by Patti Larsen
He sighed quietly but nodded, peeking in stalls while I did the same.
“You’re Ethan, right?” I beamed a smile at him. “Noah’s brother?”
He grunted something, pausing and staring. “You’re with the sheriff.” That seemed to make him think twice, though he didn’t turn threatening or try to leave. Instead, he just stood there, staring at me.
“I am.” I dropped the pretense instantly. No need to insult his intelligence. “I just have a few questions, Ethan.”
He shrugged, face twisting into anxiety and sorrow before settling into grim anger. “I didn’t kill Mason. As much as I would have liked to on occasion.”
“Like when he tried to poach your girlfriend,” I said, “and gave your dream job to your brother?”
Ethan didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
“Why was Mason so into Ava, Ethan?” Someone smacked their lips. It was the weirdest sound to hear in a bathroom. The last stall was closed, door apparently locked. So we weren’t alone in here. Whatever. I needed to keep pushing while Ethan felt vulnerable.
“Who knows,” he said, hands clenching at his sides. “He never paid a bit of attention to her until…”
“Until she saved his life?” What would that mean to someone like Mason Patterson? That kind of selfless act might actually have penetrated the arrogant asshat he’d grown into.
Ethan’s misery emerged on his handsome face. “He wouldn’t leave her alone after that,” he said, voice shaking. “She kept turning him down but I knew it was only a matter of time before his money and his offers for better jobs and opportunities would win.”
“Like this job?” I waited for him to talk while the annoying smacking sound was punctuated with a fart. Ew, someone was having some serious gastric issues.
“He did this on purpose.” He looked down at his uniform, back up to me. “I knew better than to let him get to me.” Ethan’s anger was back. “Yes, I would have preferred the ski job he offered me originally. But it was just a job, that’s it. And Ava said she wanted nothing to do with him. I had no reason to kill him.”
“Still, it must have burned, having to deliver his birthday cake to him.” I liked Ethan for the murder, I couldn’t deny it. Despite his heartbreak or maybe because of it. He really seemed the perfect candidate.
“I guess,” Ethan said. “I had planned to dump it on his damned head. Screw this whole place and his bullying.” He seemed to deflate then, turning to lean his back against the stall behind him, hands jamming into his pockets as he stared at himself in the mirror. Dark bags like that on so young a face meant a long, terrible bout with self-doubt and sleeplessness. “I wanted to leave. Ava and I had plans to take positions in Aspen, even had jobs lined up. But Mason just kept pushing. She said it was only until the spring.”
“And then?” What was wrong with the person in the last stall? Seriously, were they eating while they used the bathroom? That was just gross.
“New Zealand.” I finally saw a flicker of joy in him. “For the summer. We both had dreams of following the snow, you know? Now, well.” That excited anticipation died in a flare of sorrow and bitterness. “Now I have no idea.”
“With Mason out of the way, there’s nothing to stop you.” That was heavy handed but I needed to prod him further.
He looked up at me, eyes so sad I flinched. “With Mason gone,” he said, “and your sheriff looking at me for murder, there might be no Ava. And with no Ava, there’s nothing.”
Wow. Dedication worth killing for? I drew a breath to try to redirect the conversation and felt my heart thud once, painfully, as someone groaned in delight and farted again.
I spun, all attention on the last stall and the locked door, leaping for it and banging on it as I realized how stupid I’d been all this time. I’d lost track of the other occupant of this bathroom in my need to question Ethan, completely and utterly letting her fall out of my sight and my focus. And find something she most likely wasn’t supposed to have.
“Petunia!” The locked door resisted my attempt to reach her. “What are you eating?”
Because it was her, it had to be.
Ethan lurched to my side, fingers working at the round, silver disk in the center of the door, jiggling it around until the latch released and the door swung violently inward. I stared in horror at the sight of my pug sitting sideways with her shoulder against the wall tile, licking at her chops and the oil dripping from her lips.
Next to her, lying on its side, was a tall, skinny brown bottle, crumpled plastic bag discarded beside it, a puddle of pale amber liquid spreading out beside the base of the toilet. A puddle she’d been happily consuming.
The men’s room door opened and I turned to find Dad and Noah staring at me in surprise. Dad must have realized the look on my face meant trouble and hurried to us, squeaking to a hurried halt at my side before staring with wide eyed shock at the pug and her prize.
“I think,” Dad said, trying not to smirk because it wasn’t funny, damn it, “Madam Petunia has found our murder weapon.”
She grinned up at him with her long tongue emerging, a mighty belch preceding a long and glorious fart.
***
Chapter Fifteen
“This is the bottle of oil from my kitchen.” Carol examined the now plastic sealed container before handing it to Crew. “I have no idea how it ended up in the men’s bathroom.”
I had my suspicions. Considering I’d witnessed Ethan in this very washroom earlier with the out of order sign in place. An excellent opportunity to pour out a small sample to be tucked into his pocket and used on Mason’s birthday cake before delivering it and tossing the evidence under Simone’s chair to shift blame to my friend’s sister.
Yeah, suspicions.
Crew tucked the plastic wrapped bottle into his tuxedo jacket pocket where it bulged awkwardly. “Mr. Perry, when I get this bottle fingerprinted, will I find yours on it?”
Ethan had been reluctant to join the conversation, though Dad hadn’t given him a chance to argue. Now at least no longer in the men’s bathroom, I leaned against the bar while the young waiter responded. Time to shed these shoes, taped toes or not. My feet hurt, my head hurt and I was pretty sure I knew who committed the crime.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Ethan said, voice shaking. From guilt or just stress? “Besides, Mason’s allergic. I avoided peanuts because of that. We all did.”
“All of his friends,” Crew said, sounding grave and understanding. “You’re one of them, then? You’re sure about that?”
Ethan fell silent, face tightening. “I know where this is heading,” he said. “I want a lawyer.”
“I’d love to grant you that request,” Crew said, “but there aren’t any here at the moment. So I guess that means you’ll be spending the rest of this snowstorm confined to your room.” He turned before I could protest, Dad scowling at the young waiter. “John, could you escort Mr. Perry to his quarters and make sure he can’t leave?”
Dad grunted, looked unhappy. Because he thought Crew should push the kid despite lawyering up or because my father was, in effect, expected to take orders from the young sheriff? Whatever his protest, my father did as he was asked, gesturing for Ethan to precede him out the door.
“Crew,” I slipped in beside him as my father and the young man left, Carol lingering, “I saw Ethan in the bathroom earlier, before dinner. There was an out of order sign on the door. Someone removed it after Ethan left, a maintenance man of some kind.”
Crew’s jaw jumped. “You were going to tell me this when?”
He did not just turn this on me. “Probably about the time I put two and two together and you had a minute to listen. That would be right now, in case you missed it.”
He glared a moment before sighing and nodding, the tension leaving him while he rubbed at the throbbing vein on his forehead. At least his left eye twitch hadn’t started yet. “Right,” he said, tone softer. “Sorry, Fee. I’m just trying to wrangle everything a
nd I forget sometimes you’re not trained as an officer.”
That was a sideways apology he’d pay for later. “Carol,” I ignored him then, pissed he still tried to turn this back on me and knowing if I wanted to get anything done my continuing options were to do them my damned self. “What’s the maintenance man’s name? Tall, brooding, dark hair?”
“That’s Bill,” she said, grimaced. “Sorry, I don’t remember his last name.”
“Does he have a room in the staff quarters?” Maybe I could track him down and ask him about the sign. If he didn’t place it there, it could be an indicator of Ethan’s guilt.
“No,” she said, frowning as she thought about it. “I think he has his own rooms by the ski lift near the maintenance shed, but don’t quote me.”
I was about to turn heel and leave when Crew nabbed my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
It would have been so easy to snarl and spit and lose my temper. But I was brought up better than that. Instead, I twisted in his grip, using the self-defense methods my dad taught me, freeing myself quickly and facing him down. He really needed to learn that manhandling me wasn’t an option ever. A lesson for another time.
“To find the answers you need,” I said. “Unless you’d like me to go back to my room and leave you to handle this alone. Because I’m sure my dad would be more than happy to dump you on your ass, too, considering how you’re treating a fellow officer like he’s your lackey instead of your predecessor.”
There it was, the eye twitch. My work here was done.
He didn’t get to respond, though, not when three people burst into the bar.
“Why is my brother under arrest?” Noah might not have been full out drunk but he was well on his way, wavering a bit, forcing Ava and Simone to catch him before he stumbled forward into Crew. Nice distraction, I’d take it. Because my redhead temper had its limits.
“He’s requested a lawyer,” Crew said, all reasonable and crap, “which means I can’t ask him more questions. But I have reason to believe he might be involved in Mason’s murder, which forces me to confine him for the time being.” Wow, was that so hard? Actually explaining? Clearly he had no problem doing so with others. Me, on the other hand? I had to piss him off to get him to give up anything.
“Ethan didn’t kill Mason,” Noah said while Ava’s face crumpled.
“It’s okay, Noah.” She shot Crew a furious look. “We’ll get him a good lawyer when the storm clears. It’ll be all right. They have no proof.”
“None of you are off the hook just yet,” Crew said, voice dropping to the growling commanding sheriff tone that I think was meant to intimidate. Worked on the kids while I fought a snort of are you kidding me?
“By all means,” Simone said, chin rising, “confine us to our rooms, too, if it makes you feel better. Ask us the same questions over and over again, because you’ll get the same answers, I assure you.” She’d noticed his badgering interrogation technique, apparently. Smart girl. “But while you do you let the real murderer wander free.”
Crew drew a deep breath, visibly forcing his temper down. It was quite something to watch and I actually admired him for not cracking from the strain that crossed his face. When he spoke again, he was back to Captain Reasonable.
“You were all at the party where Mason almost died last time, correct?” They nodded together. “Including Ethan.” More nods.
“What does that have to do with tonight?” Simone faltered, as if realizing she sounded ridiculous. The similarities of the situation were impossible to ignore. Birthday cake, peanuts and an injector pen. Only tonight ended a lot differently.
Crew was kind, though, and didn’t go after her with disdain or sarcasm. Instead, he shrugged, body relaxing into a more confident and controlled stance. “Can you think of anyone else who might have a grudge against Mason, someone who knew of his allergy and is here tonight?”
They stared at him, mute in understanding. Because they had nothing.
“Ava,” I said, interrupting exactly when I knew Crew would be pissed but having to ask. “Ethan said you two were going to Aspen, then New Zealand? Something about ski jobs?”
Noah snorted his tipsy denial while the young woman looked uncomfortable.
“As if,” he said, arm around Ava’s shoulders though without a trace of intimacy, more brother to sister or friend to friend as he squeezed her until she winced. “Right?”
“That was Ethan’s plan,” she said so carefully I felt terrible for the young man now confined and likely guilty of murder for this exact reason.
“But.” Crew cut in, throwing me a shut it right now or you’re out glare.
“Mason made me a great offer,” Ava blurted, cheeks flushing. In embarrassment? Simone spun on her, fury clear, but Ava shook her head. “It’s not what you think, Simmy.”
Instead of waiting to hear her explanation, Simone stormed from the bar, clearly enraged. I needed to go after her. Even as Noah snorted one last time, leaning into Ava and booping her on the nose.
“Mason won, dude. As always.”
Ava shoved him off and left herself, though whether to pursue Simone or Ethan I had no idea. But I took the distraction of Noah’s sudden freedom and Crew’s lunge forward to save him to escape the bar, grinning suddenly at the sound of the young man’s stomach emptying in violent and noisy fashion.
I hoped he had excellent aim. Crew’s shoes were just too shiny for their own good.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Funny how a chance encounter can distract you from what you’re supposed to be focused on. As I exited the bar I almost ran into someone entering, surprised to find Tom Brackshaw wandering around on his own. From what I knew the bank manager at Reading Savings Bank had no real ties to the lodge, though I could have been wrong. The likelihood he was a suspect in Mason’s murder, however, seemed slim and when I paused and offered the obligatory smile, he smiled back, quickly seizing and shaking my hand with his own pudgy one as if actually delighted to see me.
I’d always liked Tom, found him friendly and kind, remembered being offered a sucker when I was a little girl and my parents brought me to his branch to open my first bank account. He had the same roundish face, if a bit rounder, the same circular glasses and less hair, but I’d know him anywhere.
“Fiona Fleming.” His voice hadn’t changed either, a warm tenor that rang with sincerity. He really was rather jolly for a banker. “How lovely to finally see you.”
“Tom.” I freed my hand. “Did you need something?”
He wrinkled his button nose at me, glancing in the bar and spotting Crew. “Ah, well. My mini-fridge is empty and I was hoping for a bit of something to tide me over while the storm rages.” Tom winked a pale blue eye at me. He’d changed out of his own tuxedo and I wished I had thought to don my jeans and t-shirt. How casual he seemed, out of place without a suit on. “But I see the bar is occupied.”
“Crew should be done shortly,” I said. “As long as you return to your room after you find what you’re looking for I’m sure he’ll let it go.” While the new sheriff likely would have wished he could just lock everyone in, without the manpower to police it the guests of the lodge were pretty much free to come and go as they pleased. He couldn’t legally hold anyone he didn’t charge and would be setting himself and the town up for a massive unlawful confinement class action if he tried. Though, it appeared everyone seemed reasonably willing to cooperate, I doubted he’d want their freedom of movement to be common knowledge. As for defending the contents of the bar, as far as I was concerned it was fair game. I wasn’t in the mood to protect the lodge’s alcohol at this point.
“Marvelous.” Tom beamed at me before his eyes widened slightly, a quick drawn breath drawing me back before I could hurry away. “I’ve been waiting for you to come see me, young lady.” He hesitated, face paling a little before he blurted his question. “I shouldn’t speak out of turn. It’s utterly against ethics and confidentiality, but your grandmo
ther was an old friend and I know she was anxious to have the matter resolved once she’d passed. At least, according to her correspondence.” He drew one last sharp inhale before leaning close with his bright eyes fixed on me like a little kid sharing a huge secret. “Fiona, did you ever find the key?”
And then my entire world crashed and went away and all I could do was gape at him. The key. From the metal box I dug up from the garden—that Petunia dug up for me—that I’d guessed opened a safety deposit box. B-562. I’d found it months ago, the end of July, when Pete Wilkins died. Had intended all along to do something about it, got busy, fell into routine. But the key.
Tom chuckled at what had to be a dumbfounded look on my face. “Excellent,” he said. “Your grandmother left me a letter over a year ago, telling me you’d be along for the contents of the box at some point. I wasn’t sure if it was a mistake or not because you didn’t show. But now I see you’ve simply forgotten.”
I nodded, unable to speak. The mystery of the key at the bottom of the metal box with the love letters from Daniel Munroe, the dead husband of murderer Peggy Munroe. How? How had I let it go? “Do you know what’s in it?”
He shook his head, cherub grin infectious. “No idea, my dear,” he said. “And I couldn’t reveal it to you even if I did. But I think it’s time you found out.”
I stood there as he eased past me and into the bar, now empty. Crew must have led Noah out the other exit. Not that it mattered right now as I tried to slow my heartbeat and remove the smile that pulled at my lips.
How could I have forgotten the mystery Grandmother Iris left for me? Life, I suppose. Excuses and time and work. Still. The second I had a chance, I’d be in Tom’s office and I would uncover the truth of the key at last.
I have no idea why it felt so good to have that to hang onto as I turned toward the foyer and the entrance to the staff quarters. Except, maybe, it was my very own secret mystery with my grandmother, a gift from beyond the grave, and sometimes it was fun not to share.
