Murder at the Lone Peak
Page 6
"Thank you," she said.
Sheila nodded her head as she loudly slurped the remainder of the spaghetti down her throat. "No worries!
As Constance stood from the table, she indicated to Eleanor and Sydney to vacate the restaurant. The two scurried on out, followed in close proximity by Constance. Although she wasn't one to jump to conclusions, she had to admit that Sheila seemed perfectly innocent in all of this; a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not that this concerned Constance too much, for the night was young and there were still plenty of suspects on her list.
***
Constance had to wait a full hour until she was able to interview the next two suspects. They were the Flanders couple and having been involved in a rather heated exchange with Mr. Christie the night of his murder, they were both rather high on Constance's personal '”who dunnit” list too.
Unfortunately, when Constance made for the bedroom in which the young couple was staying, she found them to be out for the evening. She gave off a loud 'humph' when she learned of this, frustrated that she might have to put her investigation on hold for the night. That was until Eleanor swooped in to save the day.
"I vaguely remember seeing them leave the hotel this morning in hiking gear," Eleanor mused as the three ladies gathered around reception.
"Are you sure?" Constance asked, feeling a sudden spike of energy. The town of Modest Peak wasn't exactly known for its rough and tumble hiking trails, offering only one path up the mountain which was impossible to navigate by night. If the couple had left the hotel to travel this trail, then they would be back shortly.
"Or maybe it was the day before..." Eleanor pursed her lips as she cast her mind back. "I remember thinking it odd as only the wife left the hotel room in her gear. I was disappointed at the time because I wanted to catch a sneak peak of her husband in spandex —”
"Of course you did," Constance added.
"-- but he didn't follow her out," Eleanor continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "But, then she met him in the parking lot by their Winnebago. He was standing there, in the tightest little pair of shorts you will have ever seen. I tell you, the butt on that guy is —”
"Focus, please," Constance reminded.
"Right," Eleanor blinked rapidly. "Anyway, I thought it odd because it looked like he had gotten ready in the Winnebago and then met her out the front. Why would he not get ready in the room with her? I know if I were his wife I'd insist he get undressed in front of me."
"Maybe he likes Winnebago's?" Sydney added thoughtfully.
"Maybe..." Constance mused – more as a means to make Sydney feel like she was contributing, than agreeing with this sentiment. "But I agree, it is peculiar. So, when was it? Today or yesterday?"
Eleanor put her finger to her chin as if to think. But before she got a chance to open her mouth with an answer, the front door to the hotel was thrown open and in walked none other than the Flanders couple; both decked out in hiking gear.
The three ladies whipped their heads around, staring at the young couple as they strolled into the hotel. And the Flanders, seeing the odd way in which they were being watched, put their heads down as they hurried up the stairs and toward their room.
"Okay," Constance said, straightening herself up. "I'm going up."
"And us?" Sydney asked hopefully.
"I think it would be best if I went it alone. They look like a couple of skittish cats and the three of us bombarding them might well scare them off entirely."
Sydney looked crestfallen by this, Eleanor looked nonplussed. Constance offered an 'I'm sorry' smile before making her way up the staircase, toward the Flanders' room and knocking three times on the door.
"One sec," the voice of Mr. Flanders called out from the other side.
Constance rolled back on the balls of her feet, trying her best to look 'homely' as she waited. Where Sheila was willing to be asked questions, she got the feeling that the Flanders weren't going to be quite so cordial and open.
The door opened to reveal Mr. Flanders and when it did, Constance offered her warmest, most gracious smile. "Hey, there," she beamed. "Mr. Flanders, isn't it?"
"Ahuh," he said through narrowed eyes. The door was only half-open, with the majority of his body stuck behind it as if hiding. She didn't fail to notice that he still wore his hiking gear – and as Eleanor had pointed out, this included a very tight pair of spandex pants over a very thick pair of legs.
"I'm Constance Aberfield, the proprietor of The Lone Peak. I don't believe we've been introduced?" She held her hand out, which Mr. Flanders did not take.
"It's not a bother," he said politely, his eyes glancing to the outstretched hand. As like most from the mid-north states, he spoke in a high-pitched accent. It gave him the appearance of being friendly, even when he wasn't being. "Not a bother at all."
He went to close the door when Constance cut back in. "I just came by to apologize to you for all that has happened over the last few days. What with the untimely death of Mr. Christie and the way the two of you have been cooped up here like hens in a cage."
"Really," he said again in the same pleasant manner. "It isn't a bother at all. Me and Sally – I mean, the missus went hiking today. And tomorrow we're... well just know we're filling our time in nicely."
He again went to close the door when Constance spoke up. "I also couldn't help but notice a few nights ago, that you and the victim got into a little tiff? An argument in front of your Winnebago?"
She may have been imagining it, but Constance could have sworn she saw Mr. Flanders' upper-lip twitch at the mention of this confrontation. Before he had a chance to answer however, his wife called out from inside the room.
"Who's at the door, Ed?" Mrs. Flanders asked.
Mr. Flanders, caught almost by surprise by his wife's sudden appearance, jumped as he spun back to answer. "No one... honey. Just the hotel's owner is all."
"What does she want?" Like her husband, Mrs. Flanders spoke with a high-pitched tenor. It made it impossible to deduce if she were angry or not.
"Nothing... dear. Just asking about the other night in front of the Winnebago and the slight kerfuffle we had."
As Mr. Flanders answered his wife, he unintentionally opened the door up to reveal the inside of the room and Constance, seeing her chance, didn't hesitate in peering in.
With her shock red hair, Mrs. Flanders stood out in the beige painted room as she walked across it; but that wasn't what caught Constance's eyes. Rather it was the double-bed; only one side looking to have been slept in. She also noted the open cupboard; featuring only women's clothes. And although she had to really squint to see, it looked as if the bathroom only stocked Mrs. Flanders' toiletries. One would think that Mr. Flanders hadn't spent so much as a night in the room he was paying for.
"Oh, wasn't he rude!" Mrs. Flanders called out as she walked across the room. She had a towel wrapped around her body and was using another to dry her hair.
"He was that.... pumpkin," Mr. Flanders agreed. He then spun back to face Constance, quickly pressing the door back up against his body as if noticing that Constance was sneaking a peak. "Is there anything else?"
"I was going to inquire... and this is purely for the hotel's own personal record. You see we have to keep a log of disputes, grievances and the like for future reference. You understand?" She smiled again, trying her best to look innocent. "But I was hoping you could tell me what the dispute was about? I remember hearing something about him trying to break into your van?"
"Winnebago," Mr. Flanders corrected. "And yes, you hit the nail on the ah, head there." His leg started to bob up and down as he spoke, looking as if he desperately wanted to end the conversation. "I caught him trying to open the door, I confronted him, and he rather rudely accused me of abusing him. If it wasn't for the fact that Sally – I mean, my wife, was there then I would have let him have it. That you best believe."
"And why was he trying to get in your van – Winne
bago?" Constance pressed." She hadn’t failed to notice the way Mr. Flanders was beginning to sweat, indicating nerves more than anything.
"No idea. He was crazy. Luckily we didn't see him again and... well not lucky, but... well... yes, you know how the story ends."
"I do."
"Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower. The ah... my wife just finished up and I need to be getting to it." And without another word he closed the door on Constance – it was closer to a slam than a simple close, but Constance didn't let it bother her.
The amateur sleuth wore a broad grin on her face as she made her way down the stairs and back toward reception. This look of delight was not one missed by Eleanor or Sydney.
"What?" Eleanor asked, appearing more curious than she had been all day.
"I think," Constance said slowly as if for effect. "That we have our first major clue."
Chapter Seven
The moon – a waxing gibbous – seemed almost full as it shone over the near empty parking lot that was located beside The Lone Peak Hotel. And although there was no actual storm to speak of, the wind howled across the lot as if threatening to bring one with it. It whipped at the fir trees that lined the edges of the bitumen paved space, dislodging any leaves that it could. It then gathered them into a hurricane of sorts before launching them in a fury at the grouping of feet that hurried on by.
"Owie!" Sydney exclaimed loudly as the leaves struck her uncovered ankles.
"Ssshhh!" Constance chastised in a loud whisper. "Keep it down."
"I'm sorry," Sydney pouted. "But the leaves —”
"Ssshhh!" Eleanor joined in, although the level of volume she used to quiet her friend made the act almost redundant.
Sydney bowed her head and snapped her mouth shut tight as she, and Constance and Eleanor, continued to make their way across the parking lot. They stayed huddled together as they did so, doing all they could to remain unseen. This was a rather pointless effort as the moon lit the lot up like a streetlamp. As well as that, there were only two vehicles in the lot, meaning that the three scurrying ladies stood out like cats in dog fight.
But nonetheless, they kept their backs hunched as they moved, careful not to make a sound. Constance was grateful for the tenacity of the wind, as it did much to cover the sounds of their heels scrapping across the ground.
Their destination was the Winnebago, parked at the far end of the lot, and if Constance's calculations were correct, they had roughly fifteen minutes to break in, search it as thoroughly as they were able, and get out before Mr. and Mrs. Flanders returned from the Lone Aisle Supermarket.
It was the way that Mr. Flanders had reacted when mentioning the confrontation that had sent Constance's alarm bells into overdrive. Where he seemed at ease speaking of said confrontation, his nerves seemed to skyrocket the second his Winnebago was mentioned. The idea of someone trying to break into it appeared to upset him deeply.
Constance couldn't imagine what it might be, but she was almost certain that Mr. Flanders was hiding something in that Winnebago of his. Further to this point, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility either that he may have suspected Mr. Christie had learned what this something was, and killed him rather than risking it getting out.
"What do you think it might be?" Sydney asked with untapped exuberance when Constance first put this theory to the two ladies. It was seconds after she had returned from speaking to Mr. Flanders and she could not wait to tell them what she had discovered... or thought to have discovered.
"I don’t know," Constance responded, doing her best to hide her own level of budding excitement. "But it would have to be pretty big to want to kill someone over."
"Maybe it's his wife?" Eleanor said dryly as she inspected her nails.
This gave Constance pause. "His wife?" she asked, confused. "I saw her upstairs not one minute ago.
"You saw a woman who claims to be his wife," Eleanor pointed out. "I told you it was odd that she let that scrumptious tush out of her sights. And the more that I think of it, I don't think he's even sleeping in the same room as her. In fact, I know I saw him leaving the Winnebago two mornings ago, looking like he had slept in it. Now what do you make of that?"
"I don't know," Constance said truthfully. She really had no idea.
As the three ladies continued to make their way across the parking lot and toward the Winnebago, Constance's mind would not stop throwing up suggestions and theories as to what they might find. Dead bodies? Stolen goods? Papers which revealed who really shot JFK? The possibilities were as tantalizing as they were endless.
When they reached the Winnebago, they spread out in a manner they had discussed beforehand. Where Sydney stayed by the vehicles front as a lookout, Constance headed to the back for the same purpose. Eleanor, it turned, had some previous experience with picking locks – although when pressed on why she did, she refused to say – and was therefore nominated as the one that would 'break into' the vehicle.
Constance's blood was pumping the likes of which she had never felt. As she hovered by the back of the Winnebago, squinting her eyes as she glanced down the road, she felt as if she had just watched a scary movie... or a marathon of scary movies. Indeed, she could barely keep herself still.
"Are you almost done!" she hissed at Eleanor who was still trying to break into the vehicle.
"Darling, if you want to have a go at this, be my guest," Eleanor snapped back without looking up. "It's not as easy as it looks."
Constance's lips tightened as she went back to acting lookout. Truthfully, the whole thing was just so exciting. It was just like in the movies. There was even the added element of danger that they might find something hidden within the Winnebago – that they might solve an actual murder! She could scarcely contain her excitement.
"Done!" Eleanor exclaimed in triumph before throwing her hand over her mouth. "I mean, done," she whispered.
Constance was by her side a second later. She bobbed up and down on the soles of her feet, pressing herself in behind Eleanor as the two hurried into the Winnebago and shut the door behind them – Sydney had been ordered to stay outside and keep a lookout, just in case.
Once inside, Constance pulled her phone out and put on the flashlight, as did Eleanor. They had both discussed this in advance, knowing it would do no good to turn the lights on just in case someone saw. Once they had their lights in hand, they got about sleuthing.
The Winnebago was rather nice, and if it weren't for the fact that a hotel was sitting literally right next door, Constance could see why Mr. Flanders didn't mind sleeping in it. With a double bed that folded into the wall, a mini-kitchen and sink, a bathroom complete with shower and even a small table, the luxury van had everything one would need for traveling. It was also immaculately well kept, making the act of prying all the easier.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Eleanor asked as she opened up the built-in wardrobe – a waist high cubby-hole – and dropped to her knees to get a better look.
"Anything out of the ordinary. I get the feeling that you will know it when you see it."
But the two didn't know it. As they searched high and low through the vehicle, checking the cupboards, drawers and surfaces, nothing seemed to pop out, or suggest suspicious behavior. The only thing that either woman could see as being odd was the clear fact that Mr. Flanders was sleeping, dining and showering in the Winnebago while his wife had the room to herself.
"It's peculiar," Constance agreed when Eleanor pointed it out. "But it's not worth killing over. Not all married couples sleep in the same bed."
"I'm telling you," Eleanor continued as she sat herself down at the table. "They aren't married. I can tell."
Constance chose to ignore this theory, rolling her eyes as she made for the driver's seat at the very front. There, she fell into the seat and popped open the glove box. As suspected by this point, there wasn't anything of worth in it. Just a roll of sunblock, an empty water bottle and the Winnebago's registration papers.
"Eleanor!" she hissed. "Come, quick. I've found... well I think it's something?"
"What?" Eleanor asked excitedly as she hurried down the length of the vehicle.
Constance held the papers up to show her friend exactly what she had found. The registration papers indicated that the Winnebago had only been purchased a week previously. But that wasn't what had caught her eye. It seemed that Mrs. Flanders was the one who had made payment, only she didn't do so under her name.
"Sally Farrel?" Eleanor read the name. "Who's Sally Farrel?"
"It's Mrs. Flanders," Constance answered as she took another look over the papers. "Well I assume it is. Her first name is Sally, but for some reason she didn't use her husband's last name." Constance put the papers back before turning to look Eleanor dead in the eye. "I think you're right, Eleanor. I don't think that the Flanders are married."
"Mr. Flanders!" the high-pitched wail of Sydney sounded from outside. "What are you doing?!"
Constance and Eleanor froze, looking in shock from each other, to the door – and only exit – and then back to one another.
"Going to my Winnebago," the confused sounding Mr. Flanders responded.
"Oh, you don't want to go in there!" Sydney responded.
Constance and Eleanor were up in a second, hurrying down the Winnebago and toward... well nowhere really. They reached the door, Eleanor going to open it, when Constance grabbed her by the hand.
"Nooooo," she whispered. "We can't!"
They stood perfectly still, listening to Mr. Flanders right outside the door. "And why don't I want to go inside?" he asked.
"Because... because..."
Constance grimaced as she listened with baited breath. What ridiculous excuse was Sydney going to give? She should have left Eleanor out there instead. At least Eleanor might have been able to flirt her way out of the situation. Sydney was as likely to help him open the door, as keep him away from it.