Powdered Murder (Bison Creek Mysteries Book 1)

by A. Gardner

  "Here is your itinerary," she said. "Tonight is the bridal shower and you have to be there."

  "Listen, Joy, I don't know if this is such a good idea--"

  "Do not spoil this for me," she interrupted, breaking her professional composure. She stopped herself when Martha casually glanced over her shoulder. "I promise I will . . . do your laundry for a month. I will give you a year's worth of spa vouchers. I will have your car detailed. Please, do this for me. Please. Please. Please."

  "Fine," I replied quietly. "But after this, no more bringing up that time I went with you and your softball team to the ice caves."

  Joy leaned in closer. "If I hadn't have grabbed your hand when you started to slip, you might have died."

  "I know," I responded. "But you can't keep bringing that up every time you need a favor. We were teenagers."

  "Okay." She exhaled. "My lips are sealed from now on."

  "And I want the spa vouchers."

  She nodded in agreement.

  "And," I quickly added before she left the room, "No more digging through my closet when I'm out for a run."

  "Anything else?" Joy asked with a forced smile on her face.

  I could have asked for a whole lot more, but I shook my head. As Joy quietly left the fitness studio, I flipped through the pages of my weekend schedule. I instantly frowned when I realized that the actual wedding was on Sunday. No amount of favors or spa vouchers would keep me from having to watch Patrick take Lila's hand and say “I do.” Seeing him again, even for a few minutes, made me feel like I was still that chunky little girl who had knitted her own mittens to match her prom dress.

  "What have you got there?" Martha asked. As soon as her five minutes were up, she bounced off her treadmill and immediately peered over my shoulder. "Oh my," she gasped. "Don't tell me that you're part of the wedding party?"

  Taryn looked up from her yoga mat and stared at us.

  "Not officially."

  "Honey," Martha didn't hesitate as she snatched my itinerary and began looking through it. "This looks pretty official to me. Well, how about that? After all these years, our dear Patrick is putting one of his little childhood friends in his wedding. Oh, what a sweetheart."

  "That's not exactly what happened," I said quietly.

  "Oh, Essie," she said, sizing me up and down. "You shouldn't even be here right now. You have a million things to do. You need a gift for tonight, and a dress. You have a fitting this afternoon. You have a dress rehearsal tomorrow. This is so exciting!"

  There were butterflies in the pit of my stomach, but it wasn't from the excitement. I was more nervous than ever to see Patrick again. Just thinking about the way he'd grabbed my hand made me wish I was too tall and too fat to wear that extra bridesmaid dress. I hadn’t known what to do or say when Patrick stood there watching me. He had a way of making me so nervous that the room around me started spinning.

  "I guess." I gulped.

  "You look like you could use some help. Do you even know what to bring to the bridal shower?"

  "Not really." I shook my head. "My cousin had one the night before her wedding, but it was more of a wild girls' night than a fancy shower."

  "You mean one of those parties with candy shaped like man parts?" Martha commented nonchalantly. I looked in Taryn's direction just in time to see her roll her eyes.

  "I would rather not say."

  "Of course, dear." Mrs. Millbreck winked before she marched to her first exercise on the squat machine. "You have a lot to think about, and I have a ladies' lunch to attend after this so let's get started, shall we?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  My dress fitting went by too fast, and before I knew it was nearing dinner time. The hour had come for me to join Lila and her other bridesmaids at the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort Spa. I'd thought all day about the things Mrs. Millbreck had said. I needed a new dress. A gift. The poise to waltz alongside Patrick and his new bride on the dance floor. But instead of taking on my bridesmaid duties, I ended up browsing the cooking section at The Painted Deer Bookshop.

  Drooling over pictures of desserts is one of my guilty pleasures, but it's probably more torturous than satisfying. I live on Canyon Street above the book store which wasn't the smartest idea on my part since the shop owner, Mrs. Tankle, is my Landlady.

  I'd driven away from town and towards Pinecliffe Mountain with nothing to give Lila for her big day. I pulled up to the staff parking lot and noticed something out of the ordinary. There were extra cars parked in the visitor's lot. More so than usual. Most of the resort's guests opted to have their cars valeted when they came into town. Parking on sheets of ice could be uncomfortably tricky in the chilly winter months. January especially. The visitor's lot was normally only half full.

  I stepped out of my car and grabbed my gym bag just as my path was blocked by a thin man in a navy blue ski jacket. His smile was way too white to be a wandering local from a neighboring town. He had to have come from the city. I clenched my fist out of habit as he smiled and nodded at me.

  Adrenaline always pumps through my veins when strange men approach me, especially in the staff parking lot. I chalk it up to my naive college days when it seemed like a clever idea to go for a run through campus after sundown. The silence helped me clear my thoughts. The downside was a man in a hoodie standing behind a street lamp casually smoking a cigarette and staring in my direction. I nixed the late night jogs after I saw him along my running route on more than one occasion. He even tried talking to me once, blocking my path to get me to stop. It creeped me out.

  "Hello," the man said.

  "Can I help you?" Hotel management insisted that we be polite to all potential guests.

  "Why yes, you can."

  He followed me towards the staff entrance that led to the employee lounge. I stopped just outside the door, keeping my badge in my pocket. I waited as the man clasped his hands together and eyed my gym bag.

  The only time I've ever been robbed was when Joy and I went to Vegas for an Aerosmith concert. And technically I was almost pick-pocketed, but I happened to turn around and face the culprit before he was able to pull anything out of my purse. I remember thinking how weird it was that some random stranger was standing so close to us. He'd stopped walking and quickly crossed the street just as I looked down and realized my purse had been unzipped.

  If this man was aiming to steal my bag and its inexpensive contents then he was about to be disappointed. If he succeeded then he would have stolen a brand new lipstick, a borrowed cocktail dress, a cashless wallet, an employee polo shirt, my name tag, and two double fudge protein bars.

  "If you are looking for accommodations our concierge will be more than happy to assist you inside," I replied.

  "I already have a room booked," he answered.

  "Then what is it you want?"

  "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions." The man eagerly studied my expression. When he noticed the way my jaw was clenched and how my feet were positioned in a defensive stance, he took a step back. "Please, I'm not looking for trouble. I am just trying to do my job."

  "Which is?"

  "Um.…"

  He scratched his chin and casually rubbed the tip of his rounded nose. It was starting to turn pink from the cold. His ski jacket was zipped up to his neck and he was wearing ski gloves, but the pieces of material on the palms of the gloves weren't worn. They looked brand new. I glanced at the man's shoes. They were snow boots that also looked like they'd just been pulled from their package. This man wasn't only from out of town. He came here from out-of-state. And judging from the way he'd chosen to walk on the damp asphalt rather than the freshly fallen snow told me that he was from a warmer climate. It was better to make footprints in the snow than chance it with black ice. It was all over the parking lot this time of year.

  "Where are you from?" I asked, before he had the chance to think of some fake story that would make me feel sorry for him.

  There was only one reason that a non-tourist would v
enture all the way to Bison Creek. This man was a reporter. An out-of-town reporter which meant that he was here to dig up dirt on the only thing this town had to brag about. Patrick Jaye.

  "California," the man answered. He reached out his hand, offering me an invitation to be his ally.

  I kept my hands at my side. Joel Buntley from the local truck stop made friends once when a nosey reporter came sniffing around. An MTV tour bus broke down and stopped here last winter and Joel assisted them with getting back on the road. He'd made a hefty five grand by selling his many insights into the lives of the celebrities on board to the press, but the whole town practically shunned him for it. Plus, one of the stars on board ended up suing him for insinuating that she'd bought a pregnancy test at the convenience store.

  "Really? What brings you here?"

  “Well," he chuckled, "I'm following a story. Maybe one that you can help me with?"

  "A story," I said quietly. I gripped the badge in my pocket and leaned toward the staff entrance. “Sorry, Mr...?”

  "John," he answered. "John Slagger."

  “Let me guess, John. You are here to inquire about a guest and you thought I might want to make some extra cash?"

  "Well--"

  "I'm not interested," I said abruptly.

  "If you change your mind--"

  "I won't." I briskly swiped my badge and stepped inside the employee doors, shutting them tightly behind me.

  I headed towards my staff locker, but Joy was waiting for me in the hallway, clipboard in hand. Her eyes widened when she saw me. She glanced at her watch and speed walked in my direction. I stopped so I wouldn't run into her.

  "You're late," Joy barked.

  "I was looking for a gift for Lila." I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one had followed me inside. No one named John.

  "Let me guess," Joy replied as she placed a hand on her hips. "You couldn't figure out what to get her, so you ended up walking through Mrs. Tankle's shop and lost track of time?"

  "No … I looked at the clock." I grinned, but Joy didn't always find my sense of humor amusing.

  "Here." Joy handed me a small box wrapped with baby blue wrapping paper and a white bow. "I took care of it."

  "Thanks." I accepted the gift and slipped it into my bag. "What is it?"

  "I heard from Mr. Shapely who heard from the concierge who heard from the head maid who overheard Lila's assistant say that she still doesn't have something blue for Sunday. It's a silver anklet with a blue snowflake charm made of Swarovski crystal."

  "Hopefully it's her taste."

  "I heard from the maid assigned to her suite that she has a thing for Swarovski pieces."

  "Then she'll love it," I responded. Joy bit the inside of her cheek and drew in long breaths. Sometimes she counts as she breathes to keep herself calm. "Don't worry. Everything will go according to plan. It always does, right?"

  "It will if the paparazzi doesn't bombard this place before Sunday. I mean, I know it's inevitable, but I was hoping to prolong it for as long as possible. I promised Patrick that our staff would keep their mouths shut. It's only Friday. How am I going to make it the full weekend?"

  "There's something you should know." I cleared my throat. "I think you might have a leak that needs plugging."

  Joy huffed and her cheeks turned rosy. I knew that telling her about John would only add to her stress, but I thought it was better than having thousands of cameramen pull into town at the last second.

  "Leak?" she repeated. "What do you mean by that? What did you hear?"

  "There's a guy in the parking lot asking questions and--"

  Before I had the chance to explain any further, she pushed past me and threw open the door searching for the trespasser. I jogged to keep up with her, and to make sure she didn't dash through the parking lot in her high heels, slip, and break her neck. The wind blew through a loose strand of her dark hair as she looked left and right. John was nowhere to be seen.

  "You need to tell me everything." Joy got that look in her eye that only came when she was about to “red line,” as Dad put it when we were teenagers.

  Joy is horrible at balancing just about everything. She has the unfortunate habit of taking on too many responsibilities both at work and at home. She hasn't been on a date in months and even though she moved in with me last summer to save on rent, I rarely saw her anywhere but at the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort.

  "Okay," I agreed. I placed my hand on her shoulder and nudged her back inside. "I will when you come inside and sit for a couple of minutes. When was the last time you ate?"

  "I don't have time to sit down or eat," she answered. "You need to change and I need to make sure Ira polishes the silver for real this time, that crazy woman."

  "You mean for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night?"

  "No, Essie, I mean for the bridal shower tea you're supposed to be at in five minutes in the Aspen Room." She started speed walking again, and I had to jog some more to stay by her side. Moving that fast in high heels had to be some kind of world record. "Now come on. Get moving."

  "What am I even supposed to talk about with these women?"

  "I don't know. Shoes. Carbs. Patrick. You'll figure it out."

  * * *

  "Bebe," Lila scolded one of her bridesmaids. "You have a dress to fit into."

  Bebe discreetly pushed aside the porcelain bowl of sugar cubes and stirred her tea with a worried look on her face. She was thin just like Lila, and she wore too much perfume. Her blonde hair was curled and a diamond-studded flower clip held some of it back.

  Bebe glanced down at her wristband, a plain white band surrounded by diamond tennis bracelets. With all that bling to distract the eye, the band in between was hardly noticeable.

  The three of us were sipping our tea like it was an old time tradition, but Lila kept glaring at the grandfather clock on the wall. We were waiting for her maid of honor, Donna. She was supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago.

  The Aspen Room was the sunniest sitting room in the entire hotel. It had all white furniture and a crystal chandelier that had been flown in from Germany. I felt as though any movement other than a dainty tiptoe would cause the room to crack in half, or at least shatter the display of handcrafted vases displayed on a shelf next to the window. The owner of the resort, Mr. Kentworth, had made sure that each room was superiorly decorated with one-of-a-kind pieces. Years ago after he'd inherited the place, he transformed the quaint historic hotel into a luxurious, more modern resort. Sometimes I found myself staring at the shiny wood floors as I walked through the hallways, wondering why he'd chosen to strip the ground of its ancient ancestry and have all the wood replaced. I preferred the more traditional feel the hotel used to have.

  "Where is she?" Lila muttered to herself. "This is so typical of Donna." Lila jumped to her feet and exhaled loudly. Her assistant rushed through the door as if he'd been listening to us in the hallway.

  "Deep breaths," he said to her. "Deep breaths. Let me get you some water."

  "Where have you been?" Lila snapped at him. "I haven't seen you since lunch."

  "I told you." Her assistant's eyes darted from her to picturesque view out the window. "I had some work to catch up on." He cleared his throat and focused on her again. "Emails," he added.

  "Whatever, just find her, Franco," she commanded him. "Find out where Donna is or I will find her myself and it won't be pretty."

  "Yes, of course."

  Lila's assistant, Franco, was an older man and he obeyed Lila like she was his elderly aunt about to cut him out of her will. He wore a tailored suit and his rectangular glasses complimented his grayish facial hair. He was shorter than Lila, and could zip from one end of the room to the next like a nervous squirrel. The moment he had the opportunity to sneak out, he scurried to the door and quietly shut it behind him.

  "Ugh," Lila murmured. "I need some air." She fanned her face until she caught sight of double doors leading onto a sun deck. They were normally kept closed this time o
f year, but Lila walked right up to them and took her frustrations out on the door knob. She pushed and pulled before the doors finally creaked opened. When she walked outside into the chilly afternoon air, Bebe set her teacup down and snatched a shortbread cookie.

  "Oh Lord," Bebe said under her breath. She spoke with a southern accent that made me pay close attention when she talked. "Get me out of this nightmare. She is going to explode one of these days and someone needs to explain to her that this isn't the golden state. She can't go prancing around in the winter air like that or she'll catch a nasty cold."

  "Planning a wedding can be stressful," I responded, attempting to lighten the mood.

  "I swear she's going to fall over dead before Sunday rolls around." Bebe grabbed another shortbread cookie and shoved it in her mouth like it was her last chance to eat before the world ended. "I don't blame Bev for backing out of this at the last minute. Heavens, I wish I had thought of that first. And Donna . . . well, it wouldn't surprise me if she was boarding a flight back to L.A. right about now. Especially after last night."

  Bebe hurriedly looked over her shoulder and wolfed down another cookie. Her lips moved so fast that she reminded me of a baby sucking the life out of a brand new pacifier. When she was finished, she delicately wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. It was a complete contrast from the way she had savagely downed her food.

  "What happened last night?" I asked. I didn't touch anything at the table except my tea, though I had been eyeing a jumbo vanilla cupcake that I knew I couldn't have unless I wanted to spend the rest of my evening doing lunges.

  "Well." Bebe leaned in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I heard that Franco saw Patrick and Donna together in one of the dining rooms. It looked like they were getting just a little too cozy if you know what I mean." She giggled.

  "That doesn't sound like Patrick. Franco must have walked in at the wrong moment."

  "Maybe." Bebe shrugged. "But Franco tells Lila everything. She threw a fit."

  I raised my eyebrows and tried to imagine what Patrick and Donna must have been talking about. They could've been discussing anything, and yet Franco took it upon himself to drop a bombshell on Lila right before her wedding. If it was even true?