Crystal Mountain Veils

by Kieran York

  Royce smiled. She recalled the days of trailing behind her father as he went on his calls around town. Those were good days. “Bonnie, if you need help, I can come in this evening and work.”

  “We’ll get it all tied up before then.”

  Royce was aware that as limited as funds were, there would be minimal letter stuffing. And the campaign signs would probably disappear within a day. “Thanks, Bonnie. I appreciate your confidence in me. And all you’re doing to help.”

  ***

  Royce plodded across the street and into Molly’s Pantry. She had waited until the last customer left, priming her courage to face Molly.

  Molly appeared in the backroom doorway. “Hi, honey. Just pour yourself some coffee and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Royce poured coffee and then sat quietly. Her arms folded in across her chest. Her hands became bracelets around her upper arms. She squeezed her Sheriff’s Department patch insignias. She wondered how she could have told her father, had he lived. Part of hiding, she considered, was an attempt not to hurt loved ones. But that, she mused, turned all the hurt inside.

  Molly interrupted her isolation. “I hear you’re goin’ up to interrogate Godiva.”

  “Yes. The investigation is an endless log jam.”

  “Something will break.”

  “Mom, we need to talk. ...”

  “Oh, before I forget. Gwen said to drop over when you have time. Guess she got another series of cards from your Gran. Wants to have a little get-together so Dora can show off her photos of England.”

  “Gran will love that. I can’t wait to see her.” Royce had felt better when she and Hertha stayed out at the cabin. At least Royce felt Hertha was out of danger from the stalker’s possible harm. Since the night he peered into Hertha’s bedroom, there was fear of Hertha being alone. Royce was satisfied that he could not have trailed them to the cabin without being noticed. “I enjoyed the postcards Gran’s sent me.”

  “Nadine has even been brusque to me lately.” Molly’s hands were firmly planted on her hips. “Wish I knew what’s going on with her. Something is mighty wrong. She sure is cantankerous with Gwen. You think there’s been trouble between them?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I’m as green as a leprechaun when it comes to that kind of relationship. But they always were so close. So secure.”

  “Mom, I’ve got something to talk with you about. It’s important.” Royce inhaled deeply. “There’s talk out on the street about me. About my closeness with Hertha.”

  “I heard some rumblings, Roycie. I say that there will always be such talk when two women are best friends. And we know where it all started. It isn’t just idle gossip. Those hate mongers are after you, and they’re stooping to any treachery they can.” There was a quick flash of rancor in Molly’s face. Her expression then resumed its sweetness. “Don’t pay any mind to stories. It’s no one’s concern.”

  “It’s my concern. Your concern.” Royce reached across and stopped Molly’s hand as it swirled across the counter. She felt the coolness of the damp towel within Molly’s clutch. “Mom, please come around here and sit down with me a minute.”

  Molly allowed the towel to ease from her fingers. “Sure, honey.” Royce heard the familiar static on her radio as dispatch called her. Amy announced a disturbance at the Timber City Bank. Royce stood and hastened to the door. “I’ll be back later, Mom.” She rushed out onto the street and toward the bank.

  Her mission to tell Molly would have to wait.

  ***

  From the time Royce left the bank after quieting an argument between two customers, she had been running late. Carrie’s mother, Norma Donovan, had spotted Royce and wanted a word with the sheriff. She thanked Royce for helping with her headstrong daughter. She said she was beginning to see a change in the girl. Royce observed that Carrie had a mind of her own but hoped she would get turned around.

  Royce then called dispatch and asked that Amy call and rearrange the appointment in Crystal. By the time Royce reached the outskirts of Crystal, Amy had radioed that Godiva would be able to make it in an hour. She was on set and would return to the lodge where they were scheduled to meet. Royce was glad for the interlude. It gave her the chance to re-examine the room where Sandra Holt had been murdered.

  Alone in the room, Royce walked through the murder. She crossed the room, just as she suspected the murderer would have done. She picked up the poker and moved to where the body had dropped. She re-enacted the crime with the information she recalled from the Medical Examiner’s report. The first blow; and then the second while the victim was on the floor. That blow had been an afterthought perhaps. It had hit near the initial blow. The report had also concluded that the blows could have been delivered by a woman of medium build. That, Royce determined, could have been any of the leading suspects.

  She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly time to meet with Godiva, she thought. She quickly went through the probable actions of the killer. It was a rat’s maze. It all was, she murmured. She then walked slowly to the door. She mulled the possibilities. She massaged her temple a moment and then reached for the doorknob.

  It had been a clumsy murder at best.

  ***

  “The first Lady Godiva rode naked through Coventry,” Godiva explained, “and men who looked at her were struck blind. So legend goes.” Her curvaceous body had staged itself upon a tufted, champagne-colored daybed. Wearing a boudoir-pink caftan, matching slippers, and a rosette garland on her head, Godiva’s recumbent frame lounged. She gave a laugh that sounded like chimes. “And I’m criticized for going naked! No one ever went blind because of these boobs.”

  Royce was seated on a settee across from the star. She fidgeted with her uniform collar. Finally, she said, “Your breasts may be harmless, but showing them around doesn’t help all those women out there who are fighting to keep their breasts to themselves.”

  “I donate bushels of bucks to women’s organizations. I couldn’t do that if I didn’t have a business sense for what people want. They do the buying. I’m the product. I’m the goddess. Not just when the cameras are rolling. I’ve got a dozen homes and three times that in luxury cars. Art, antiques, stock, and money. You know, I don’t have my pedigree, but money is a terrific stand-in. Buy enough property and it makes up for ancestry. And that money is easy to make. Really. I sashay around a stage and sing. I’m not trying for a frigging halo. Look around.” Her arm made a dramatic sweep of her suite. “I’ve stepped into this kind of living. Wherever I go, it’s first class.”

  Royce surveyed the room with its clean lines of polished mahogany. Gray marble floors were covered with expensive oriental rugs. The antique furniture was elegant and costly. Everyone and everything seemed to be at her command. Godiva’s retinue took care of her every need. A stanch, devoted trio of bodyguards accompanied and protected her as if she were the world’s treasure.

  Royce took a sip of cafe au lait from the delicate gold-edged demitasse. “And are you happy?“ she questioned.

  Godiva’s head lifted. Her laugh was pressed with arrogance, but it trailed to a limp and hollow echo. “Of course. I’m a money magnet. Money does its own talking.” She lifted her glass of mineral water and toasted. “L'chaim!”

  “Would you be happy without money?”

  “I’m a blowzy bleached blond with a sensual appetite, erotic timing, and a lust for excitement. I don’t sing Amazing Grace. I am amazing grace.” Godiva leaned toward Royce and her loose bodice exposed her breasts. “I was called a second-rater with an enormous self-interest. Of course I’d be happy without money. And it wouldn’t take long for me to figure out how to get all the big bucks I needed to become happier.”

  Royce was seeing another side to the star. She’d seen her in jogging clothes, being an athlete. She’d seen her prancing around being sociable at a party. She’d seen film clips of Godiva dancing across a stage with the throb of a heated engine. Now, Royce was witnessing Godiva’s seductress/goddes
s routine. Royce realized that getting additional information would be like gripping quicksilver.

  “Godiva, I have a few questions concerning the murder.” Royce leaned back, getting comfortable. She wanted to put Godiva at ease. “First, you knew about Sandra’s accident when you entered the room that night.”

  “Just like I told that handsome deputy, I’d heard it in the hall. On my way to see what was wrong. It might have been Tyler. I’m not sure. But someone said that Sandra had been bludgeoned.”

  “And that indicated death?“ Royce coaxed.

  “Yes.”

  “You seemed to despise Sandra Holt.”

  “Who didn’t? Her mouth was foul and it wasn’t that far from her brain. She’s used us all, and knifed our backs.”

  “Her mouth needed to be washed with antibacterial soap, but do you think she deserved to die?”

  “Yes. I would have picked a slower, more painful death.”

  “Why the hatred?”

  Godiva’s eyes snapped. They were on fire. Suddenly, she looked away. Her face was like a red hood, tight with fury. There was raw, molten anger in her voice. “The bitch gave me a very difficult time of it when I was starting out. With her garbage tabloid, she made recalcitrant sinners out of us.”

  “Us?”

  “Young stars. She played in and got our confidence. Then she tore us to pieces. In this business of fantasy, a person becomes reality’s sojourner.”

  “And Sandra betrayed you?”

  “All of us. She’s trampled everyone.”

  “Did she ever try to extort money for burying a story?”

  “It wasn’t beneath her to feather her nest for that sort of thing.” Godiva’s fingers traced her eyebrow. “But she never asked me for money.”

  “Did she ever approach you about a story you didn’t want known?“ Royce carefully phrased her question.

  “No. I was one of the stars she found more lucrative to tear apart. Me, fine. But my family was another thing. She dug up innocent things and lied about them. Misrepresented them. I’m fair game, but the miserable bitch went for my mother.”

  “That would be hurtful. I lost my father ten years ago, and I know it’s painful.”

  Godiva’s back tensed. “You just shared something human with me. What is this, good cop, bad cop? You come here with velvet gloves and then you’re going to put on your iron knuckles?”

  Royce’s eyes tethered the star’s. “I’m not playing games. I shared my life’s greatest tragedy. I told you the truth. We do that around here.”

  “I’m used to sewer sludge like Sandra.” Godiva gave a mock clucking sound. “Shame on me for accusing you. But you are doing an investigation. And you know that I was happy to see her dead. I was ebullient.” With a quick, impulsive laugh, Godiva confessed, “Seeing her corpse rolled away on a coroner’s stretcher was heaven to my eyes.”

  “Who do you believe killed Sandra Holt?”

  “I don’t know. But one hell of a friend.”

  Royce didn’t contain her chuckle.

  “Sheriff, you are even sexier when you laugh,” Godiva flirted. “Sex rejuvenates me.”

  Royce stood. “Thank you for your time. For answering questions.”

  “Now would you answer a question I have for you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you like to stay?”

  “I’m expected home,” Royce murmured. “But you’re safe with all your bodyguards. And our team. No more threats I take it?”

  “Two more.”

  “Why weren’t we notified?”

  “Two threatening calls came in. The desk took the calls. They were made from a local phone.”

  “But we weren’t informed.”

  “It was reported to the deputy who looks like a pissed off jack-o-lantern.”

  “That would be Deputy Dillon Granger?”

  “Yes.”

  Royce was fuming before her next question even began. “Were these threats recent?”

  “One was a couple weeks ago. After we began filming. The other was yesterday.”

  Royce nodded. “I see. Well, thanks again.”

  Godiva’s large smile exploded. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Another time?”

  “No.”

  “You have someone very special?”

  “Yes. Very special.”

  Chapter 10

  “Terrific batch of ice cream,” Royce complimented Gwen. She took another spoonful of the homemade pecan praline. “Yes, definitely one of your supreme efforts.” Royce sat in the antique oak rocking chair across from Gwen’s office desk. She was waiting for Nadine to finish feeding the cats and Cinnamon. Nadine had offered to accompany Royce to Denver to pick up Gran.

  “So did Godiva want to show you her portfolio yesterday?”

  Royce laughed. “Everyone’s seen her portfolio. She’s a true goddess of sexuality. She invited me to stay. But you know me. I wasn’t interested.”

  “Up there in the Mother Lode suite, plush chateau, with the world-famous sex symbol. And you weren’t even the slightest bit interested in doing the Waltz of the Lesbians with her?”

  “To be honest, I left there feeling I was crawling out of the bottom of a cat litter box.” Royce’s fleeting smile shone with startling whiteness.

  “She does fly her pennants. Bet that was a shocker. Small-town sheriff turns her down. She’d probably rather squeeze a handful of scorpions than be shunned.”

  “I’m a one-woman woman. Like you. I want a cohesive, true-blue relationship like you and Nadine have.”

  “It used to be emotional bedrock. And more. Torrid passion is a thing of the past. Nadine’s frostbite is making me feel so damned alone. I’m trying to make sense of all this. I’ve been doing the lion’s share of work around the house and office. Even that upsets her. I don’t know how to get it back. Your gran always says that you can’t sew a broken egg back together.”

  “Maybe Nadine is irritable because she’s approaching menopause.”

  “Nadine’s never been sensitive about her age. Nowadays I’m not allowed to say anything at all. She begins showing her teeth when I say good morning.”

  “I know what you mean about not always being able to communicate,” Royce commiserated. “I admit, sometimes I find things difficult.”

  “Like?”

  “All of Hertha’s Native American decor. It’s overwhelming. At times it makes me uncomfortable. “Royce’s voice faltered, “I’m just not used to being surrounded by it.”

  “It’s alien to you. But I think part of why Hertha has ancestral pride is because of her rich heritage.”

  “I understand that. Appreciate that. But why can’t we look forward and seek the future?”

  “Royce, it’s the symbolism. Native American worldly possessions have been looted from tombs by relic collectors. Their sacred grave sites have been desecrated. She’s reacting to the years of oppression that are also part of her heritage.”

  “I didn’t rob graves,” Royce disputed. “And lesbians are also oppressed. But I don’t have a grotto to Sappho. My room isn’t filled with posters of Gert and Alice.”

  “You don’t understand,” Gwen’s acid reply was one of exasperation.

  “Maybe I don’t. But I’m trying.”

  “Well, try harder.” Gwen glanced up and greeted Nadine. “You two tell Dora I’d have been on the welcoming home committee, but work calls.”

  Nadine’s eyes flared. “Is that supposed to mean that I’m neglecting my duties?”

  “No,” Gwen defended. “I’m sorry I opened my mouth.”

  “Save it for your editorial,” Nadine blasted.

  Royce followed Nadine out to the Blazer. She took Nadine’s arm. “Why did you just have a go at Gwen?”

  Nadine pulled her arm away and turned her shoulder. “I’m tired of her verbal scattergun.”

  “Are you tired of Gwen too?”

  Nadine’s eyes filled
with tears. “Let’s go, or we’ll be late.” They got into the Blazer in silence.

  By the time they had driven a few miles, Royce again inquired, “Are you tired of Gwen?”

  “I suppose I am.”

  “Nadine, why are you upset?”

  Nadine gazed out of the window. Then she murmured. “I’m not sure. I’m tired of Gwen’s telling me that I’m responsible for your campaign. She makes innuendoes. Like she thinks maybe I bit off more than I can chew.”

  “Do you feel that the campaign is too much?”

  “No. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. The lack of contributions. It has become a vendetta for the conservative right. I’m feeling inadequate. How do I fight the lies? We don’t have the national backing that Granger has.”

  “If it gets to be too much, will you promise to step down?”

  “Gwen would love that.”

  “Nadine, maybe Gwen is concerned about you.”

  “She’s concerned that I may be able to handle something on my own.”

  Royce had always realized that Gwen reveled in being the dominant force in Timber County politics. Also in her relationship with Nadine. Gwen was irrepressible. Nadine was her follower. Now, Nadine was at the helm.

  “Nadine, I just don’t want the election to create a rift in your relationship.”

  “There was a time I didn’t think anything could come between, us.”

  “I don’t want my campaign doing that. Being sheriff isn’t worth seeing you and Gwen split up.”

  “The election is a surface problem.”

  “Problems can be worked out.”

  “Some can; some can’t.”

  ***

  When Hertha opened the door of the animal clinic, Smoky rushed to find Royce. It was to be Smoky’s intermission. She had been standing guard with Hertha and not allowed to go on rounds with Royce for weeks. When Royce had planned today’s trip to Crystal, Gran asked if Smoky could spend the afternoon with her. Royce agreed, and Smoky seemed to sense that she would be taking a little trip.