S'more Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  “I don’t know. Someone there. Someone you recognized. You were hit from behind, Francescan, there’s got to be a reason for that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I was hit from behind.” Francescan glanced around, checking if there was anyone in the room or near the doorway. “Like, lower your voice. Someone might hear you.”

  “Francescan,” I whispered, “I know you don’t want people to think you’re, uh, unpopular but—”

  “Unpopular!” Francescan gasped. “Are you, like, losing it? Me? Unpopular?”

  “I’m not saying you are,” I continued, trying to calm her down with gentle pats of the air. “Look, I’m just saying that someone tried to hurt you last night. They knocked you out and left you for dead on the side of a snowy path.” And no one helped you. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t say that if I wanted her to talk. “I’m concerned.”

  Francescan checked her long pink nails. “Yeah, well, like, I think I know who did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Katrina Sweete. Madeline’s ugly stepsister? She’s evil as a full fat latte.”

  “A full fat…” I shook my head. Focus, Ruby. “Why is she evil?”

  “Because she’s, like, totally jealous of me and she’s the type of person that would hurt someone to take their place.”

  “Did you see her on the path last night? Or anyone?”

  Francescan sniffed. “No, but I know it was her. She’s the only one who would, like, hurt me. Everyone loves me.”

  We fell into silence, and Francescan primped and preened again, occasionally complaining under her breath about having to stay in bed until the doctor discharged her. From her mutterings, I gathered there were quite a few events planned for the day.

  Bee and I didn’t have to cater any of them except for lunch, so I had some free time to ponder last night.

  It wasn’t that I wanted to get involved—no one had been murdered—but it had been shocking to find Francescan on the side of the pathway, covered in snow. I’d been terrified she might die. We’d had no idea how severe her injuries were.

  Such a jarring incident deserved attention. So why wasn’t Francescan taking it seriously?

  “You should report this to the police,” I said. “Someone attacked you.”

  Francescan didn’t look up from her reflection in the compact. “That’s, like, such a waste of time.”

  “Why?”

  “First, because the cops are stuck. The roads are totally snowed in. And second, because who would believe anyone would want to hurt me? Like, ridiculous. I’m the one who hosted this party. I’m the one who got everyone to come out here. I’m the one who’s paying for most of it.”

  “But Katrina—?”

  “Katrina’s an idiot, and I don’t even know if she, like, did it. I mean, she probably did because she’s so jealous, but it’s… whatever. I don’t care.” Francescan groaned. “I want to leave and get back to my friends. And my suitors.”

  Right. The whole point of the Valentine’s Day event was to bring young men and women together and match them up. It was Francescan’s attempt at playing cupid, though I got the sense that if she were a real cupid, she’d shoot all the arrows into her own heiney.

  She wasn’t the sharing type.

  “Francescan,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What were you and Katrina arguing about yesterday?”

  Francescan pursed her glittery lips. “That—oof, I despise her.”

  “You said something about taking your boyfriend?”

  “What? Like… nooooo. I don’t have a boyfriend. That’s the whole point of me being here in the first place. Like, I’m super picky about who I date. I told Katrina to stay away from my man.”

  “Your man.” Wasn’t that Millennial lingo for boyfriend?

  “Yes, my assistant. Petey. He’s the one who sent out the invites and who drives my car. And who should have been here by now with my breakfast,” Francescan said. “She’s been trying to steal him away from me for the past few months. He’s, like, the best thing that ever happened to my business. Or he was until he was late with my croissant!” She shouted the last word.

  The door to the sick bay opened, and a dark-haired, handsome young man entered. He was on the short side and thin, but moved lithely, as if he could spring to action at any moment. “Your breakfast, Miss Taupin.” He placed a silver tray on her lap and removed the domed lid with a flourish. “Croissant with chocolate dip. Apologies for the delay, ma’am. The chocolate dip was difficult to procure.”

  Francescan let out a satisfied sigh. “You’re the best, Petey.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Now, like, go get me an Evian.”

  “Right away, Miss Taupin.” And off he went again.

  “I’d better go too,” I said. “Bee and I are practicing new recipes for your ball.”

  “Perf.” Francescan gave me a chocolate-covered thumbs up.

  I didn’t bother asking what ‘perf’ meant. The thumbs up was positive, so I’d run with that. I waved goodbye to the injured hostess then hurried out of the sick bay. I slammed right into Petey’s broad back.

  “Ouch,” I yelped, rubbing my nose. “Sorry!”

  “You all right?” Petey asked, grabbing hold of my arm to steady me. His grip was firm but gentle. “You nearly fell. You wouldn’t want to wind up in bed like Miss Taupin.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I’d better get going.”

  “Let me walk you back to your food truck, Miss Holmes.”

  “You can call me Ruby.” He was the one who’d given Bee and me the itinerary for our time working here, and so far, he’d been organized and polite. “And I can make it back on my own.”

  “I insist, Ruby,” Petey replied, and took my arm before I could squeak out a ‘no.’

  4

  “So, you’re headed back to the truck?” Petey asked, half-dragging me down the hall and out of the resort’s main building. A blanket of white snow covered the land and the roofs of the bungalows that nestled against the mountain. Trees, their branches laden with white powder, stood somber and tall.

  My breath misted in front of my mouth, and I pulled my arm out of Petey’s grip. “Back to the food truck and the events hall,” I said. “Say, are you OK? You seem kind of spooked.”

  “Not spooked,” he said, clapping his gloved hands together. “Just frustrated.”

  “Why?” I set off walking, and he fell into step beside me, occasionally puffing on his gloves.

  “Because I have to work for Francescan,” Petey replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s kind of high maintenance.”

  “Kind of?” I asked. “You must have the patience of a saint.”

  “She pays really well.” Petey let out a deprecatory laugh, but it petered off. “Let’s cut across the field. There’s a hidden path that leads back to the parking area. One of the servers showed it to me—they like to take their smoke breaks out here.”

  “Sure, OK.”

  Petey helped me climb over a low wooden fence, and we crunched across the snowy field together.

  “You know, I spend a lot of time walking,” Petey said, quietly. “Just to avoid Francescan. I know that’s bad, but she’s been trying my patience lately. She threw a tantrum last night because I’ve been helping out Katrina—giving her rides around town because she hasn’t got a car of her own.”

  Trying your patience enough for you to try to kill her?

  “I’ve been wondering whether I should quit,” Petey continued, as we wound along a path between the trees. There were several tracks through the snow here, lending credence to Petey’s story that the staff took breaks along this path.

  “What’s stopping you?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been working for her for a while, and I’m not happy. She calls me at all hours of the night. She makes me drive her around all day every day in a pink car. That wasn’t originally part of my job description, y’know.”

  “Maybe y
ou should talk to her about it. Then you might—oh!” I stopped short.

  We’d entered a covered part of the trail, where two trees bent toward each other under the weight of the snow. In the center of the path stood two people, locked in a passionate embrace.

  Madeline, the pretty woman with blonde ringlets, and the stocky man who she’d introduced us to as Frank. They sprang apart, blushing profusely.

  “S-sorry,” I said.

  “It’s OK,” Madeline replied. “We were just hanging out.”

  Petey forged on ahead without me, and I was left standing awkwardly in the snow—like a third wheel without a car attached to it. “Well, uh, have a good day!” I rushed off but I’d already lost Petey.

  That suited me fine—there was work to be done! Cakes to be baked. And no dead bodies to worry about. Thank goodness for that.

  “They’re ready,” Bee said, removing the s’more hotpots from the oven on the food truck. She placed the tray on the counter and swiped her hand across her forehead. “Heavens, I don’t think I’ve been this tired in years.”

  We’d been baking since our lunch service in the events hall. Afterward, Francescan—who had finally been released from the sick bay—had informed us that we would be serving our treats for dinner too. We’d been working for hours to make sure we had enough food for everyone.

  “You did an amazing job as usual, Bee.”

  “So did you. Let me fix us a pot of coffee before we go serve these brattish people.” Bee always said it how it was. Or how she saw it.

  “That would be great,” I said, checking my watch. We had a half an hour before we had to serve dessert. The snow hadn’t stopped coming down since last night, and the staff at the resort had given out candles and extra firewood just in case the power cut. It had been quite the adventure, so far.

  I accepted a cup of coffee from Bee and sipped it. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

  “It does.” Bee downed her coffee. “So, what do you think happened to Francescan?”

  “She thinks Katrina attacked her. That or it was no one because she’s so popular.”

  Bee rolled her eyes so hard she nearly passed out. “Why Katrina?”

  I gave her the short version of what both Francescan and Petey had said, and how we’d seen Madeline and Frank kissing under the trees. It wasn’t relevant, but I was in the habit of telling Bee everything. She’d been the first to know that Jamie and I were in a long-distance relationship.

  Sheesh, every time I thought about that, I got butterflies.

  “Hmm.” Bee tapped her chin. “I wonder…”

  My phone buzzed, and I scooped it out of the front pocket of my apron. My cheeks heated. “I should take this.”

  “Ooh, is it lover boy?”

  “I’ll be right back.” I shuffled past Bee to the door separating the back of the truck from the front.

  Once I was sequestered, hopefully not with my best friend pressing her ear against the door, I answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweet pea,” Jamie said.

  The heat in my face intensified. What was it about him that made me so nervous? “Hi,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “How are you?”

  “I’m missing you.”

  “I miss you too,” I said, trying not to hold back. It was difficult after what had happened with my ex, but I was working my way up to being open with Jamie. I really liked him. I just wasn’t good at expressing it.

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie laughed. “Because I’ve been thinking about coming out there to visit you again. It’s been too long. And I may or may not have a special Valentine’s Day gift for you.”

  “Jamie, that would be wonderful. I’d love to see you again.” Excitement replaced my nerves. “But I’m at that Valentine’s Day event I mentioned, remember?”

  “Yeah, I figured. I was thinking about coming up after you were done there. We could spend a few days together. I’ll take you and Bee to out for dinner. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds amazing, Jamie. I can’t wait!” He always made a point of including Bee in our adventures—especially when they were culinary. I liked that about him.

  “Great. I’ll be counting down the days.”

  We said goodbye, and I clasped the phone to my chest, a smile lighting me from the inside out.

  5

  Once again, Bee and I stood by our desserts table, the s’more pots in front of us, along with cupcakes, donuts, and eclairs. The guests, however, were too busy dancing the night away to come grab any of the delicious treats.

  Bee and I had watched, belly’s grumbling, as the young men and women picked at their food, preferring to chatter among themselves or sip their drinks. I couldn’t fathom how they had the willpower not to devour everything placed in front of them.

  It smelled so delicious. From the filet mignon with caramelized onion topping and gravy reduction to the hand cut skinny fries.

  “I understand she hired us to make this,” Bee said, sounding quietly dangerous, “but why ask us to prepare these desserts when we did the same for lunch and people are disinterested in eating them.”

  “I don’t know,” I agreed. “I don’t want to see this food go to waste.”

  Bee sighed. “Well, at least we get to do some people watching.”

  I scanned the hall, noting the Valentine’s Day decorations—the red, white, and pink streamers, the banner over one side of the hall, and the heart-shaped confetti that littered the floor. Boy, that had to be a chore to clean up every night.

  Francescan sat at the main table, the pink bandage around her head and her phone out as she recorded video after video of herself for her followers on her social media accounts. She smiled and posed, often popping one hand under her chin, and fluttering her eyelashes.

  A few of the other guests did the same, including Katrina Sweete, who had decided to wear a pair of skimpy jean shorts with a SpongeBob SquarePants t-shirt to dinner. The ‘evil woman’—according to Francescan—clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about the dress code. Every other guest was dressed to the nines in sweeping gowns or suits.

  I narrowed my eyes at Katrina, pondering.

  Could she have done it? She seemed tense, her gaze flickering back and forth, from Francescan to Petey, who was at the bar again, talking to one of the mixologists, a list in his hand. Likely a list of Francescan’s demands.

  Katrina engaged in conversation with the red-haired Phillip Rorke, a young man rumored to be insanely wealthy. He wore a tuxedo with gold trim, for heaven’s sake, but he didn’t seem interested in Katrina’s conversation.

  He stared in another direction—toward the beautiful, blonde Madeline.

  “She’s acting strangely,” Bee said, nodding to the object of Phillip’s attention.

  Madeline didn’t have phone out either and turned in circles. Searching for something? Or someone?

  “I wonder what’s wrong.”

  Madeline moved to Francescan’s table and whispered something into the hostess’s ear. Francescan, in turn, shook her head, the smallest frown appearing on her brow.

  Madeline chewed on her bottom lip, nervously, but her demeanor shifted a second later, a bright smile replacing her anxiety. She waved at someone across the hall.

  Ah, it was Frank! The man been kissing earlier in the day. Apparently, every man in the hall was interested in Madeline. I didn’t blame them—she was a gorgeous young woman and had been so polite to us yesterday.

  Even Stony Williams, the most eligible bachelor in Prattlebark Village, according to Francescan’s Valentine’s Day information pamphlet, stopped and stared as she passed by. Tall, dark, and handsome, he didn’t pay anyone attention. Except for her.

  What does that matter? Madeline wasn’t the one who was attacked. So what if she’s found her one true love at a Valentine’s Day event up in the mountains?

  But, to be fair, Francescan had been attacked yesterday. And any one of the guests could have done it.
Or even some of the staff. Hadn’t Petey said he was frustrated working for her? But then, why wouldn’t he just quit?

  Then who might have done it? Katrina? I found the Sweete stepsister again. She glared across the room at Madeline and Frank, cracking her knuckles.

  So many intriguing interactions. And none of them mattered. Francescan had chosen not to call the police or press charges. A weird thing to do…

  Oh, stop it.

  “Bee,” I said, trying to change the subject for myself, “Jamie’s coming down to visit soon. Once we’re back in Prattlebark Village, I mean.”

  “That’s great!”

  “He mentioned taking us out to dinner. Thought it might be fun if we went to the—”

  The lights cut out in the hall, and a few of the female guests shrieked.

  Darkness enveloped everyone and everything. It was a cloudy night without a sliver of moonlight.

  “Everyone chill out!” A woman shouted nearby.

  Phone lights switched on across the hall, casting shadows on faces, but not much light on the tables—pockets of blue that showed the less flattering sides of their owners.

  A phone screen lit up close to us and showed us Madeline’s wan face. “We can use our flashlights,” she said. “The app to—”

  A gunshot popped in the hall.

  Madeline dropped her phone. Screams broke out again, this time followed by panicked running. Doors banged open and shut. A second gunshot cracked much closer to us.

  “Down!” Bee yelled and pulled on my arm.

  We scooched underneath the desserts table, and my heart ran wild. Footsteps and screams, a stampede through the hall, but no more gunshots. I clutched my friend’s hand, squeezing tight.

  Someone had been shot. Someone had brought a gun to the resort. Or could it be the gun had already been here with one of the staff members?

  The extraneous thoughts drifted through my mind, skidding along the surface of panic.

  Finally, the lights clicked on again, flooding the hall and illuminating the sides of the white tablecloth that draped over the desserts table. Bee’s concerned face stared back at me.