Ropes and Trees and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Two

  I wasn’t expecting to have to field a phone call the minute I stepped through the door to Petunia’s but Daisy was busy with a pair of guests and from her slightly frantic expressions she’d been dealing with the aftermath of the fight outside the annex since I left with Crew.

  Whoops. I quickly picked up the receiver and used my best chipper tone. “Thanks for calling Petunia’s Bed and Breakfast, Fiona speaking, can I help you?”

  The voice on the other end sounded about as upset as any I’d ever heard. “Fee,” Margaret said, “I have terrible news.” It took me a moment to recognize her voice, to identify her as Vivian’s manager and shift gears from murder to wedding plans, but as I piece together who it was, she rushed on. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, I don’t know how it happened.” She sounded near to tears, her normally calm and confident tone utterly frazzled. “We’re totally overbooked and the cake meant for the wedding has disappeared. I think it was used for someone else’s event.”

  Um, okay, no panic on my end. “So make another one…?” Right? Logic dictated, didn’t it?

  “You don’t understand,” Margaret wailed. “I can’t fit in another project. I’m on my way out of state for a last minute political event and every one of my bakers is totally booked. Fee, I’m sorry, we have to cancel.”

  She had to… I choked on the words coming across the line at me while my heart skipped a painful beat. “You can’t do this to me,” I hissed into the receiver. “The wedding is Saturday.” It was freaking Thursday. Was she kidding me?

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” She sounded like she was crying. “I’m totally overextended and everything is a disaster. I’ve had two bakers quit on me the last three days, had six events added to my calendar and now this.” Margaret exhaled like she was ready to crack. “Fee, I’m so sorry, but something has to give. And you’re it.” Without another word, she hung up on me, leaving me staring at the phone in my hand while everything closed in around me and I swear, if I hadn’t leaned against the wall beside me I would have passed out.

  No. Not so close to the wedding day. I had days left, not weeks. What was I going to—

  I hung up and raced for the kitchen, the back door, hoofing it across the yard to the annex and my salvation. She stood in the stainless steel perfection of the new house, auburn hair perfectly styled, green eyes glowing with delight as she puttered around like she’d been born to cook, making lunch and smiling at me.

  “Mom,” I gasped. “The cake!”

  Her gaze widened, lips parting slightly as I filled her in. And then, with a graciousness that soothed my panicked heart, she bobbed her head with a tiny smile. An expression that woke a horrible notion inside me.

  “Of course I can handle it, sweetie,” she said, waving me off with a wooden spoon. “Just leave it to your mother.”

  Sneaking suspicions aside, I have to admit I felt better save for the rush of adrenaline that I now combatted, hoping it would wear off before it gave me a heart attack or a headache. A stroke. An aneurysm. Something deadly.

  Argh.

  As I crossed back to Petunia’s and left Mom to her new assignment—her old one, to be honest—I couldn’t help but feel sick over who it was I now suspected gave Mom her mojo back. She was far too gracious about this whole disaster, not the least bit surprised, actually. Which meant, to my investigative brain, she had an inkling of what was coming.

  And that meant someone warned her ahead of time.

  No. I couldn’t be grateful. Wouldn’t. Except, of course, I had my mother back. Thanks to the one person on the planet I detested more than my cousin Robert.

  Not thinking about this right now, thanks. Not.

  I almost ran into Grace in the garden, grateful for the distraction and practically latching onto her on my way by just to shake off the thoughts trying to win me over. The activist seemed startled and more than a little off put by my desperate self, but she didn’t run away when I pulled her down on a bench and gasped out a question.

  “Did you know about Lewis’s connection to the Blackstone Corporation?” Okay, so Crew said he wasn’t connected, but I wanted to hear that from the horse’s mouth.

  Grace looked instantly offended, her nose scrunching in response, eyes flat and cold. “He had no such ties,” she said. “My Lewis would never betray the cause like that.”

  “So who was paying him?” Wow, Fee, way to be all confrontational and demanding. Apparently that was the best way to tackle Grace, however, because she sat up a little straighter, replying with the kind of prim focus meant to shut down opposition.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “Lewis only ever protested for altruistic purposes. He would never have accepted payment. How abhorrent.”

  “Not even if that money was raised by other activists?” I shook my head, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “You do know he was under investigation by the FBI for fabricating endangered species sightings?”

  That made her flinch. “I am aware,” she said.

  “Any truth to it?” Bluntness as a weapon of choice? I was clearly in a terrible state of mind.

  Again, though, it seemed to do the trick. “I can assure you,” she said, “Lewis had no idea whatsoever of any kind of falsehood. He acted only in the best interests of the flora and fauna he sought to protect.” She fanned herself, eyes moist. “Honestly, your questions leave me breathless.” She stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me.” Grace hurried off and I almost went after her. The only problem with that plan? As I lurched to my feet to follow, a dark-haired young woman, sobbing as she ran, hurtled herself at me and hugged me so hard she knocked me off balance and back onto the bench.

  Carmen clung to me a moment before leaning away, tears pouring down her cheeks, her thick, black hair clinging to the moisture.

  “Have you seen him?” I shook my head at her, not sure who she was referring to. “Philip?” Ah, him.

  “No, sorry.” Not sorry.

  Carmen burst into tears again, hands over her face. “I know what you think of me,” she choked. “I hate myself, Fee. But him more.” She looked up with pure rage in her eyes. “When I find him I’m going to strangle him.” Oh, really? She flinched like she knew what she said didn’t sound very good, considering how Lewis Brown died on her property. Did she and Aiden have something to do with his death after all? “After Aiden left, Philip told me he only slept with me to ruin our relationship.” She sagged against the bench, looking defeated and crumpled, face aged past her early twenties. “To ruin our business so Blackstone could buy the land out from under us at a cut rate price.” Interesting and confirmation of part of Fleur’s story. How had she gotten Lewis’s involvement and payoff wrong, then?

  “Carmen, no offense,” I said, not caring if she took any, “but you must have suspected something when he just showed up in your life again like that. Knowing who he worked for.”

  She fluttered her hands at me. “I knew what he did for a living,” she said. “But I was blind. Aiden is everything to me, but Philip was my first love.” Carmen took a shaking breath, seemed to settle somewhat. “I couldn’t believe he’d do that to me.”

  “I can.” I half turned to find Aiden standing behind us, head down, face as ashen as Carmen’s. She meeped out a little sigh of distress at the sight of him. “Thing is, as much as I hate to give him what he wants, Philip’s getting his wish.” He refused to meet her eyes. “I’m selling out my portion of Zip It! to Blackstone, Carmen. I’m done.”

  She leaped to her feet, tried to lunge for him, but I caught her and held her back. But she didn’t try to hurt him. Her face twisted in grief as she fell against me. “Please,” she whispered. “Our dream.”

  Did he realize she seemed to value it more than him? Apparently. “Not my dream,” Aiden said, backing away with his grief written all over his young face. “Yours, Carmen.” He laughed softly, full of pain. “I would have followed yo
u anywhere, supported anything you wanted.” He tossed his hands, finally met her eyes, anger flashing, stiffening his back, bringing his head up. “Your loss. I’m done. Screw you and your damned park. Good luck running it with Blackstone breathing down your neck.” He half turned before stopping. “Oh, and Jared’s out, too. So I think that gives them enough control to make your life the misery you’ve made mine.”

  Aiden left without another word, Carmen collapsing in my arms while I did my best to fight the urge to just drop her on her ass.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Three

  One benefit to Fleur vanishing and Philip taking a hike? I quickly moved Grace into the room vacated by the photojournalist and handed over the keys of the annex to the decorators who moved on the place like their lives depended on it and just in time.

  I did one last sweep of the vacated rooms, surprised to find Fleur King’s card on the floor under Philip’s dresser. What was he doing with it? I really needed to track her down, not to mention the now absent Blackstone liaison. He’d vanished from town without a trace, from what I could tell. And so far any attempt to find Fleur or Pamela for that matter met with nothing. I was beginning to wonder if Aundrea’s worries about her missing fiancé were valid, except of course the constant phone calls I fielded the rest of the morning to that effect made me stop caring if Pamela was dead at the bottom of a ditch or on her way to the Caribbean with who I now suspected was an old flame.

  Shame on you, Fee. Have a bit of compassion.

  With lunch over, I abandoned Daisy to handle things—bless her for never once complaining—and headed out to check the Gazette for the missing journalists. The front door, now open, allowed me entry to the newsroom, though it took a bit of hunting to track down the two women.

  It was a good thing I noticed the red light on over the door or I would have barged right into the darkroom instead of knocking heavily. After a brief hissing discussion, the light turned green and the door swung inward, Pamela latching onto me and dragging me inside before the illumination overhead switched to crimson.

  Fleur didn’t seem all that happy to see me, but Pamela was grinning like a wild woman so I chose to act like I was welcome by all parties and peered around the taller woman at the images she was developing.

  “Who prints anything anymore?” I hadn’t meant to ask that out loud while Fleur sighed heavily, as if I’d insulted her entire way of life. Well, maybe I had.

  “Technocrat,” Fleur muttered, softly swirling a sheet of photo paper in some kind of fluid. The lines over the table she used were cluttered with images of Lewis, Grace, Philip, the park. Carmen and the aforementioned in a passionate embrace. Aiden and Jared. Even me, grinning as I zipped. I prodded Pamela when I leaned away, the same moment she glanced at her vibrating phone.

  “If you don’t let your fiancé know you’re still alive so she stops calling me every five seconds I’m seriously going to dump your body in the woods where no one will find you.”

  She winked at me, though the faint frown on Fleur’s face told me volumes. “I’ll call her in a bit,” she said.

  “I’m worried about Jared.” I rubbed my upper arms with both hands, the chill in the room making goosebumps rise on my skin. Too much air conditioning. “Crew seems to think he’s pushing himself too far.”

  Pamela’s instant scoff and eye roll was about as encouraging as I was going to get. “Please. That kid’s more stable than we are. He’s fine. Besides, he has the family behind him, no matter what they think of me and his mother.” Good to know. Though it did raise the question of the Pattersons and their involvement in all this. “Besides, he was with me when Lewis was killed.” Phew. I needed to tell Crew. Her lips twisted a moment, a bit of guilt flashing on her face. “He probably didn’t tell the sheriff because he did me a solid, sneaking me in before Carmen and Aiden invited the rest of the group inside. Hung out with me until we heard you screaming. Then he ran to your rescue.” All of that sounded like Jared.

  “What about Fleur? Did he let her in, too?” I raised an eyebrow at the tall journalist.

  Pamela paused long enough I figured out what she was going to say before she said it. “Jared doesn’t know about Fleur.” There were whole volumes of unspoken words in that simple statement.

  Which meant Aundrea didn’t know about Fleur either.

  “Please,” the slim photographer said as she swished her photo. “I’ve covered stories around the world in war-torn countries and gang controlled corners of urban centers. I think I can sneak into a zip line park without being spotted.”

  I was just relieved Jared had an alibi. “So, does that mean you’re not a stranger to death, Fleur?”

  She turned her head to grin at me, angular face sharply in focus and rather sinister in the red lighting. “Are you asking me if I killed Lewis Brown?”

  “Just answer her, Fleur,” Pamela sighed.

  Before she could, I flipped out her card and showed it to her. “Found this in the room Philip rented from me,” I said. “In the annex. Where you shouldn’t have had the chance to set foot. So tell me, Ms. King, while you’re giving me your answer about the murder—why were you talking with the Blackstone infiltrator?” Her gaze dropped to the card, met my eyes again. “And why, oh why your bloody lens cap from your telephoto attachment was found in the tree where the body was discovered only to be stolen from the custody of the park ranger who discovered it?”

  Pamela’s eyebrows arched as she crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her fingertips on her forearm. “You’ve been a busy little flower,” she said.

  Fleur tsked at her, clearly irritated now. “I tried to talk to Philip Davis about his involvement with Blackstone,” she grunted that answer. “I threatened to tell the protestors who he was and he got rough with me. I had to fight him off. So the blood you’ll find on the cap? It’s his.” I’d assumed the damage to Philip’s nose had been all Jared from the punch he delivered, but if Fleur got to him first? “As for the cap itself, I needed it back.” She grinned suddenly. “That ranger? He left the door unlocked.” Groan. “Of course I scaled the tree for photos. I took a few long after the body was carted away.” Her eyes tightened but she was still smiling as she fished out her next photo and clipped it to the line. “Any other questions for me, officer?”

  Smarty pants. “Fine, then tell me who you like for the murder.”

  Fleur seemed surprised by my question. “Why, Philip, of course,” she said. “It has to be him.” She leaned one hip against the table, arms crossing like Pamela’s, bookending me with journalistic women bent on the truth. “I just got solid confirmation from my FBI contact that Lewis was being paid out of a private fund owned by Blackstone. Made to look like it was a shell owned by protestors.” So Crew’s information was out of date? Crap, that wouldn’t go over well. “From what I was told, thanks to the federal investigation into his involvement, Lewis lost his usefulness. And someone like him? I wouldn’t trust him not to turn on me, if you know what I mean.”

  “You think Lewis was going to talk to the Feds about the deal he made with Blackstone.” Pamela didn’t sound surprised by Fleur’s train of thought.

  So Blackstone had Philip kill him? Then who was Philip talking to on the phone? I wasn’t buying it, even if Fleur thought she had the truth nailed down.

  Fleur dropped her arms again, returning to her work. As she leaned forward, she exposed a photo that had been hiding behind her, the image making me freeze in place, hitting me almost like a blow.

  Pamela noticed my sudden reaction, touched my hand, but I pulled away, backing toward the door. Fleur hissed at me, spinning, then waved for me to just go already. I did, ignoring the tightness of Pamela’s expression.

  Didn’t matter. I had something to check into before I went to Crew and Pamela wasn’t invited.

  ***

  I pulled into the parking lot at Zip It!, noting the deputy’s cruiser already tucked against the entrance. I knew it was Robert by the terrible parking job
, his laziness ensuring he didn’t have to walk far to get where he was going. The rest of the lot was empty, the park shut down and I wondered as I slammed my door and headed at a huff for the interior if this place would recover or not.

  If Blackstone had anything to say about it? Not likely.

  I spotted Robert near the entrance building and headed for him despite having something to look into. I just couldn’t pass up the chance to tell him where he could take his sniping childishness. He spotted my approach, mustache quivering, a sneer on his face, gut jutting outward as he rested his hands on his gun belt. I think he realized at the last minute I wasn’t slowing down and lost a fraction of his arrogance, a flare of anxiety appearing just before I jabbed him firmly in the chest with one hand, staggering him backward.

  Violence was so unbecoming. But I’d had it.

  “Listen up, deputy,” I snarled. “You’re attitude is wearing thin and I’m just about over the harassment you seem to think is appropriate. You cross me one more time and I’ll make sure that badge gets shoved down your throat about two seconds after your ass is fired.”

  He tried to recover, spluttering while the hideous rat on his upper lip quivered but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

  “You come near me again, you disgusting cretin, and I’ll have your ass handed to you before you can blink. You think your mommy can protect you, Robert? Do you?” I pushed him again, knowing I’d gone too far a second after I did it, seeing his rebellion awaken all over again.

  “We’ll just see who needs protection,” he hissed in my face, the stench of his breath making me gag. “When all is said and done, Fiona Fleming, you and that father of yours will regret crossing me.”

  Whatever that meant. He pushed past me, storming for his car, climbing into the cruiser and driving off in a squeal of tires on the fresh blacktop. Never mind he just abandoned his post, the idiot. Still, as I stood there in the May afternoon, I shivered despite the warmth of the sun, blaming it on the breeze that rose and not my internal worry I might have stirred a hornet’s nest.