by Patti Larsen
Well, that was a dismissal if ever I experienced one. And while I would have loved to argue—oh, would I—I also needed to make sure Simone was okay. This whole mystery around Malcolm wasn’t going anywhere.
“Nice seeing you again,” I smiled at the bar owner who chuckled wickedly in approval of my obvious jab at Dad. I might have been leaving, but he’d better not think I was going because he told me to.
“Fee. Thanks for the chat, lassie.”
I walked away, glancing back as subtly as I could but might as well have not bothered trying for subterfuge. The two talked with bent heads, Dad looming over Malcolm who seemed totally at ease despite their size difference. Whatever it was they had between them I’d find out sooner or later. And it was clearly personal or Dad wouldn’t be so worked up, would he?
Maybe Mom would know.
Speak of the devil, Petunia hustled ahead of me to sit beside my mother, looking up at her with, I realized, hope in her puggy eyes someone—namely Mom—might feed her. Since my darling mother was such a terrible source of food the portly canine loved and I regretted thanks to the flatulence such treats usually created, she was Petunia’s first choice for begging.
Which made me wonder if my mother secretly laughed at me, knowing exactly what she was doing. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Mom patted the pug’s head to Petunia’s disappointment before meeting my eyes with her worried ones. The small group of copycat young people stood off to one side, Crew talking to them, Lucas now collapsed in a chair a few feet away, James beside him, still drinking, a bottle next to him on the table. Someone had finally pulled Mason out of the cake, the body sitting mostly upright, still covered in the tablecloth I freed for that use. The plate of cake had been secured inside a big plastic bag, likely liberated from the kitchen. I wondered if Crew had stopped to clean the chocolate from the victim’s face. Or if Mason Patterson sat under that sheet with his handsome good looks smeared in the dessert that killed him. At least there wouldn’t be any exterior signs of the attack, so when his stepfather put him in a casket, he’d still be pretty.
Maybe that was a sick line of thought, but I came by it honestly. So I studied this stuff in my free time. And had since I was a teenager. Was that so wrong for the daughter of a county sheriff?
Rather than go right to Simone, I had some questions for Lucas, knowing Crew was going to be a while before he talked to Mason’s stepfather if Dad’s assessment was accurate. I was in the mood for some poking my nose in where it wasn’t welcome. With a steady sympathetic expression, I sat next to the older man, offering him some fresh water from the pitcher on the table. He accepted with a nod, still dazed, while my eyes skimmed the chocolate smear on his jacket.
Could have come from anywhere. And yet… chocolate and peanut oil made a killer combination. Mason was pretty drunk. Would he have missed the scent of the oil in his inebriated state? Seemed obvious the answer was yes. Unless the oil ended up in another source, it had to be the cake. His death just happened too fast otherwise, the three minute timeline my research into anaphylaxis’s most severe attacks said was a perfect fit for the moments between him eating the dessert by hand and Simone screaming after the fall of the balloons masked Mason’s struggle with his reaction and collapse. No wonder no one saw him dying. Bad timing.
Or the killer’s intention? That and the vial of oil definitely made the case for murder.
“Mr. Day,” I said, keeping my tone compassionate and low, “my deepest sympathies for your loss. It can’t be easy to lose both your wife and your stepson in such a short time.”
“Thank you.” He sipped the water. “Miss?”
“Fiona Fleming. I’m assisting Sheriff Turner in the case along with my father, John Fleming?” I left it at that when Lucas nodded. Good, so he knew dad was sheriff before Crew. And wasn’t questioning my involvement further. “Can you tell me what Mason meant? About the ownership of the resort?”
Lucas swallowed hard while James let out another of those bitter laughs.
“Tell the girl, partner,” he said, resentment bubbling under his alcoholic haze. “Tell her how Marie fronted the bulk of the project so she could control it. Tell her how between us we had 49% and she had 51%. That when she died that monster she raised and the family she adored got everything and you got nothing.” James sagged in his seat, staring into his drink like he’d lost the will and the strength to be angry anymore. “Tell her that with Marie’s death we lost control of the business we built together and that Mason and the damned Patterson family were going to kick us to the curb.”
“They couldn’t do that,” Lucas said, sounding like he almost meant it.
“Oh, they could.” James shrugged, a dramatic rise and fall of narrow tuxedo shoulders. “The Patterson family can do anything they want in this town, can’t they?”
“They were going to buy you out?” I prodded Lucas gently, but my choice of words were aimed at his drunk partner.
James shook his head, lifting his drink to his lips before pausing. “Shoving us out,” he said. “Controlling the brand, undermining our power until we’re both just here for the free booze. And offering us pennies per share to cut and run.”
Sounded like motive for murder.
“Mr. Day,” I said. “With Mason gone, who has control of the resort?”
“The Patterson family,” Lucas said, eyes dull and voice cracking.
So not motive, unless straight up revenge for a deal gone wrong. But I just didn’t buy that, not from Lucas. Maybe from James, but still. As far as I could tell at this point, Mason’s death meant nothing for these two men. Or was a downhill slide into further worries. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Miss Fleming,” Lucas said, cleared his throat, his shock slowly wearing off as he pulled himself together enough to meet my eyes without that wild kind of look one gets in moments like this. “While Mason and I had our differences,” James snorted but stayed silent otherwise, “he was still my stepson and I raised him from when he was a boy. I cared about him and I would never kill him. Not only was he my only connection to Marie,” he said her name like he actually loved her still despite the impression James gave me of her, “and killing him would gain me nothing financially.”
“I understand,” I said, glancing at the partner who smirked and saluted with his whiskey. “And you, Mr. Adler?”
James winked at me, hand wobbling, sloshing the ice in his glass. “I’m glad the kid’s dead,” he said. “But dying screwed us further. So you decide if that’s sufficient motive for murder.”
He downed the last of his drink before reaching for the bottle. Lucas stared at his partner for a long moment before shaking his head as if making a choice not to speak further and instead sank deeper into his chair, gaze locked on the floor.
***
Chapter Nine
I was about to rise and leave Lucas to his mourning when I noticed a few familiar faces on the other side of the room. Aundrea Wilkins waved to me, Pamela beside her, Jared Wilkins and his girlfriend, Alicia Conway, lingering close by. I’d had the occasional encounter with the four of them over the last eight months since Pete died, and always pleasant. In fact, my eyes drifted to the giant diamond on Alicia’s hand, the very one she’d been delighted to show me just a week ago when she showed up at Petunia’s to tell me Jared finally proposed. I was happy for them, that they had found each other despite his father’s crimes. And that Jared seemed to have avoided any legal issues thanks to his willingness to assist authorities to correct his father’s mistakes.
I joined them while Dad took my spot, Malcolm now nowhere to be seen, Petunia huffing her way along with me at the last minute when she realized Mom wasn’t going to be forthcoming with food any time soon. And took advantage of the pats and greetings her appearance generated while I rolled my eyes and sighed.
“Fiona,” Aundrea said, hugging me quickly before Pamela did the same. There was no sign of Cookie so Lily must have taken her away or the ladies stashed t
he little dog in their room. I really had to do the same with my pug before too long. She was totally under foot. Make that on top of foot as she sat on my toes like always with a grunt and a soft, happy fart of warm air that heated my skin and made me cringe.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Aundrea,” I said. “Mason was your nephew?”
She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, the glitter of crystals sewn into the top of her deep pink gown catching the light from the chandeliers overhead. “It might make me a suspect in your eyes, Fiona, but there was no love lost, trust me. And if you’re going to make a list of possible murderers out of the people who didn’t like him, you’re going to be here a long time.”
“Did Crew rule it murder?” That sounded pathetic, and like a feint.
“Come on,” Pamela said, the news woman in her showing, sharp eyes skimming the scene before her. I loved that she wore a tuxedo and wished I’d had the guts to do the same. No, the idea. Next event, I was pants and jacketing it all the way. “Everyone knew he was allergic to peanuts. The kid almost died a few times because of them so Marie made a huge deal about it to make sure the entire town knew.” And provided the means for his demise. Not his mother’s intention, I imagine. “No way this was an accident. Which means someone purposely gave him what would kill him.”
Right. “So, anything you can tell me that might help?”
“I might have something.” Jared joined the conversation, nodding to me, Alicia nervous at his side. While I’d been accused of killing his father, Jared held no grudges and, in fact, helped me out, releasing Petunia’s back to me without a fight when Pete tried to use a fake signature to claim my dying grandmother signed it over to the developer. Jared could have fought it and might have won—would have bankrupted me with lawyer fees at the very least in the battle—but instead, as he did with everyone else Pete wronged, he did everything he could to make sure all the victims of his father’s schemes were compensated for the frauds outside the help he gave the police and FBI.
“You knew Mason?” They were a bit off age, Jared at least five years older.
“I did,” Alicia said, glancing up at her fiancé with those big eyes and that worried expression, shifting in the long, slim wrap of gold crepe she wore, draped elegantly over one shoulder. Nice to see her wardrobe had leveled up since she stopped having to wear the slutty suits Pete insisted on. “He wasn’t a good person, Fee.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that,” I said. “But?”
“It’s James Adler,” Jared said, voice dropping. “If anyone, I’d pick him.”
“Why?” Since I’d just talked to James, I had my own suspicions. But if he had another motive outside financial, that would be helpful.
“You were still in New York when it happened,” Jared said. “His daughter, Elizabeth, disappeared and is presumed dead. Skiing accident in Aspen.”
James’s last comment just a moment ago and the way Lucas reacted… but surely he’d known I was going to find out. Or that Dad knew, or Crew would uncover the truth? Why not just tell me he had a second motive? Because while Jared hadn’t finished, I put two and two together and got a big giant reason to kill the young Patterson. “Let me guess,” I said, skin tingling with anticipation. “She was with Mason.”
“James blames him for her loss,” Alicia said. “But no body was ever found and there was no proof he hurt her, so…”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was a solid motive for murder if ever I heard one.
I left them with instructions to go to their rooms before Crew spotted them and gave them a hard time. With the exception of Aundrea, that was. She made her way to Lucas and crouched at his side to talk to him. She, at least, was a kind soul despite her Patterson breeding. Maybe she could help.
As for what I’d uncovered, I needed to talk to Crew. And joined him just as the young woman Mason had been hitting on—the same one from the fight in the bathroom corridor—was speaking.
“Definitely died from anaphylaxis,” she said, her gaze flickering to me a moment before returning to Crew. Maybe Dad was wrong about the sheriff’s speed. He seemed to be working the scene far more quickly than my father said he would. Someone had spread the body out on the stage with the sheet still intact, dark brown seeping through in the lump area that was Mason’s face. I looked away, caught Crew frowning at me but he didn’t send me away, just gestured for Ava to go on.
“Ava Hiller, this is Fiona Fleming.”
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured.
“Ava is premed,” Crew said, “and her father is a doctor.”
So, best he could do under the circumstances. “You’ve seen this before, Ava?”
“I have, in fact,” she said. “I was just telling the sheriff. I actually saved Mason from this very situation in college last year. His birthday. Someone brought a cake but didn’t know, I guess, had put peanuts in it. Mason just ate it, too drunk to notice.” She seemed frustrated by that before shrugging. “I happened to recognize the signs and was able to use my injector in time.”
“You have allergies?” I asked that very question the same instant Crew did and won a scowl from him for interfering. Tongue between my teeth I did my best not to be sent away while Ava nodded.
“Shellfish,” she said. “I carry one with me all the time.”
“Why didn’t Mason have one?” Crew looked down at the notepad in his hand. It had the lodge logo on it, as did his pen. He was making the best of a bad situation. And had he taken Dad’s suggestion to heart? We’d see.
“He never cared enough to carry one.” That was from the waiter, Ethan. I hadn’t noticed he’d come to join the posse of whispering young people who comforted each other while snagging drinks from the tables around them. Classy. Ethan interjected like he was angry. “Thought he was invincible even though the idiot almost died. If it wasn’t for Ava, he’d have been long gone.”
The loyal crowd gasped and muttered, but Crew ignored them.
“And you are?” The sheriff honed in while I waited for him to answer.
“Ethan Perry,” the waiter said, sullen and suddenly acting like he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“And you know Mason how?” At least Crew was asking the same questions I would. Saved me from being noticed.
“We went to college together,” Ethan said. Turned to scowl at the posse. “We all did.”
And yet, he was a waiter and the others were in tuxedos and gowns, including his own brother. Noah stood with the group of young people, sneaking someone’s abandoned champagne. So why was Ethan relegated to slinging plates when the others looked like they were part of the It crowd?
Crew seemed curious about the same thing. “Did you, by chance, deliver Mason’s dessert tonight?”
I hadn’t made that connection and tsked to myself even as I recalled seeing that very thing, mind flickering to the image of Ethan delivering the towering cake with the flickering blue candle. My protest at my own failure emerged loudly enough Crew noticed but didn’t comment.
Ethan, on the other hand, paled before nodding. “I did,” he said. “But I didn’t kill him. I had no reason to.”
Ava grasped his hand, her own expression anxious. “Ethan would never,” she said. “We were all friends and have been for two years. Mason invited us to come and work for him here at the lodge. We’re all employees.” She gestured at the group. “I’m a ski instructor, Ethan’s brother, Noah, is a snowboarder. The rest work in other areas that had the night off. All but Ethan.”
“Pretty glamorous,” Crew said. “But you’re a waiter?” He stared pointedly at Ethan.
The young man’s face tightened, whole body tensing. “What’s wrong with waiting tables?”
“Nothing,” Crew said. “As long as being the only one working on a night when everyone else is partying isn’t some kind of punishment Mason handed out.”
Ethan didn’t comment while I recalled the conversation between Noah and his brother. About Mason and Ava. And how Mason ha
d been obnoxiously ignoring his date—my Simone—to talk to the pretty ski instructor.
The way Ethan looked at her, the conversation with his brother, all fit a relationship between them. But, before I could bring it up, Crew closed his note pad and nodded to them.
“I’ll have more questions later,” he said, grasping my elbow and leading me away before I could do my own investigation. “I need you to go to your room now,” he said, “and stay out of this.”
“You were the one who said you needed help,” I shot back, keeping my voice low as we approached Mom and Simone, Dad beside them. “I’m not leaving now.”
“If you stay,” he said, voice vibrating with intensity, “you keep your mouth shut and observe only. I’m not kidding, Fee. And you tell me everything you find out.”
I opened my mouth, tons to share, only to have him walk away from me. Because being a jerk had to be on his long list of faults, didn’t it? How was I supposed to tell him what I knew if he wasn’t going to listen?
Frustrated and ready to wash my hands of all of it, go to my room with Petunia—who still trailed after me looking for food—and watch bad TV, empty the minibar and wish him luck. Instead, anger bubbling, I followed him if only to make sure he didn’t somehow decide Simone was guilty.
***
Chapter Ten
She was crying again by the time I joined them, Crew already at her, obviously. And looking like he was settling in for the long haul too, planting his butt in a chair and crossing one shiny dress shoe over his knee, pad and pen in his lap. If only he didn’t look so fantastic I could muster some angst against him and feel more like a defender instead of a participant in her questioning. At least I had the satisfaction of accepting he hadn’t learned from what Dad said. So be it.
“I swear, I didn’t kill him.” I knew how Simone felt. I’d been in her place, though I hadn’t done any crying. Probably because I’d secretly—and horribly—been relieved Pete Wilkins was dead in my koi pond. That the man who tried to steal Petunia’s from me had kicked the proverbial bucket before he could do any more damage than he already had. And, a further note that separated my experience from Simone’s was the fact I hadn’t been dating the person who so abruptly died.
