Holly and Homicide

by Leslie Caine

  Mackey offered me coffee and displayed a veneer of basic humanity as he asked about my relationship with Cameron. His veneer cracked after the three or four minutes it took for me to give him the gist of our personal history. “From what I hear tell,” Mackey said snidely, “you and Cam had quite the reunion kiss at the inn last week.”

  “We were both happily surprised to suddenly see each other again, a decade later.”

  “You’re sure he was surprised, too? That the whole thing hadn’t been secretly prearranged?”

  “Prearranged? No. That doesn’t make any sense. Cameron was as surprised as I was.”

  Mackey bobbed his head as though he hadn’t been listening and was instead framing his next question. “One thing that’s not a secret is how jealous Steve Sullivan was of Mr. Baker. Care to comment about that?”

  I clenched my fists below his eye level, trying hard not to let him goad me into snapping at him. “Yes. Steve was angry about the kiss. We both got over it. Cameron accepted that I was now in a serious relationship with someone else. Steve was with me all last night. Neither of us killed Cameron Baker.”

  “You sound pretty upset, Miss Gilbert.”

  “I am! Of course! A man I once loved was brutally murdered right below my bedroom window! It’s highly upsetting to me!”

  Mackey peered at me and rocked back and forth in his desk chair, a spring making an annoying high-pitched squeak all the while. I wasn’t doing well on my vow not to snap at the ignoramus. “And you have no idea who killed him?”

  “No, I don’t. I can’t begin to understand how he could have brought Chiffon to the inn, come inside, and then been killed on the front lawn. All without my having heard a sound.”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty hard for me to believe, too.”

  “And yet, that’s what happened. And, like I told you earlier, Henry left the inn at ten. So I don’t know why Chiffon apparently lied about being with Henry from ten-thirty on.”

  Mackey started taking notes now. “And you didn’t hear Henry come in last night?”

  “Right. Nor did I hear Cameron’s voice. It’s an old house, very solidly built. When your doors are open, you hear everything in the central hall where the Christmas tree is. Once you’ve got them closed, though, you can’t hear a thing that’s going on in the lower levels.”

  Mackey’s jiggling in his chair increased, as if he was trying to shake an idea loose in his thick skull. “Henry could have killed him. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill a man out of jealousy over Chiffon.”

  “I would! They only recently started casually dating. Those two truly are not a committed couple, Sheriff Mackey.”

  “Yeah, the ‘committed couple’ is you and Sullivan.”

  “But we were together all last night! We’re both innocent!”

  “Barring either of you being a real solid sleeper.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and gave me a sly grin. He tapped his notepad. “Could have been either one of you, once you take deep sleep in this soundproof house into consideration.”

  I stared at him, dumbstruck. The man had seemed to be stupid, yet he’d managed to elicit self-incriminating statements from me.

  By the time the sheriff’s deputy gave us a ride back to the inn, I felt miserable. The police tape had marked off a substantial area, but the driveway itself was still unblocked. Cameron’s car was not there, so the police must have towed it away while we were at the station.

  Steve put his arm around me as we made our way toward the back door. “Maybe it’d be best if you stayed in bed all day today and just …zoned out,” he suggested.

  I shook my head. “I know Sheriff Mackey won’t approve, but I’m going back to Crestview tonight. I want to talk to Linda about all of this.”

  “It’s not in her jurisdiction and—”

  “I know that! I want to talk to her as a friend. And get her advice. I’m not going to let Sheriff Mackey railroad one of us and make false accusations against us.”

  “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  “No, please don’t. I need some time alone. And at home. I’ll drive back up tomorrow morning.”

  Steve hesitated, then replied, “Okay. Well, then, I’ll just …hold down the fort here.”

  Chapter 20

  I packed my overnight bag and drove directly to the Crestview police station. The woman at the desk in the lobby told me that Linda—Sergeant Delgardio—was out, and so I asked to see Detective O’Reilly. When his tall but unathletic frame leaned in the doorway, I’d never been happier to see him; in truth, this was my first time being glad to see the man. He tended to act highly skeptical at my every statement, a habit that had driven me up these eggshell-white walls on numerous occasions. After dealing with Sheriff Mackey, though, I felt like kissing O’Reilly’s feet.

  Even as he was holding the lobby door for me, he told me, “We don’t have any jurisdiction up in Snowcap, you realize.”

  “I know. I’m just hoping for some good advice on what to do.”

  Our eyes met and I could sense from his somber expression that he’d heard the latest reports. “Was the second victim a friend of yours?”

  “My college boyfriend. Cameron Baker.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  He escorted me to his desk, and I dropped into the cheap chrome-and-gray-fabric chair facing him. As he took his own seat, I told him honestly, “I never realized how good the Crestview Police Department was until I ran into Sheriff Mackey.”

  He seemed to mull my statement in silence for a long time. Finally, he glanced to either side and leaned forward. “Erin, my advice, as a …” he paused, then continued, “off the record, is to get a lawyer. And to stay here in Crestview. Walk away from this place in Snowcap you’re designing.”

  “That’s what I want to do. But, the thing is, a man who once meant the world to me was murdered today. There’s a buffoon in charge of the investigation. And I think he might be taking payoffs from Wendell Barton.”

  “Wendell Barton is the business mogul who pretty much owns the town of Snowcap, right?”

  “Right. Cameron’s boss. I think it’s very possible that Wendell either killed these people himself, or that he hired a henchman.”

  O’Reilly rubbed at his temples. “Would he have any reason to kill his right-hand man?”

  “Maybe. Cam seemed to be getting into something of a power struggle with Wendell. A whole lot of rancor could have developed over time. Or maybe Cam had recently uncovered information that Wendell was bilking businesses in town …something along those lines.” I was speaking off the top of my head, but during the long drive down from the mountains, I’d been formulating a theory. “One possibility that occurred to me is that Wendell’s ski resort could be a link between both victims. Angie Woolf—the first victim—and Cameron could have discovered that Wendell’s resort had been cutting corners. Just the other day, there was a ski lift accident, and a girl’s parents were threatening to sue. Angie was a building inspector, but she also did other types of inspections. She could have done a safety inspection of some kind on the lifts and discovered serious problems.”

  O’Reilly pondered this for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I suspected he was either battling a headache or was surprisingly worried about me. “Is this all just conjecture, or do you have evidence?”

  “Conjecture.”

  “Then let’s look at this realistically for a moment. With all of Barton’s money and power in the town of Snowcap, even if you’re right, Erin, a crack investigative team is going to have to amass foolproof evidence.”

  “What exactly would you term ‘foolproof evidence’?”

  He sighed. “A half dozen witnesses plus a visual recording of Barton committing one or both murders, along with a taped confession. At which point you’ll still only have a fifty-fifty chance of conviction.”

  “Barton will go scot-free.”

  “If he’s guilty.” O’Reilly held my gaze for a long
moment. “After fifteen years as a cop, it pains me to suggest this …Then again, I’ve already told you to get a lawyer, which is like an atheist chanting to Allah, so … Hire a good P.I., Erin. Also, stay the hell out of Snowcap. And, whatever else you do, steer clear of the investigation yourself.”

  Feeling more discouraged than ever, I drove to Audrey’s house, eager to cuddle with Hildi and a cup of mint tea, and to spend a couple of uninterrupted hours alone with my thoughts and my cat. Hildi trotted partway toward me as I entered the front room through the French doors. As if suddenly remembering my unforgivable absenteeism, she stopped, raised her hackles, rr-red at me, then pranced out of sight.

  Half an hour or so later, after I’d ensconced myself in my favorite sage-colored sofa in the den, she gradually warmed up to strutting past me with her cute little pink nose in the air, flicking the white tip of her tail at me. (I’ve always considered that gesture feline for a raised middle finger.) An hour after my return, she deigned to join me at the far end of the sofa. Several minutes later, after much suitably reverent coaxing on my part, she climbed into my lap and purred as I stroked her black, satin-smooth fur and thought about Cam. We’d been the center of each other’s universe at one time. He’d had an uncanny ability to sense my moods, and always knew the perfect thing to say or do. We couldn’t wait to be together, and whenever we were apart, nothing felt real or significant till we’d had the chance to discuss it in detail. For an entire year after we’d first met, I’d half suspected he could read my mind and barely cared either way; he was so kind and loving that I never had any negative thoughts about him. He made me feel wonderful about myself.

  When the doorbell rang within a minute or two of Hildi’s and my reconciliation, I jumped a little. Hildi let out an indignant growl, hopped off my lap, and rushed from the room, leaving a trail of silent recriminations in her wake. I marched toward the door, silently composing the tirade I would deliver if this was a door-to-door salesperson. I threw the door open without looking through the sidelight.

  Steve stood on my front porch, a sheepish smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I came to find you. I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Steve. I’m just extremely upset. Cameron is dead. And I can’t talk to you about that.” My words, however unfair or unprovoked, were coming out in a torrent now. “I don’t want to have to think about your feelings every time I say something or remember something about him. I want to be selfish and sad for my loss just for this one putrid day in my life. Without having to always guard myself, to always consider how my grief affects you.” Even as I was speaking, I was horrified at myself; just because my statements were true didn’t mean I should voice them.

  “You can be as unguarded as you want, Erin.” Steve’s voice was steady, although I could see the pain in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about my feelings. They aren’t going to change, no matter what. I’m in love with you.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear, Steve. It is. And I’m sorry, I truly am. But …I can’t be with you right now. I need to be alone. I need to think about the past.”

  “Okay. You know how to find me. Take care.” He kissed me on the forehead and walked away.

  I went back inside the house, reclaimed my seat, and started to cry. Hildi, the sweet little kitty that she was, promptly dropped her finicky behavior and hopped onto my lap once more. An hour or so later, we were both in the kitchen and in better spirits when the doorbell rang a second time. I assumed it was Steve and weighed deserting my quest for private time, but it was Linda Delgardio.

  “You’ve been crying,” she said the instant I opened the door. “You’re grieving over the second murder in Snowcap Village?”

  I nodded.

  She pulled me into a hug, and I realized then that I’d really come to Crestview and spurned Steve because I needed not alone time, but rather girlfriend time. Although not without considerable guilt, I asked Linda if she could stay for a while. She wound up staying for hours, discussing the murders and the fool in charge of the investigation, but also my grief for poor Cameron. It was wonderfully cathartic, and afterwards, I was able to call Steve and talk freely about my feelings.

  The next morning, my cell phone rang at six-thirty. My heart started pounding when I saw that it was Audrey. She immediately asked: “Erin, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “No reason. It’s not an emergency. But Wendell’s calling a meeting of everyone associated with the inn at nine this morning.”

  “That’s a relief. I’m glad that’s all it is. I’ve gotten so I panic when the phone rings at an odd hour.”

  “Is Steve with you?”

  “No, he spent the night at his house.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I told him not to drive down after you, but he wouldn’t listen. I knew things would get strained between you two. Cameron’s death is so … horrible and heartbreaking.”

  “We’re okay, Audrey. I called Steve last night and spoke to him at length. He said all the right things.”

  “In that case, could you see if he can possibly get up here by nine? I’m assuming you’ll want to stay put, and it’s not a problem if neither of you makes it back up today, but Wendell wants to speak with each of us. He’s concerned about everyone giving up on the inn.”

  “So we’re supposed to vow our allegiance to the inn? The day after finding Cameron’s body in the front yard?”

  Audrey clicked her tongue. “He’s also worried about morale. He means well, Erin.”

  “But, Audrey … what if he doesn’t? What if he’s behind the killings?”

  “I’m sure he isn’t, Erin. Call Steve for me, would you?”

  She hung up without waiting for a reply.

  Steve wanted me to stay in Crestview (as did Linda and Detective O’Reilly), but Sheriff Mackey was probably already on the verge of issuing an APB for my arrest. Besides, finishing our job at the inn was growing into an obsession with me.

  Steve and I caravanned back to the inn and arrived at about ten minutes after nine. By then, everyone—Ben, Mikara, Audrey, Chiffon, Henry, and Wendell—was gathered around the kitchen table, making small talk. As soon as we grabbed the last two chairs at the table, Wendell said, “Let’s get this thing under way. Folks, we’ve had big shocks in the last couple of weeks. It’s inconceivable that two such fine young people have been murdered here on the grounds.”

  “You can say that again,” Mikara muttered.

  “Even so, we can’t allow ourselves to fall apart,” Wendell continued. “Personally, I suspect that there’s someone in town who’s responsible for these murders and who is trying to frame us. I’m cooperating fully with Sheriff Mackey, and I’ve hired my own investigative team to get to the bottom of these murders.”

  “You have?” I blurted out. “Who?”

  Wendell ignored me. “In the meantime, we all deserve and need a break from the routine. I’ve hired a van to take us and our equipment to the resort, and the driver has your all-day passes for each of you. I want everyone to breathe in some fresh air, get some exercise, and take a holiday from the tragedies that we’ve been forced to endure.”

  This was utterly tasteless and shallow! Taking a group ski day to recuperate from a murder? Everyone else was looking around, gauging reactions. Chiffon broke the silence. “I think Cam and Angie would want us to quit moping around the house. Excellent suggestion, Wendell. Thank you for being so generous.”

  “I don’t actually own skis,” Ben said quietly.

  “I made out a few passes for free rentals, for just that very reason,” Wendell countered.

  Feeling a bit like a little child shoved out the door to “go have fun” despite terrible weather, I rose, as did Steve, and we went with the flow.

  “Oh, look, Erin!” Chiffon said as she and I schussed our way toward the first ski lift at the base of the lodge. “You and I have identical skis! How funny!”


  I glanced at her feet. She was right. “They might be the same skis and bindings, but I have no doubt that they look better on you,” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Actually, you look right at home.”

  “That’s only because we’re on level ground.”

  Steve grinned at me. The four of us—Chiffon, Henry, Steve, and I—had been able to head straight for the lifts. Mikara and Ben were renting equipment, and Wendell was taking Audrey on a tour of the lodge itself.

  She smiled. “Maybe so, but you’re looking pretty comfortable. The real rookies can’t even manage that much.”

  Henry and Chiffon were ahead of us in line and shared a chairlift; Steve and I got onto the next one. The view from the lift was magnificent. As I quietly said to Steve, much as I hated to admit it, Wendell was right. This fresh, nippy air and the glorious scenery were lifting my spirits in spite of myself.

  We skied off the chairlifts. Feeling hesitant to reveal my lack of skills on skis to the others, I hung back at the top of the slope. Sullivan waited with me while Henry and Chiffon took off, zigzagging expertly down the trail. The sky was crystal clear, and I could see the inn from where I was standing, visible below the still-natural portion of the mountain. Till now, I hadn’t realized how close the inn was to the unused half of the mountain, where no trails were located. Many large sections of land in Colorado were owned by the state parks and national forests and could not be built upon, so maybe Wendell didn’t own that property.