Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  “Was that wind or did someone just run out?” I asked.

  We fought our way back to the door, dragging Peter along. I looked back. It was nothing but flames trailing us. If Clay was in there, he was done for. I buried that chilling thought, trying to focus on getting the others out to safety.

  I had to think positive. Maybe it was just Peter that was left behind instead of Clay. Who would do this? Was the same thing planned for Hazel and Betty if they had gotten inside too? This was one too many close calls.

  It would be foolish to run back into that inferno. I said a silent prayer as we inched closer to the door, perspiring as the five of us dragged Peter toward it. By the time we reached the door, Mona grabbed the handle to open it so we could get Peter and ourselves outside to safety.

  “Hurry,” choked Hazel.

  “I can hardly breathe,” said Betty, gasping for breath.

  Martha began hacking.

  I yelled to Mona, who cursed loudly. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked back at us. “The door won’t budge.”

  I felt sick. We’d all burn to death in there. Who would save us? This chalet was on a remote trail with few skiers during the day, and after dusk, probably none at all.

  Martha kicked the door. “I’m too young to die and I’m certainly not going out like this. I’ve got too many years left to have some fun screwing with people’s minds yet. Come on, everybody. Help me push this door open!”

  We moved Peter to the side and pushed against the door.

  Then it hit me. “Wait. That door opened inward.”

  Martha looked at me. “…Okay, everybody pull!”

  Nothing. The large door handle wasn’t budging.

  It was useless. “It must be locked,” I yelled.

  The flames crept closer. Our ski goggles were leaking and we were coughing. Now what?

  Chapter 51

  Getting Outed

  Betty called out to Mona. “Hey, there’s a keyhole on the doorknob. Do you still have that key? We can unlock it.”

  Near tears, Mona swiped her sweaty brow. “No. It’s still in the doorknob outside. I didn’t think to pull it out.”

  Hazel patted Mona’s shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty. I would’ve done the same as you in all this confusion.”

  Refusing to admit defeat, I searched for an escape route.

  “How about I break that window? It hasn’t been touched by fire yet,” I said. I shoved the curtain back. “Damn!” Six by eight thick wooden panes: solid as a rock. But then I did a double take. The horse was gone. How convenient.

  I glanced back to an unmoving Peter.

  This was premeditated, attempted murder…

  Martha ran to the sink. She wet a pile of hand towels and gave each of us one to place under our scarves to cover our mouths. “It’s not much, but it might buy us time.”

  If we didn’t get out, we’d burn or suffocate to death.

  Mona gave the door an angry whack in frustration. Then we heard a whack from the other side. We were speechless.

  “Who’s in there?” yelled a voice from the outside.

  The others screamed, “Heeeeelp!”

  I almost fainted in relief. “Oh my god!” I yelled.

  All eyes turned my way.

  “What’s wrong?” Betty asked.

  “It’s our favorite gumshoe, Clay!”

  Everyone began shouting simultaneously. I kept an eye on the fire that was inching closer. “Hey,” I called out to the others. “Help me drag Peter closer to the door.”

  They all turned back and began assisting me, while still yelling for Clay to get us out. I stared down at Peter’s body.

  There were two possible motives in play here: Peter was compromised or was contaminated (he was dirty).

  Which one was it?

  Within seconds the door swung wide open.

  “Did you know there was a key in the knob?” Clay said.

  Everybody ran out, as Clay shoved each of us forward through the door. I grabbed him, pointing to the body on the floor. “It’s Peter. Hurry, get him out too,” I said, and then ran out myself, choking and crying in relief.

  Clay was alive and safe and so were we. And Peter…?

  I stood outside shivering in the cold, watching the chalet burn. If there was anyone else in there, they were toast. I shivered at the thought, as Clay’s arms encircled me from behind. I turned into his embrace, still in shock.

  “I thought you were in there,” I said unsteadily.

  He tipped up my chin with his thumb, wiped away my tears and kissed me. “I’m fine, and it appears Peter will be too. He’s slowly coming around. You and your friends saved his life.”

  I hugged him tightly chilled by what happened and my suspicions about Peter’s loyalty. Could I be wrong?

  “Oh, Clay! What is going on here?”

  He hugged me again. “…I’m not sure, but at least we’re all safe.”

  I looked at the chalet, and then at him. “…For now.”

  Looking back at the chalet, he frowned. “Yes, for now.”

  Chapter 52

  Aftershock

  I sat up with a start scanning my surroundings: the flames still licking at the edges of my nightmare. It was morning, I was in my hotel suite, and all my friends were safe and sound asleep. But all this spy business we were caught up in was very real and bordering on deadly.

  I looked over to my bedside clock, shocked to find we had slept right through breakfast. After evacuating us safely and Peter had regained consciousness, Clay then dropped Peter at his home after he adamantly refused to go to the hospital. Clay then left the rest of us back at our hotel.

  “Shouldn’t we report the fire to the police?” I had asked.

  “Best not to,” Clay replied. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  But I knew differently. He wasn’t letting go of a thing. I knew Clay. He had his own methods of investigating.

  I recalled yesterday’s intended victims. Why Peter? And why make an example of two sweet old ladies? Was a deadly process of elimination in play? Anger pulsated at the thought.

  But then I remembered who we were dealing with: spies who thought nothing of sacrificing and burning bridges for the greater cause: like saving their asses. After this, I’d like to burn a few of them myself. But I promised Clay I’d wait until his sources got back to him with some information.

  Trust me, this gumshoe’s sources ran both high and low. I just hoped Clay knew what he was doing, and that he was thinking with a clear mind. I certainly didn’t want any risk to my friends or me to escalate because of his issues.

  Martha and Mona woke first, and Hazel and Betty came into our room soon afterward. Nobody felt like skiing. I couldn’t blame them. They were still upset about the fire.

  There was a knock at our door. “It’s me, Clay.”

  I called out, “Come on in.”

  He entered smiling, but soon frowned. “No skiing?”

  “Not today,” said Martha. “Nobody is in the mood.”

  “I feel bad about what happened last night,” he said.

  I went over and kissed him lightly. “Not your fault.”

  “But still, there must be something I could do.”

  Hazel asked, “How is Peter doing?”

  “Will he be okay?” asked Betty.

  “He’s resting and will be fine.”

  Mona stood up, moaning. “I am so sore.”

  Clay’s face brightened. “I’ve got it.”

  Martha looked up from soaking her feet. “What?”

  “I’m treating all of you to a day at the hotel spa!”

  Martha eyed him, smiling. “Including nails and hair?”

  He winked, “And a body massage to boot!”

  “Now you’re talking!” laughed Martha.

  “How about it, Sam?” Clay said smiling. “You in?”

  “No, I’m typing notes while they’re fresh in my mind.”

  After they left for the spa, I got to wo
rk at my laptop.

  Before leaving, Clay had mentioned that Peter received a note about Kraus’ case too. After leaving me, Peter skied to the chalet to meet whoever said they had information.

  My theory: When Peter arrived, the door wasn’t locked. He walked in and was hit on the head.

  Was the door locked right after that?

  Then we arrived. The set explosion spread the fire. We uncovered a spare key and found Peter, but then ended up being trapped ourselves.

  Was this a stretch? Was it possible?

  We learned afterward Betty and Hazel had found their note shoved under my door, not theirs. They just ran with it, inadvertently pocketing the note and not leaving it behind for any of us to find to confirm their whereabouts. I made a lucky guess in figuring out they were headed to the chalet. I shuddered at the possible negative alternatives.

  …That computer-generated note was meant for me.

  There was no word from Clay on the chalet that burned. But we did catch the cleaning couple in our suite the night before when they showed up as they were turning down our beds. We walked in on them looking like hell: disheveled and exhausted and smelling like a fire brigade who just left a burning building. Maria nodded and continued dusting. Neither batted an eyelash at the smell or our appearance.

  They were an older couple. Maria wore a hair scarf. Carlo had dark hair. That was it. Other than that, they were sort of generic looking: uniforms covering most of their bodies, which covered their average builds and average heights. I don’t think anyone could pick them out of a lineup after just a fleeting glance at them.

  Did that play to their advantage: being invisible?

  They shook their heads speaking only Italian at our feeble attempts at conversation with them. And after a few minutes of going nowhere, we gave up trying.

  Was it possible they were spies too? They had access…

  Maria’s face brightened as she held up one of my books.

  “Sel tu l´autore?”

  I was able to understand her gesture and nodded.

  (Yes, I was the author.)

  Carlo then tapped Maria on the arm and said to us, “Ci scusi per favore.”

  And they were gone.

  “Hey, they left chocolates!” said Martha grabbing one.

  At this point, doubt stepped in. I shouted, “No, don’t!”

  Damn, Swiss Toblerone too. Better safe than sorry

  First it was the Spanx and lastly this fire.

  I sat back looking over my laptop notes. I couldn’t recall anything else that might be valuable in solving this mystery. Accurate notes were now critical because my incentives had morphed since this would be my next book, involving covert spies, the war, an assassin, (I still hadn’t forgotten Clay’s father’s murder) and some type of spy agenda that apparently still survived to this day.

  It was a spy whodunit that I thought was solvable and might even sell for both Kraus as well as me.

  Chapter 53

  Suspicious Activities

  After locking up our suite that evening, we walked to the elevator excited and looking forward to a fun evening. What a striking group they made: elegantly dressed, nails polished and hair stylishly done up in our hotel’s salon.

  Mona wore a tailored black evening dress with long sleeves and silver heels. Hazel wore a slimming wrap around emerald green dress with matching sling-back heels. Betty had on a gray long skirt and matching long-sleeved top and flats, her usual hair bun done up in an elegant French twist. I had on an off-the-shoulder red cocktail dress with matching strappy high heels. Martha completely shocked everyone with a long, elegant navy evening dress with matching shoes. Her white hair looked stunning, sleeked back behind her rhinestone-studded earlobes.

  At first, in spite of the day at the spa, no one wanted to attend, because Clay had to work, but he insisted. The formal dinner party with orchestra was a great diversion from the stress we’d been through. He said we deserved it.

  Our group came to a halt in front of yellow tape strung across the opened elevator door, blocking it. We peeked inside, surprised to see the maintenance guy, Nick. He held a cable that hung from the open ceiling hatch.

  Martha spoke first. “Nick, is everything okay?”

  He frowned. “Notta so good.”

  I peered closer. “What happened?”

  He held out clean-cut cable for all of us to see.

  “It’s-a tampered cable. Gooda thinga I founda it.”

  Betty stared at the wire. “…Why is that?”.

  “Someone coulda beena killed whena it broka.”

  Turning away, Nick shook his head, mumbling Italian.

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” whispered Martha.

  Hazel leaned on the wall of the hallway, visibly shaken.

  Betty’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh!”

  Mona scowled. “I don’t like it. Period!”

  No one said anything for a second.

  Then practical Martha shrugged. “I guess it’s the stairs.”

  We headed toward the stairway.

  The last to follow, I said, “This is far from finished.”

  From behind I swear I heard, “You gotta thatta right.”

  I whipped around and stared at Nick. “What?”

  Nick just stared, saying, “…Have a nicea night.”

  By the time we made it to the bottom and opened the lobby door, everyone had thrown in their two cents as to why the elevator was out of commission, including yours truly. Obviously, if what we all suspected was anywhere near the truth, our problems had followed us back to the hotel. Was the cut elevator cable more than just a warning?

  It sure looked like it, didn’t it?

  Chapter 54

  Dancing To A Different Beat

  We were given the same table next to the dance floor. I glanced at several couples dancing, disappointed at having no prospects of being whisked off my feet by Clay because he wasn’t with us. I was hoping we might have at least, as Martha always liked to say, trip the light fantastic. Translation: dance on the dance floor.

  I was anticipating the elegant prix fixe menu. This hotel was famous for its deluxe accommodations and superb cuisine, and as long as they didn’t serve me any raw fish sushi or carpaccio (hors d’oeuvres of thin slices of raw beef or fish served with a sauce), I was good to go.

  I don’t eat anything moving on my plate either.

  I proposed a toast. “To the unexpected…” I began.

  “May it not happen tonight,” added a laughing Martha.

  Several cheers were added to her sentiments and I got down to sampling my appetizer of sautéed scallops. Mm…

  Martha was just about to bite into another shrimp when she paused, saying, “Uh-oh.”

  Sitting next to her, I was nudged in my ribs. “What?”

  “Approaching at two o’clock: possible incoming target.”

  I gave her a questioning look until I realized she was serious. I froze, mid-fork about to turn. …Who was it?

  She placed her hand firmly on mine, whispering, “Don’t look yet, just act casual then turn. He’s headed this way.”

  What a joker she was! I immediately swung my gaze over to the dance floor, smiling, expecting to see Clay.

  He had surprised me after all.

  But instead my eyes locked onto the elderly Hans, who was approaching our table. I tried to appear relaxed. The dining room was now crowded. Nothing dangerous could happen, right? Snakes are deceiving. It was their actions that revealed their true intentions. Hans’ were camouflaged by his black tux, pleated shirt, black bow tie and diamond stud cufflinks, which transformed his appearance entirely.

  By now the others had noticed Martha’s and my focus and turned in the same direction. Both Mona and Martha showed no recognition of him whatsoever. Then Martha, Betty, Hazel and Mona started primping themselves like the guy was live bait.

  He took his time walking to us. I had to admit he didn’t look that dangerous, smiling like that
and especially since his black eye was now undetectable. Makeup?

  His elegant attire enhanced his gray hair, mustache and trim torso. Sophistication and confidence oozed off this guy. He was nothing like he appeared earlier those two times in his never varying black ski attire and sunglasses. But like I said, appearances can be deceiving. Having past experience with my crew on this subject matter, I braced myself for the unknown. What was going on?

  Chapter 55

  Say What And More…

  Martha whispered, “Hey, it’s James Bond’s father.”

  I wasn’t saying squat. This should prove interesting. Instead I waited politely for Hans to reach our table and to make the first move. He did.

  “Do you mind if I join you and order us champagne?”

  Everyone nodded, including an intrigued me.

  He snapped his fingers in the air and out of nowhere servers appeared at our table. After some instructions in German, they set another place setting down and left to get the champagne. Hans was definitely in his element and in total control. No one bothered asking his name. With all the drooling going on, I don’t think anyone really cared.

  This was a very handsome and possible eligible male.

  Where was Hans going with this? What was he trying to pull off? He knew exactly who I was and when we had last seen each other: both times. He must find this amusing. I found it odd, but definitely intriguing. So I played along.

  “Are you staying here at the hotel?” I asked casually.

  His eyes conveyed something, but in a flash it was gone.

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” he replied.

  That explained a lot.

  Still, if he complained about me to Herr Miller, why his I-don’t-know-you-attitude? It wasn’t adding up.

  He took my hand in his.

  I flinched slightly, not knowing what to expect.

  But all he did was kiss it and gave it a slight squeeze.

  This was surreal.

  I heard a collective swoon around the table.

  “Ah, such beauty,” he said directly to me then he turned to the others and winked. “A toast to all your beauty!”