by Patti Larsen
“Um.” I winced.
“Yes,” she said, “yet another reason I’d want him dead. Except, I didn’t know when he was alive what I know now that he’s gone.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed a little. “Did that make sense?”
It did. And, despite the circumstantial evidence against her—at least in my mind—she was moving further and further from the guilty department and firmly into unhappy widow who had every right to hate her dead husband without actually offing him status.
“So you have no idea how long Ron was having money problems?” I shifted the platter of cooling French bread to both hands, the heat from the bottom making my balancing palm sweat.
“Years,” she said, biting at her lower lip. “If his accountant’s confession is any indication. I wish I’d known. I might have divorced him long ago. Or not.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter anymore. “Now I wish I hadn’t been so greedy and just walked away. He didn’t deserve me.” Chin up, she turned and walked into the dining room with the tray held high. I followed her, setting mine down on the buffet while Joyce rose to help herself, Bonnie relieving herself of her burden before grabbing a plate and piling it with fruit and pastries.
“You were asking about Ron’s gambling.” Joyce flinched, clearly guilty she’d been eavesdropping but it was going around so I just nodded while Bonnie turned to listen. “There were rumors, as much about betting on horses as his infidelity.” She hesitated, reaching out one hand to touch Bonnie’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Her new best friend just shook her head. “Disappointing. But I suppose he was a cheating liar to begin with, so why not add insult to injury?”
“I can’t believe I ever…” Joyce choked on her words while Bonnie moved in to rub her back in soothing circles. I couldn’t help the climb of my eyebrows into my hairline at the scene. I mean, come on. Sure, her remorse looked real enough, but the fact Ron’s widow soothed his former mistress with fresh kindness, and, “There, there, dear,” seemed a bit farfetched.
People were so weird.
“I know the sheriff is going to ask,” I said, “if he hasn’t already. But where were you two when Ron was killed?” Was it just the night before last? If Dr. Aberstock was right and he’d been struck on the back of the head with a pot, anyone could have had the strength and reach to smother him, including these two. The fact he was sitting at the judges counter in his seat told me whoever killed him knew him, likely lured him there. Someone he was comfortable with.
Like his wife. Or his former mistress.
“I’m a bit embarrassed to say I was rather drunk.” Bonnie stopped rubbing Joyce’s back, faint queasy smile on her face. Assumptions confirmed, then. “A nice young server kept bringing me bottles. You can check with him.” She looked down at her narrow hands. “I believe I was on number three when you found Ron’s body.”
Pretty solid, and, from what I remembered of her condition when she arrived on the set and even later, here at Petunia’s, I’d already accepted she’d been intoxicated. She’d been slurring her words, staggering, almost falling. Less grief stricken and more blasted out of her mind. The memory of the wine on her breath almost gagged me.
“I tried to sneak back in, but hotel security kicked me out.” Joyce hugged herself during her own recount of her whereabouts. “I guess Dale must have alerted them I was in the building. I think he was just trying to protect me. He’s such a nice young man.”
I’d ask him, but I’d already seen him interacting with Joyce the morning of the murder, escorting her off the set, so that sounded right to me. Still, wouldn’t hurt to check with Alicia and see if her story checked out.
“One thing though,” Joyce said, perking a bit. “I didn’t think anything of it, but maybe it’s important?” She met Bonnie’s eyes before turning back to me. “When I was escorted off, I snuck in the back way, but that big man with the giant dog caught me.” Bill Saunders and Moose. Another clarifying conversation to have. “When he was leading me away, I saw Clara exiting the back door of the sound stage.” Bonnie gasped softly while Joyce nodded in response. “Maybe I was seeing things, because it was pretty dark, but when she passed under the light by the door, she looked like she was crying.”
***
Chapter Twenty Four
Crew was on my mind when I helped Daisy clean up breakfast and not for the reason he lingered with me when I fell asleep the night before. I had more information for him. Of course I did, right? But, would he be as open and willing this morning as he had been when I left his house after that most amazing of kisses?
Well, regardless, I wasn’t going to let lingering doubt over his response stop me. I’d already burned that bridge down and he’d still laughed when I giggled over our embrace and seemed open enough to exploring what we might feel like together. If he changed his mind again when I dug my freckled nose into places I shouldn’t have, then maybe he was nuts and I really didn’t want to be with him.
Excuses to be a busybody? Check.
When Bonnie and Joyce both left after 10AM, I abandoned Daisy once again with Petunia and headed for the Lodge. She didn’t complain, bless her, but I saw her reaching for the pug’s harness and booties as I slid out the door so I was pretty sure she was planning a visit to my mother with the irresistible dog in tow. I really needed to join them and see if I could convince Mom to change her mind, but the lure of the mystery behind Ron Williams’s murder shoved me behind the wheel and drove me, an unwilling partner, I swear, back up the mountain for the third day in a row.
As luck would have it, Bill was in Alicia’s office when I poked my head in, the tall, lumbering maintenance man nodding with an affable smile while the slim blonde rose to hug me in greeting.
“Did you see the flooring?” Alicia squealed faintly. “Jared said it arrived.”
“It’s gorgeous.” It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the wood floors for the annex. My mind wasn’t on my business, was it? “You did an amazing job.”
“I can’t wait to see it installed,” she said. Hesitated, smile fading from eager delight to sorrow. “Fee, I meant to mention yesterday and didn’t, but Jared and I were just destroyed about how Lucy was treated.” One hand fluttered at me, Bill grunting his agreement with a big scowl on his face. “Is she okay?”
I sidestepped the question with a shrug. “Mind if I ask a favor?”
Her hurt for Mom morphed into a rueful expectation. “I knew it. You’re not here for sympathy or annex small talk, are you? You want a look at my surveillance tapes.” She winked broadly like I was asking something much more provocative. Was my snooping that transparent? Bill chuckled next to me, his gravelly voice rough but kind.
“Don’t tease her like that,” he said, winking at me. The ex-con had warmed up a great deal both to Alicia and her staff since he’d rescued me and saved my life almost a year ago. Maybe having Dad vet him and speak well of him helped, but I think it was more the fact Alicia was just a great manager. He didn’t seem as standoffish and sad, at least, though the shadow of his loss and his guilt would always remain in the deep lines of his face.
Alicia linked arms with me, leading me into the large space behind the front desk, Bill trailing after us.
“Joyce Young tells me you caught her sneaking around the night of the murder.” I addressed that to the maintenance man while Alicia sat down, delicate in her pencil skirt, and started the computer.
He frowned a bit, rubbed his stubbled chin. “I did catch someone poking about,” he said. “Well, Moose did. She seemed pretty upset, but she left without a fight.” He shrugged. “Not much to say about that.”
“She mentioned she saw the show creator exiting the back door,” I said. “That she was crying. Do you remember seeing Clara, too?”
Bill’s frown deepened before he sighed. “I’m sorry, Fee,” he said. “Maybe? That film crew is using the back entry like their own private way around this place.” He sounded annoyed by the fact. “I’ve taken to leaving it open so t
hey don’t set of the alarms all the time.” No alarm meant the murderer could have snuck in and out easily, not that it was Bill’s fault.
Alicia groaned as she turned toward me. “Poor Bill’s been run off his feet getting things sorted for them.” She leaned over and patted his hand with a beaming smile which he answered with an adorable grin. “You’re a trooper and I’d be lost without you.”
He actually blushed before coughing softly. “Just happy to have the job, ma’am.”
Alicia wrinkled her nose at me. “Ma’am. Imagine.”
I laughed while she returned to her monitor before making a small sound of discovery. “Here you go, Fee. And yes, I know exactly what you’re looking for.” She sat back as I leaned in to watch Moose and Bill corral Joyce, the camera at the perfect angle to catch the back door. “Just like Bill said.” We all waited while the small image of Joyce seemed to argue a moment with him, time running at 5:23 and counting. When he guided her away, the door opened and, sure enough, Clara Clark exited, right at 5:25. She paused there a moment while Joyce and Bill departed, wiping at her face before stomping off toward the ski lifts.
“That much is true, then,” I said. “What about Bonnie Williams?” I already had my answer, or so I thought, but it didn’t hurt to check.
“Crew looked into that already,” Alicia said. “Turns out she was in her room, loaded drunk. One of my guys was running her wine that afternoon. I trust him, Fee. He has no reason to lie about her condition.”
“Could she have faked how drunk she was?” Good alibi, that, though my personal encounters with her were enough for me. “Dumped the wine and maybe took the elevator down to the set, killed Ron, then gone back upstairs and pretended to be drunk?” Seemed possible, except Alicia was shaking her head, already back at the monitor.
“You can see,” she said, pointing at the screen and the time, “that she never leaves her room. Here, I’ll speed it up.” She cued up another block of video, the screen now split in two between the back entrance and an interior corridor. She fast forwarded and I watched as a few people passed the camera over the exit door of the floor, entering the view of the one at the elevator.
One was Patrice York who went to her room at about 2:45PM and didn’t exit again. So I could mark the host of the show off the list. As for Bonnie, not once did she emerge once she arrived around three, but the waiter was there at least three times. And the only other person to visit her door was Robert, and that wasn’t until after 6:15PM, a quarter hour past the time Crew arrived.
Okay, so she was off the hook, as was Joyce. “Thanks, Alicia,” I said, then smiled at the big man leaning over to look at the screen behind us. “And Bill. That’s a load off my mind.”
“Bonnie and Joyce are both at Petunia’s?” Alicia didn’t seem concerned by their defection to my business. “A handful, I bet.”
“Actually, it’s a funny story,” I said. “They’re going into business together.” I paused then, eyes narrowing as I considered the last person on the top of my rapidly shrinking list. “What about Malcolm Murray?”
Alicia’s eyebrows shot up. “He was here,” she said. “But not that afternoon. In the morning.”
When I’d seen him personally. “You’re sure?” How did she know to check?
“Crew asked,” she said. “He said you mentioned seeing him so…”
Well now. Crew did follow up on my information then, did he? Good to know.
“That leaves Clara,” I said. “Though I have no idea why she’d want to kill one of her own judges.”
“And the crew,” Alicia said. “Not to mention the show host, Patrice.” Alicia hadn’t noted the host entering her room, I guess. Maybe I should inquire after her anyway? “And how about this year’s leader, Molly Abbott?” I wasn’t the only armchair detective in town. I grinned at her while she flushed. “What can I say? You’re a terrible influence.”
I was, at that.
“I’m pretty sure Molly isn’t a suspect,” I said while my eyes widened at the scene unfolding on the top right of Alicia’s screen at the 5:31 timecode, six minutes after Clara’s departure. And within the half hour timeline of Ron’s death, if Dr. Aberstock’s estimation was correct. Alicia had left the feed from the back door running while we reviewed the upstairs hallway. Movement caught my attention while the very woman I’d just crossed off my list slipped out of the exit, looked both ways, then slunk off toward the ski lifts, the same direction Clara had gone.
I gaped at the sight for a long moment before exhaling. “Can you call Crew and tell him? No, never mind. I’ll do it.” Better for only one of us to get in trouble. He’d just blame me for encouraging bad behavior. Then again, she could claim she was just double checking her feeds in case something came up. Still.
“He has copies of all of the footage,” Alicia said, taking the pressure off. “He likely knows already.”
Awesome. That meant I could keep poking around and not have to talk to him because he already knew what I knew, right?
Oh, Fee.
Thing was, I could have just left then and there. The two women I’d come to investigate had both been exonerated and Clara’s exit was rather telling. But I hadn’t expected the surge of anger at Molly, thinking she’d fooled me into liking her when she might be the murderer. I’d had enough trouble with misjudging people in the past, even almost fell for a killer because he was cute and showed interest. Never mind he was a former drug addict who then tried to strangle me when I found him out.
I’d had enough of being deceived. “Do you have Molly’s room number handy?”
Alicia hesitated before sighing. “I’m staying out of this,” she said, but not in a judging tone, more resigned and with a final twitch of a grin when she looked up the booking. “417. Be careful.”
“She won’t have to be,” Bill rumbled. “I’ll be right behind her.”
I looked up at him, startled by the offer. “You don’t have to come with me, Bill.”
“You have this streak of stubbornness that leads to bad luck,” he said, “no fault of yours. So if I can have your back, I’m here.”
“I’d feel a whole lot better if you didn’t argue,” Alicia said. So her reticence wasn’t about me actually confronting Molly but worry about me? That I could appreciate.
“You’re both lovely,” I said. “But you also know where I’m going. If I don’t come back down, call Crew.” I was half joking, though Bill looked like he wanted to fight me on it. “Seriously, she’s harmless.” Wasn’t she harmless? “I’m just going to ask her a few questions, that’s all.”
Alicia rose and hugged me. “You’re an idiot. Don’t be a hero, Fee.” She let me go, blinking. “Bill told me about the storm last year. Just, don’t die on me, okay?” Her lower lip trembled. “Not on my watch.”
There wasn’t much I could do to reassure her and though I insisted he stay behind, I felt Bill watching me as I got on the elevator and didn’t exhale until the doors closed. He’d probably take the stairs and hover, but I could live with that. Funny, how exactly did I manage to gather such amazing friends who cared what happened to me when all I did was bring them trouble?
Molly’s door was a short walk from the elevator. I knocked while I tried to formulate the right way to approach my questions, hearing voices inside fall still before someone approached the door. When it opened, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find Molly wasn’t alone.
“Fiona,” Dale said, blushing a bit as the young baker, standing further in the room near the bed, her hair a bit mussed and her cheeks pink patted at her clothes telling me I’d interrupted something decidedly naughty, “please, come in.”
***
Chapter Twenty Five
The moment I entered, Dale waved at Molly. “I’ll be going.”
“Hang on,” I said, “if you don’t mind. I want to talk to you, too.”
Dale hesitated but didn’t run away, Molly frowning a bit, her embarrassment at my appearance during their make out session cl
early forgotten. “What’s going on?”
I turned to her, reminding myself not to trust anyone despite the innocence on her face. Expressions could lie, after all. “Were you on the sound stage around the time Ron died?”
Dale made a strangling sound as Molly flushed deep red, but not a blush, more out of anger. Not at me, though. She waved off Dale who hurried to her side while she clamped her lips together a moment, sinking to the end of the bed.
“I was there,” she said. “I saw Ron go in and I wanted to talk to him about Lucy. About Janet’s cheating.” She met Dale’s eyes, not mine, as if convincing him. “He hit on me. I… I didn’t know what to do.”
“I warned you about him so many times,” Dale said. Not accusing, comforting, though he looked guarded, then sad.
“I needed to know one way or another if he was going to speak out against Janet.” She sagged in Dale’s grasp, his arm around her shoulders. “I honestly couldn’t take it anymore, Fee. I wanted to quit the show when I found out about the scandal. Clara convinced me to just ignore it, but when Janet was awarded a place in the special and your mother was sabotaged…” She sniffed softly, met my eyes at last, hers brimming. “This isn’t the kind of show I want to win. Or be associated with.”
