the time I awoke and looked out the window. I was going to go back inside and tell you the moment the police arrived. It didn’t feel right just …deserting him.”
Rage welled inside me. Was this my lot in life? My permanent curse? To have people I cared about get murdered? “Deserting him? You hated him!”
“Stop,” he said gently.
Police sirens were growing louder. Damn it all! We were going to have Sheriff Mackey arrive any second now! Cam was dead, and now I was going to have to face an interrogation by an arrogant idiot. He who would probably assume I had killed the first man I’d ever loved! Or else that Steve had killed him out of jealousy.
“It’s going to be all right, darling,” Steve said. “We’ll get through this.”
“How?” I asked as the first patrol car pulled up. This time Sheriff Mackey drove himself, his hapless deputy riding shotgun.
Mackey emerged from his vehicle as the second car arrived, parking behind his at the foot of the driveway. He gestured at the six bystanders across the street, half of whom, like me, were wearing coats and boots over their pajamas. “I need a ten-yard periphery around the body!”
They looked at one another, nobody moving. “You mean you want us to form a circle, Sheriff?” a man in a jogging suit asked.
“No! Just back up a step or two!”
Steve and I were the only people anywhere near the sleigh, so we both took a small step back. Steve took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. A slaying in the sleigh, I thought as Mackey approached the grisly sight. Apparently, I was losing my mind in the face of my ever-deepening troubles.
“Ah, Christ,” Mackey said, looking into the sleigh. “Here’s the murder weapon. Looks like he got stabbed right in the carotid artery with the end of a skate. Either of you know whose skates these are?”
“Chiffon Walters’s,” I replied. “She left them in the mudroom yesterday afternoon.”
Mackey looked at the two of us. “Did you notice if the skates were still in the mudroom last night?”
“I noticed a pair of pink skates hanging on a hook the last time I used the back door, which was around five or five-thirty yesterday evening,” Sullivan said.
“I don’t think I’ve been in the mudroom since four-thirty yesterday,” I said.
“The killer had access to Goodwin’s back room last night,” Mackey said to himself. “That’s a start.”
Frankly, I was surprised; that was the most intelligent thing I’d heard the man say to date.
The front door flew open, and Mikara raced across the snow-covered lawn toward us, her eyes wide and her face flushed. “Now what’s happened?” she asked.
“Stay back!” Mackey yelled.
Mikara stopped running and stood staring at us from several feet away.
“Penderson,” Mackey called over his shoulder. “Tape off the area. And stop anyone else in Goodwin’s house from coming—”
One after the other, Chiffon, Audrey, and Henry charged out the door toward us. “Hold it right there, everyone,” Mackey called. The deputy strode purposefully toward them as they stopped next to Mikara.
“Oh, my god,” Chiffon exclaimed. “That looks like Cameron Baker’s coat! He was wearing it last night!”
“You saw him last night?” Audrey promptly asked.
“Yeah. We had dinner at The Nines.” She grabbed Henry’s arm and said to him, “I just needed to talk to him about the inn, is all. It was important. I knew he could help us figure out how to land Alfonso as our pastry chef, to raise the inn’s profile.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Henry replied in clipped tones.
“Did you and Mr. Baker go ice skating after dinner?” Mackey asked her.
“Ice skating?” she asked. “No. Why?”
“A pink ice skate is, uh, in the sleigh,” the deputy replied.
“Oh, jeez!” Chiffon exclaimed. “That must be mine.”
“Cameron’s car is still parked behind the house,” Mikara said. “Didn’t anyone else notice that this morning?”
“He mu
st have never made it home,” Chiffon said. “I …went upstairs to see Henry just as Cammy was leaving.”
“Do you know if your skates were still in the back room at that time?” Mackey asked.
“No. I gave them to Cameron to hang in the ski lodge.”
“You gave Cameron Baker your ice skates,” Mackey repeated, more a statement than a question.
“Yes. The lights were still on downstairs, so I asked him to come in and discuss his ideas for hiring Alfonso with Henry and Audrey, but Mikara was the only one around. We got to talking about my skating. I was a competitive skater when I was younger, and we all know how museums and restaurants always like to have souvenirs from celebrities to put on display. So I gave Cameron my skates to put on public display at the ski lodge.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” Mikara said.
“You’d already left the room,” Chiffon countered.
“In other words,” Mackey said, “Baker was carrying your skates out the back door when you last saw him?”
“Right. At about ten-thirty last night.”
“And you spent the entire rest of the night with Henry Goodwin?”
Chiffon paled visibly and hesitated. “That’s right.” She released Henry’s arm and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her plum-colored parka.
I met Steve’s gaze. It was true that Audrey had said she was tired and had gone to bed early, but Steve and I both knew that the rest of Chiffon’s story was a lie. Henry had left the house at a few minutes after ten P.M., joking to Steve and me that he was heading out on the town, and we were not to wait up for him. Not wanting to deal with Chiffon, we had tiptoed up the stairs half an hour later when we heard the back door open and her calling out, “Oh, good, Mikara. You’re still awake.” Although it was quite possible Cameron had been with her at the time, Henry had definitely not yet returned.
Mackey announced that he wanted to take everyone’s statements at the station house. He and his deputy brought Steve and me separately to start the process. Mackey realized once we arrived that he’d made a tactical error; there wasn’t a solid wall between the two desks, which meant that we’d hear what the other was saying. Mackey and his underling conferred, then the deputy led Sullivan through a door in the back, which, judging by the building’s dimensions, housed the jail cells. My heart was not only racing but seemed to be beating irregularly—palpitating every few minutes. I’d rather have been thrown into a tiny cell than forced to endure Mackey’s questions, but my choices were limited; en route I’d told him about the inconsistencies in Chiffon’s story, and I wanted to back that up by being as cooperative as possible.
