by Patti Larsen
He tentatively embraced me back with a gentle pat to my shoulder before letting me go. The smile he shared then was sweet and kind and I beamed up at him before bending to hug Moose in turn.
“Good boy,” I said, kissing his soft doggy nose.
“Mason,” Bill said while I stood, wobbly and a bit dizzy still, catching me with both hands steadying me with the most respectful caution before letting me go again. “He died from his allergies?”
I nodded, accepting his arm as he turned toward the door. This had to be his apartment, his personal space. It didn’t look anything like what I imagined, one corner filled with spare parts and mechanical implements he was clearly working on. “We believe someone laced his cake with peanut oil.”
Bill grunted. “I get my meals in the kitchen, but Chef chases me when I’m done so I’m no help there. Didn’t see anyone or anything.” He sounded disappointed.
“Earlier tonight you took an out of order sign off the men’s washroom outside the foyer,” I said.
Bill nodded this time, eager as he opened the door and waited for me to exit. It was cold on the other side and he flinched before turning back, nabbing a big, heavy gray sweater off a hook before draping it around me. The scent of Moose and petroleum products embraced me along with the itch of wool but the warmth was welcome. Noise I hadn’t noticed earlier rumbled close by, sounding like a fleet of airplanes approaching. “This part of the building’s not insulated,” he said. He turned and gestured and though Moose whined at us he settled on his fuzzy butt and stayed put when Bill closed the door. Pointed down the hall away from his door. “Generator room is that way.” Was he enjoying the idea of showing someone his domain? We headed the opposite direction of the noise. Leaving the chill of the hall and its rough, unfinished design and passing into more carefully presented area painted and decorated to match the lodge colors, Bill pointed up at the ceiling. Giant chain and gears loomed overhead as we walked, entering a large space with signs and warnings about how to safely use the equipment. “We’re under the ski lift.” A large garage like door at the far end stood closed against the elements, silent chairs stacked in a line waiting to come to life and begin their endless round up and down the mountain.
Interesting at any other time, and I wasn’t adverse to nodding and smiling most times. But he hadn’t answered my question. “The out of order sign,” I prompted gently.
“Right!” Bill moved fast and I hurried to keep up, shivering all over again but seeing the door we headed for. To the staff quarters had to be, another at the far end painted the same as the walls, maybe to outside? From the skim of snow at the bottom I was pretty sure that was the case. A corridor led off past it with an arrow and “Lodge Foyer” in pretty font pointing to the main part of the building.
Bill quickly tapped numbers on the keypad next to the door to the staff area and it opened, the same numbers Paisley had written on my hand earlier. “This way’s warmer.” I appreciated that immensely. “I didn’t know why the sign was on the bathroom. I hadn’t put it there. I took a quick peek but everything was okay, so I took it away. I didn’t get a call or anything.”
“Are you the only one who does that kind of thing?” Surely there was a big maintenance staff?
But Bill shrugged. “I manage,” he said. “There’s a couple of part timers who come in during the day, but I live on site so I take care of most things myself.” That sounded like the beginning of pride.
“You’re obviously very good at what you do,” I said. Because a little self-esteem boost did a heart good.
Bill’s smile told me I was right again. Yes, nice staff. Mine soon.
“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Fleming,” Bill said as he pulled the staff door shut behind him, the heat of the main building embracing me. I handed back his sweater, still feeling weak and tired but far better than the alternative. “Mason wasn’t a good person most of the time. But it wasn’t his fault. That mother of his was a bad seed, her whole side of the family. Mr. Lucas did his very best to make sure Mason felt like he was his real father. I saw it all the time, even if Mason didn’t.” So Lucas did care for the boy. I trusted Bill’s judgment and outsider perspective on instinct. He reminded me too much of my dad not to. “I don’t want to paint him as a saint, because he wasn’t. But he had a good side not many got to see.”
I wasn’t really listening to Bill just then. Not out of rudeness or reluctance, but sheer distraction. Now that I was safe and inside the staff quarters, I could try to forget what just happened, stuff it down under making solving this murder my priority. But standing here in the safety of the lodge triggered the kind of fear I hadn’t yet processed. Terror at my near death experience almost dropped me to my knees as I finally accepted how close I’d come to dying out there in the snow.
So I’d talk to Ava again, Simone, everyone who might have answers, sure would. Right after I dug around inside me and triggered enough anger I could function. While hunting down security footage and figuring out who tried to kill me.
***
Chapter Twenty Two
Bill fell silent then, didn’t say a word as we travelled the short hallway past a large pair of doors to what had to be communal bathrooms and out into the main corridor again. Had my own silence cut off his willingness to speak? I didn’t know but hadn’t the strength to put him first when my stomach churned about as fast as my mind.
Helped to look around and force myself to be curious, even a little. This whole area, while tidy and finished, didn’t have the kind of polished perfection of the main lodge. Plain gray carpet and ordinary white walls with a few signs dotting the emptiness with directions to bathrooms and the main lobby were punctuated by someone’s vain attempt at décor with a few stock photo posters in cheap frames. Clearly the builders hadn’t thought esthetic appeal important when it came to staff. The corridor we walked turned to the right, set with multiple plain white doors with placards beside them bearing names in magic marker.
I hoped the staff quarters themselves were a bit less stark.
We finally emerged into the main corridor of the lodge, the difference in appearance instant as the thicker carpet gave under my feet, the towering ceilings and ice palace feel a bit overwhelming after what I’d just endured. I kept Bill between me and the large double doors I’d been pushed through, hurrying despite my weakness as fast as I could toward the foyer. Bill paused before I was comfortable, next to one of the large plants that bracketed the men’s washroom and pulled the leaves aside. The rustling sound I’d heard before the lights went out, a coincidence? Only then did I realize the shrubbery was fake. Ah, deception and disappointment, how wretched. But my cynicism faded to surprise as he revealed a gray panel hidden behind the plastic foliage. So that sound had been a warning, if I’d known what I was hearing.
“Whoever cut the power used this for cover,” he said, and I nodded as I imagined it would be easy enough. I’d been distracted, in a hurry and the fake plant was thicker than a real one would have been, tall enough to conceal even Bill’s substantial height. “This panel controls the power in this end of the lodge.” He flipped the door open, squinted inside. “Everything looks fine.” Crew’s people could fingerprint it later. “If they knew what they were doing it wouldn’t take much to cut the power to everything, including the emergency beacon and exit sign.”
Tidy explanations gave me a bit of relief from what I’d just endured, helped settle my mind. Not that it could stop the meep of utter relief at the sight of my mother—Petunia trotting at her feet—and Dad heading toward me when I turned away from Bill who snapped the panel shut again.
I lurched out of his shadow and hugged Mom tight, feeling her embrace as desperate as my own.
“Fiona,” she gasped into the mess that was my hair, “what happened to you?”
I caught Dad’s terrified and then furious expression as he turned on Bill.
“Bill Saunders,” Dad said with that judging tone he used when he thought he was right about everyt
hing. “I didn’t know you’d moved back to town after you were released.” Oh, he was thinking bad things about my rescuer, I could see it in his face. While Bill shrank back, head down, ready to cut and run and I didn’t blame him a bit.
I jerked free of Mom long enough to smack Dad in the shoulder before bending to scoop Petunia for a hug and a few licks while my heart tried to settle and tears fought my need to keep it together. “Bill saved my life,” I choked. So much for not crying.
Dad gaped at me, Mom shaking while I told them everything between initial sobs before I managed to seize my surging emotions in a vice-like grip, grasping the maintenance man’s green work sleeve and holding onto him to keep him with me so he’d hear everything. I wanted him to know I trusted him and when I finished, Dad stuck out his hand and firmly shook Bill’s in his own with the kind of vigor that he reserved for fellow police officers who’d done him proud.
Mom just hugged him as I had. “Thank you,” she whispered before she embraced me again, Petunia squished between us, and sobbed once. When she pulled away she touched my hair, tears on her red cheeks. “You look a fright, sweetie,” she said with one of her patented forced, everything’s going to be fine, Lucy Fleming smiles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Dad hesitated. “I can find Ava?”
I shook my head, managed a smile at last. I was safe. It was going to be all right. And the person who killed Mason—who tried to kill me—was in for a hell of a ride when I finally found them.
“I just need a minute,” I said, letting Mom lead me away, needing in that moment for my mother to take care of me, even if only for a little while.
We headed back to my room, this time Mom taking the elevator and me without the energy to talk her out of it. I honestly don’t think I would have made it up seven flights anyway, so if the elevator did die and we were trapped in there? So be it. I set Petunia down as soon as we exited into the corridor, arms shaking from the effort to hold her but loathe to release her. She trotted beside me, looking up at me. Was that worry in her bulging eyes? Did she sense I had been in trouble? I fished out my key—thank goodness I hadn’t lost it in the snow, too—and let Mom go first, the pug sticking with me like glue.
A change of clothes and washing my face helped restore me somewhat, as did the shot of whiskey Mom handed me when I emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a fluffy sweater, updo ravaged by the storm now wound into a messy bun at the base of my neck. Looked like trash, but the best I could do.
“Drink it,” Mom said, practically holding it to my lips, Dad’s flask in her other hand.
I tipped it without argument, the heat crawling down my throat and making me cough. But the last edges of my terror vanished and I took one last swig for good measure.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” Mom’s face fell for an instant and I just kissed her cheek.
“About angry enough to tear this place apart looking for the killer,” I said.
She smiled, wavering, tremulous. “Are you sure?” I should have expected that from Mom, and likely from Dad, too. And when my father filled him in, Crew. Damn it, the killer might not have succeeded in eliminating me through murder but they might have thanks to the protective natures of the ones I had to answer to.
“Mom,” I said, grasping her upper arms in my hands and shaking her ever so slightly. “You taught me to never be afraid. Not of anything.” She nodded, though it seemed like she didn’t want to but couldn’t help herself. “So I’m going back out there,” I said, “and I’m going to finish what I started because no one does that to a Fleming and gets away with it.”
Maybe if I’d tried another argument I would have lost. Instead, the pride that flared in her eyes immediately preceded a massive hug so enthusiastic Petunia howled softly and bounced on her back legs to paw at us for attention. “That’s my girl,” Mom whispered in my ear before letting me go. She looked down at Petunia, I’m sure to try to hide the tears she blinked away, grinning at the dog. “Right, darling pug? That murderer can just watch out.”
Now, to convince Dad and the sheriff before they locked me in my room and threw away the key.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to encounter Crew the second Mom and I returned to the lobby. He stood with Dad and Bill, the two older men hanging back as the sheriff almost leaped on me, examining me as if for damage while I gaped at him like he’d lost his mind.
“You’re not hurt?” He cleared his throat and backed off and I wondered for a minute if Vivian liked stewing alone in her room while I spent so much time with her date. Sucker.
“I’m okay,” I said, smiling at the maintenance man lingering with Dad. “Thanks to Bill and Moose.”
But, as I expected, Crew had ideas about whether I was actually okay or not and it was clear from the way he shook his head, from that flat and distant expression he acquired, he’d made up his mind about my future involvement. No surprise there. “That’s it,” he said, hardly a shocker, “you’re done, Fee. Go to your room right now and stay out of it.”
Mom was on my side, I knew that. I’d won her over, but I hadn’t had a chance to talk to my father. And so, when Crew delivered his ultimatum, I fully expected my ex-sheriff and overly protective dad to take Crew’s side. Which meant a giant battle I didn’t have the energy to fight.
Instead of adding his own stern command to Crew’s, however, Dad shocked me. I don’t know who laughed harder, Mom or my normally stoic father. To hear them, they might as well have been a pair of cackling hyenas. Mom’s turned to giggles while Dad wiped at his eyes and clasped one hand to Crew’s shoulder.
“Good luck telling a Fleming woman what to do,” he said, winking at me. And told me with that wink he’d already come to his own conclusions about what I was capable of and had no plans to hold me back.
Wow. Who was this man and what did he do with my dad?
Crew’s forehead vein made an appearance, the left eye twitch of doom making him look slightly demented. But when he sighed and shrugged and met my gaze again, I could tell he’d given up all hope of success and was just going to ride the wave until he could be rid of me when the storm was over.
I’d take it.
“If you don’t mind,” Bill said, nodding to us, “I have rounds to make. And I have to top up the fuel in the gennies. Bosses will be at me if I let the power go out.”
“Thank you and hug Moose for me.” I bent and scooped up Petunia, hugging her tight a moment before she grunted loudly enough I set her down. Her butt found my toes and we were happy all over again.
“Okay, let’s lay this out then,” Dad said. “Shall we?” He gestured at Crew. “What have you got, Sheriff?”
“Ethan,” he said immediately. “He’s the most logical choice, means, motive and tons of opportunity.” Crew shook his head then. “Without any forensics, though, it’s impossible to know for sure. But he’s my number one.”
“Agreed,” Dad said. “I liked Simone for this—no offense, kid,” he waved off my protest, “until Ethan’s story came out. Still, the brother’s a bit of a screw up and money’s a motivator. So Noah?”
“Bottom of the list if he’s even on it.” Mom shocked me with her offering. “I like James Adler for this.” Mom punctuated her opinion with a sniff. “If I thought that little monster was connected to the death of my daughter he wouldn’t make it twenty-four hours.” We all gaped at her while she arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“Flemings,” Crew said like that was a bad thing.
“There’s one person we’re not considering,” I said slowly, hesitating.
“I’ve already cleared the chef and the stepfather,” Crew said. “And the general manager, the rest of the staff.”
That was fast for him. From the way Dad grinned, though, it was apparent they’d had another chat and my father must have won, at least in this instance. Enough to keep Dad in a good mood and tweak Crew to the point of frustration. These two had to sit down and have a serious conversation about how they were
going to exist together before something bigger crawled out of the woodwork.
My mind let that go in favor of this particular mess. “You know Carol and Lucas are an item, yes?” Crew hesitated which meant he hadn’t known but now he did. Good for him. “But I agree. None of the others are good for this. Look.” I reached for my phone and groaned. “Damn it. I lost my phone in the snow when… you know.”
“Here.” Crew handed me his. Why wasn’t I surprised at the gigantic, rubberized safety box he had around his latest and greatest in smartphone tech? If I was right, he could drop this baby in the ocean and it would still work a week later. But it wasn’t the phone itself that gave me a thrill of surprise. The fact he just handed it over felt oddly intimate. “What are you looking for?”
I opened his social media to which he grunted and perhaps realized his mistake. I flinched briefly at the selfie of him and Vivian from earlier tonight, though part of me acknowledged the discomfort in his face and the overly eager smile on hers before I keyed in Mason’s name and found his profile. Wide open and completely viewable. I located one of the party picture folders and showed it to Crew, paging through a few images for him before he got the hint. And looked up at the same moment Dad did from watching over his shoulder while Mom squinted and asked the question the boys were rolling over in their heads.
“Who’s that in the background?” Clever Mamma Fleming. She wasn’t a sheriff’s wife for nothing. I wondered how many cases she helped Dad solve on the down low all those years. She was certainly showing her investigative savvy now. “She’s in every photo.”
