Dead Ends (Main Street Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

It made sense, AnnaLise guessed. Life in their part of the High Country revolved around the lake in summer and the mountain in the winter. Joy could allocate staff seasonally between the two, depending on demand.

But back to directing the subject at hand: ‘So, Joy saw Mrs Rosewood when she arrive at the spa?’

‘Unfortunately.’

AnnaLise cocked her head. ‘Why unfortunately? At least you know Tanja was driving down the mountain – instead of up – when the accident happened. Though I suppose that's most often the case. People gaining speed and taking the curves too fast.’

‘True. Though very occasionally you'll come across your over-achiever who tempts disaster on the way up as well.’

‘Meaning me, I suppose.’

‘If the lead foot fits, Lise.’

AnnaLise didn't bother going into the role her mother's shortcut played in the fiasco. God knows AnnaLise's panic had an equally important part.

‘. . . liability for Joy and the spa,’ Chuck was saying.

‘I'm sorry?’

The chief shook his head. ‘You know, if you're going to come all the way to my office to pump me for information, the least you can do is pay attention.’

Chuck knew her too well, AnnaLise thought ruefully. ‘It was only a short walk. You were saying?’

He leaned forward. ‘I was
saying
that while Mrs Rosewood may have been speeding, that's likely the secondary cause of the accident. Preliminary reports show her blood-alcohol levels were over the legal limit.’

Ben had mentioned his wife's love of the grape over pillow talk one night. A riff on the prototypical cheating husband's ‘she doesn't understand me,’ no doubt. Still, it could well be true – not that AnnaLise had any intention of sharing this tidbit with Chuck after the seat belt comment sparked such interest.

The police chief could – and certainly would – interrogate Ben on the subject of his wife's drinking.

‘But what does that have to do with Joy and the spa?’ AnnaLise asked.

Another overhead stretch from Chuck. ‘Seems that when Mrs Rosewood arrived late for her appointment, Joy offered her a glass of wine while she waited for the next opening.’

‘That's not unusual in a spa or upscale salon,’ AnnaLise said. ‘Besides, a single glass shouldn't have made her drunk. Presumably, Tanja had eaten lunch at Mama's before she left for her appointment.’

Chuck shrugged. ‘People were coming and going and the bottles were opened and left in the waiting area, so we can't be sure how much Mrs Rosewood ultimately drank there. We do know, though, that an open bottle of wine was recovered from her car.’

‘Doesn't mean it came from the spa,' AnnaLise protested. 'And even if Tanja Rosewood did pilfer a bottle when she was up there, it certainly wouldn't be Joy's fault. It's not the spa's responsibility to protect people from their own . . .’

AnnaLise realized she had been about to echo Mama's earlier statement about fencing off the mountain and the lake to protect people from their own stupidity.

‘You might believe that,’ Chuck said, going to pick up his phone. ‘But I've got an inkling from what your friend “Ben” said, that he's not in total agreement.’

Ten

AnnaLise tried Joy Tamarack's cell phone on the walk back home, but the call went immediately to voicemail, a sure sign that the cell tower coverage was spotty wherever Joy was – not unusual in the mountains.

Turning off Main onto 2nd street, AnnaLise unlocked the door to her childhood home. Half of the two-story concrete block building's first floor was allotted to the retail space now rented to Tucker Stanton for Torch, so the front door of the unconventional living space opened directly into the kitchen. A tiny parlor completed the lower level, with a staircase leading up to the second. The upper level had twice the square footage of the lower, since it ran above not only the kitchen and parlor, but also all of Torch.

‘Daisy?’ AnnaLise called, not expecting an answer. When her mother wasn't down the block, helping Mama with the restaurant, she was at Torch, doing ditto for Tucker. In fact, Tucker had become the son Daisy never had and AnnaLise was grateful to have his back-up when she wasn't around.

Getting no response, AnnaLise dug the phone book out of the bottom of a desk drawer to look up the Sutherton Spa at the Hotel Lux. Finding no listing, she searched the pages for Tail Too's old number.

Bingo.

Suspicious, AnnaLise checked the date on the phone book. As she suspected, the thing dated back to the last time she'd been home, five years ago.

The sound of keys in the door and her mother entered. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking for a phone number.’ AnnaLise showed her the date on the book. ‘Where's the new one?’

‘Heaven's, who uses phone books anymore? If I need a number, I just go online. Wherever did you find that old directory?’

‘In the desk drawer under the mailing supplies.’

‘Well, that explains why I didn't see it,’ she said, taking the book and dumping it in the wastebasket under the sink. ‘I never go in that drawer.’

‘You don't send things?’

‘Of course I do, but not snail-mail. I even pay my bills online.’ Daisy pulled a small roll out of the drawer in question. ‘You know what these are?’

‘Stamps?’ AnnaLise tried, anticipating one of her mother's trick question.

‘Not just stamps,’ Daisy said, ‘but “Forever” stamps. The US Post Office doesn't issue the first-class ones with denominations anymore. You know why that's good?’

‘Because these stamps can be used forever?’

‘Correct! Which is how long a single roll lasts these days.’ Daisy tossed the stamps back into the drawer.

AnnaLise wanted to cry for the poor feckless stamps, as well as their unloved brethren: stationery and envelopes. And don't even get her started on cursive writing.

‘The post office is going bankrupt because of you,’ she pointed out.

‘Hey, evolve or go the way of the dinosaurs.’

‘I'm not sure dinosaurs died out because they didn't evolve,’ AnnaLise said, defending her kind. ‘Scientists think maybe a meteor or – ’

‘Meteor, shmeteor,’ Daisy said, punching something into AnnaLise's computer. ‘You know what I mean, AnnaLise, so why do you insist on correcting me?’

‘I . . .’ she paused to reflect. ‘Well, I'm not sure, honestly. It's just what I do.’

‘It's the reporter in you, I suppose,’ Daisy said, in the same tone one might blame a black sheep on the other side of the family. ‘Here.’ She stepped aside.

‘Sutherland Spa at the Hotel Lux,’ AnnaLise read on the screen. ‘Nice website.’

‘Joy Tamarack put it up,’ Daisy said. ‘That's why Sheree Pepper talked her into helping with the Sutherton Visitor site.’

‘I imagine Joy didn't take much convincing,’ AnnaLise said, writing down the phone number. ‘Both of them are businesswomen and have a stake in Sutherton's future.’

‘And they embrace it, something you might try sometimes.’

‘Embracing Sutherton's future?’ AnnaLise asked with trepidation. No matter how long she needed to stay in Sutherton for Daisy, she clung to the belief that she'd be back at her job in Wisconsin, sooner rather than later.

‘No, not
Sutherton
's future, just
the
future. You know, modern times. Honestly, sometimes I think
you're
the mother.’

AnnaLise wouldn't say it, but sometimes she felt the same, and had since she was five and Timothy Griggs had died.

‘OK,’ said AnnaLise, taking the sticky note she'd written the phone number on. ‘I'm going to call to see if Joy is at the spa. If she is, can I use your car?’

‘Sure,’ the real mother said, starting up the stairs. ‘I'm just amazed you want to drive up there so soon after our accident.’ She made the turn at the landing where Timothy Griggs' gun cabinet still stood, and disappeared.

‘Wanting and having are two different things,’ her daughter called after her.

***

As it happened, no drive up the mountain was necessary, because Joy had ‘gone home,’ according to the young man who answered the Spa phone.

With Joy still not answering her cell phone, AnnaLise was left with one option: tracking her friend down at home. The only problem was that for the time being, Joy was living at the Sutherton Inn – the very same place the man AnnaLise planned to warn her against also was staying.

District Attorney Ben Rosewood did not believe in accidents. If something happened – a person killed or hurt – then someone must be responsible and made to pay. It was the way the man ran his office. And his life. Only now his wife was the decedent and AnnaLise feared it would be Joy who paid.

Pulling on a light jacket against the fall weather, AnnaLise called up to Daisy that she was leaving and stepped outside.

The inn was only a few blocks down Main Street and on a beautiful day, with the leaves changing, it should have been a nice walk.

But instead, AnnaLise was thinking about a stormy morning in Wisconsin this past spring, when a sixteen-year-old girl's car slid on wet pavement and jumped a curb, killing her best friend who she was going to offer a lift.

To Ben, it was a crime – vehicular homicide, to be exact. To AnnaLise, it was a heartbreaking accident that had already taken one young life and now threatened to ruin another's. The issue wasn't the only thing the two disagreed on, but it was one that made AnnaLise begin to re-examine their relationship.

Climbing the steps to the front porch of the Sutherton Inn, AnnaLise said a little prayer of gratitude for Sheree Pepper, who'd saved the graceful structure from the wrecking ball and converted it into a money-making venture that made the most of the building's charm. The California bungalow was built on the east shore of Lake Sutherton in 1916 by a wealthy cotton broker so he and his family could escape the heat of Charlotte's summer. Other wealthy moguls followed, but though ‘McMansions’ like Bradenham and Preston Place still lined the west shore of the lake, most of the truly original palatial homes that graced the east had been long-since razed.

Not that this sad fact stopped tour-boat operators from taking unsuspecting visitors out for ‘historical’ cruises of the elegant lakeside estates only to be subjected to two hours of, ‘See that stump? That's the spot where the legendary (fill in the blank)'s home stood . . .’

AnnaLise tapped on the stained-glass panel of the inn's door, and then tried the knob, which turned. Stepping into the lobby, she gave a shout: ‘Anybody home?’

Check-out at the inn was 11 a.m. and check-in not until 4 p.m., so Sheree often took advantage of the five hours in between to run errands.

AnnaLise checked her watch: noon.

‘Hello?’ James Duende's dark-haired head appeared around the stair banister.

‘Just me,’ AnnaLise said, setting her handbag down on the hall table next to a rust-colored potted mum plant. ‘Sorry to bother you, especially if you're working, but I was looking for Joy.’

‘I haven't seen her
or
Sheree, for that matter, but I've been tied to my computer screen all morning.’ Duende came down the steps. He was wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt, the sleeves of which he rolled down to his wrists as he descended. ‘In fact, I was just going to break for lunch. Care to join me?’

‘Thanks,’ AnnaLise said, thinking how he looked every inch the writer, holed away in Room 13 of a country inn. ‘But I had a late breakfast.’

‘At Mama Philomena's, presumably,’ Duende said, buttoning the cuffs of the shirt as he covered the last few steps. ‘You and I should move in there.’

The smile he gave her would have been enticing, if Room 13 – the room directly above Sutherton Inn's dining room – wasn't the one Sheree reserved for eligible males she was interested in herself.

‘What can I say?’ she'd said, when AnnaLise had noticed the trend. ‘Thirteen's my lucky number. Besides, with the exception of breakfast, there's no one to disturb below.’ A wink. ‘These antique beds do squeak a bit.’

How ‘lucky’ Sheree had gotten with James, AnnaLise didn't know. And didn't necessarily want to know.

‘I was practically brought up at Mama's,’ AnnaLise said now to James. ‘And I'm sure it's convenient for you, since there are no other restaurants within walking distance, except for Sal's Tap on the beach across the way.’

‘Which is where I'm headed, I think,’ Duende said, continuing to where she was standing in the front hall. ‘Sure I can't treat you to a greasy burger with matching fried onions and jalapenos?’

‘As enticing as that sounds, I'll have to take a rain check.’ Stepping back so he could get to the door, AnnaLise bumped into the bow-front foyer table. The mum tipped, spilling dirt, and as she tried to prevent further damage, AnnaLise managed to sweep her handbag to the floor.

Duende bent down to retrieve the purse and set it on the table before he said, ‘Can I hold you to that?’

AnnaLise, at barely five foot, had to look up over twelve inches to meet his brown eyes, which at this close distance she could see were flecked with gold.

‘To what?’ she asked as the door behind Duende opened.

The eyes sparkled, but he didn't step back. ‘The greasy lunch.'

‘Sounds delightful,’ Sheree's voice said, though AnnaLise couldn't see even the statuesque blonde beyond Duende's solid frame. ‘Was that an invitation?’

‘Well,
there
you are,’ AnnaLise said, sweeping the spilled soil from the plant into her hand and stuffing it into her jeans pocket, before popping out from behind Duende. ‘I was looking for you.’

‘Oh, I bet you were.’ There was a predatory look on Sheree's face as she glanced between them. AnnaLise would have taken it personally, if it hadn't been Sheree's modus operandi whenever a prospective male target was in the room.

An M.O. since AnnaLise and she were in the ninth grade and Chuck Greystone was the male in the triangle. Chuck had chosen AnnaLise back then, probably because super-sexed Sheree had scared the shit out of him.

‘If you two want to go to lunch, it's fine.' AnnaLise was signaling surrender before the battle – even if only in Sheree's mind – could begin. ‘I was actually looking for Joy.’

‘She's probably up at the spa,’ Sheree said. ‘I know she left before I did.’