Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) (2 page)

Chapter 3

Sidestepping & Slipping

After grabbing and slipping the offensive evidence back into the bottom of my suitcase, I felt somewhat better. Nothing would be said to the hotel staff about that vicious act to my personal undergarment, which still annoyed me. Would I ever find out who got into our room and went berserk in the shower? I sighed. Who knew? If Clay was involved, I got most of, but not quite, the whole truth. With all his sidestepping, he could have been a dance instructor.

“I could go talk to housekeeping,” offered Martha.

“It can’t hurt,” I said. “Just be careful what you say.”

“Hazel and I are going downstairs,” Betty added, “to see if our missing skis have arrived yet.”

Hazel shook her head in amazement. “It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? Our luggage arrived, but not our skis. Now, who would take a bunch of beat-up, old skis?”

“I can tell you,” snapped Martha. “There’s going to be hell to pay if that airline lost my skis. They’re collectible.”

Hazel chuckled. “You mean they are as old as you?”

Betty stepped between them. “Don’t start, you two.”

I flopped down on the bed, thinking out loud.

“Why would someone go through
my
luggage?”

Martha sat by me. “Hey, it could’ve been random.”

“Possible,” said Betty, sitting down on a nearby chair.

“But what kind of sicko would cut it up?” asked Hazel.

“Well, I…” My peripheral vision caught movement.

The door handle jiggled, moving back and forth.

Betty caught it too. Her hand flew to her lips.

Hazel was about to speak, but stopped herself.

Martha stepped over to the door and gently placed her hand on the handle. She looked over at me and I nodded. She then took the handle in both hands, quickly turned it and pulled the door open. She poked her head out into the hallway and looked both ways. “Nobody.”

By that time, the rest of us were leaning out too. There wasn’t a soul either way. …No movement. …Nothing.

“I’m not crazy,” I said. “I saw that handle move.”

“So did I,” said Betty, “after catching Sam staring at it.”

“Who do you suppose it was?” asked Hazel.

Martha shrugged her shoulders. “Wrong room?”

I thought about my
Spanx
and wasn’t so sure. “Could be they thought the room was vacant and came back…”

Hazel shivered. “…For what?”

“Not
my
underwear,” warned Martha.

Betty got her purse. “Hazel, let’s go to the lobby.”

Martha grabbed hers. “I’m leaving too.”

I headed for the phone. “I’m calling Peter. Clay’s right. It’s time I became more proficient at skiing.”

“Knowing your nonexistent athletic skills,” said Martha, “we’d be grateful and the world would be a safer place.”

I was already dialing by the time they shut the door.

I’d show them all. I had to be good at some sport.

Chapter 4

Waking Up & Walking Out

Someone grabbed my shoulders and was shaking me. I blinked my eyes open and Martha slowly came into view.

“I must have fallen asleep waiting for you guys.”

Must be jetlag
.

“That is the absolute worst possible thing you could do right now!” said Betty shaking her head.

I was still foggy-headed. “…What?”

“Fall asleep,” said Hazel, peering at me.

“So, what did Peter say?” asked Martha sitting down.

I shook my head. “You first, Martha.”

“I spoke to the front desk. Apparently, the cleaning staff assigned to our suite is an older Italian couple, a husband and wife team, who have been working for the hotel for a while. They were both busy, so I couldn’t speak to them. Maybe we can catch them when they come to turn down the beds one evening. Perhaps they saw someone or heard something out of the ordinary.”

I turned to the other two. “Any luck on your skis?”

“Oh, we have great news,” said Betty, excitedly.

“They’ve arrived,” said Hazel. Then she gave Martha a side-glance. “Even your relics.”

Martha jumped up. “Hot dog! Let’s hit the slopes.”

“Hey, you guys,” I said. “Remember my call to Peter?”

Martha turned back to me. “And…?”

“I’m meeting him at the ski shop to get outfitted.”

“Good,” said Betty. “Now we can go ski guilt-free.”

“Peter said he’d teach me to be more skilled and…”

Martha was already rooting through her bags.

Betty and Hazel left for their adjoining room to unpack.

“Don’t you want to hear what else he said?” I asked.

Martha looked up at me. “You can tell us later.”

Betty poked her head in our room. “Sounds like a plan.”

I jumped off my bed. I couldn’t blame them. What good was hanging out in a hotel room when there were great ski slopes to go skiing on? A few minutes later, I shut the door to our room and locked it. Alone in the hallway, I looked both ways. Was someone really trying our door handle by mistake or was it a return visit? Had they decided against it when they heard us all talking inside? Why
my
suitcase?

I shook off further questions. I’d save my paranoid thinking for a
fictional
book I hoped to write someday right after
my
crazy life stopped being book worthy.

As it is, my fans think my books are fictional now.

My editor and agent don’t mince words and would most likely agree. My agent, Sandra, was bottom-line oriented.

“How could you top what happens to you in real life?”

Ditto for my editor’s sidebar comment in bold red.

“Are you joking? You expect readers to believe this?”

They were right
.
My life read like fiction
.

Hey, maybe I’d test the waters with a brief memoir!

Chapter 5

Finding The Store & My Way

I dodged shoppers and skiers, who were deftly balancing their ski equipment on their shoulders as I walked through the village, catching snippets of German, French, Italian, Japanese and several other languages being spoken. It was sunny, but cold. I tucked my bright-red scarf around my neck tighter, passing by sparkling snow banks along the sidewalk. I glanced upward. I’d read that the spectacular snow-covered mountain peaks in the background included a well-known glacier. This was a skier’s paradise.

A popular multi-cultural ski hub, the Swiss village of
Grindelwald
was not only known for its skiing, but was a picture-postcard village with a private train. As if on cue, snowflakes fluttered to the ground. This venture of mine was looking up. The skiers I’d passed so far were laughing.

And not a cast or crutch was in sight.

I scanned across the street, and then turned, spotting the ski store behind me and hustled over.

I glanced about the busy shop. Well-dressed customers circulated among skiers. Where exactly was my instructor? I’d forgotten to get a description of what he looked like.

I couldn’t just yell out the name Peter, could I?

He mentioned he’d be wearing a red ski jacket. Sadly, so were several other men in the store. I was just about to approach one of them and ask if he was Peter when a finger tapped me on my back. I swung around.

“Samantha?” asked a red-jacketed hunk with blond hair, baby blue eyes, about six foot two and built like an Adonis.

My heart went aflutter as I fought for speech.

“…I…I think so,” I stammered.

He laughed. “I’m Peter. Your lost look gave you away.”

Thank you, Lord! I loved skiing here already.

We shook hands and I grinned. “…Nice to meet you.”

“Since you have no equipment, I’ll get you started.”

Hey, my engine was already running.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Just then someone interrupted us. “Good try, Olaf.”

I turned. I was staring directly at a middle-aged guy wearing a red ski jacket, about my height, on the lean side, with brown eyes and thinning hair. He offered his hand.

“I see you met my
business
partner
, Olaf. I’m Peter.”

I turned back to Olaf, who winked. I frowned. “…Oh.”

“Sorry,” said Olaf. “I was hoping to whisk you off to the slopes before Peter got here.
He
is such a bore.”

“She’s my trainee,” said Peter. “You, my friend, take too many risks. I promised Clay I’d take good care of her.”

Olaf leaned in within a whisper’s breath. “I could too.”

I smirked at his suggestive inference.

Oh, momma! I bet he could!

“This way,” the real Peter gestured sternly. “Let’s get you outfitted…”

Chapter 6

Dressed To The Nines

“Here I am, dressed to the nines!” said Martha, posing.

In Martha-speak, that means very, very dressed up.

Betty, Hazel and I gaped at her. At a total loss for words, each of us waited for the other to say something. What stood before us was almost indescribable.

I gave it a shot. “…Well, that sure is some outfit.”

It was silver, glittering and metallic, with a long slit up the side. I had to admit, her shoes matched it perfectly. I was sorely tempted to shield my eyes, but smiled instead.

Always diplomatic, Betty said, “It’s quite dramatic.”

Martha grinned. “I thought I’d add rhinestone earrings.”

We all reflexively said, “No!”

Martha eyed us warily. “And why not?”

I smiled. “…You might come off as too …alluring.”

Martha relaxed, grinning. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

Hazel snickered. “You look like an oversized icicle.”

Martha slowly gave Hazel’s simple black evening gown the once-over. “And what funeral are you going to?”

After looking at her own similar, long black dress, Betty interceded. “You know we’re not as audacious as you.”

Martha nodded. “You both offset me nicely, though.”

“That was our intent,” mollified Betty.

Hazel looked over at Betty. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

“Well then, quit inciting,” replied Betty. “I’m hungry.”

I stared at my watch. Because of skiing, we opted for the second seating for our first formal dinner. “Me too,” I said as the others gathered their purses and left.

I paused at the door and looked back. It was an older, elegant hotel decorated in eighteenth century antiques. Our suite was on the fourth floor: a top corner unit with two connected rooms with their own baths. The room Martha and I shared overlooked on one side, a skating rink with a view of the town’s main street, stores, and restaurants, and the other side bordered the front of the hotel. Hazel and Betty’s room faced the front with the elevator on the other side of them. There was another suite across the hallway.

I did another visual inspection. I wanted to memorize where I’d left my things to see if they were touched while we were at dinner. The hotel was crawling with guests and housekeeping staff, coming and going. This was my first step in trying to pinpoint a lapse in security.

I hustled down the hallway to catch up with the others. But then I thought I heard a door open and close softly behind me. I stopped and quickly turned back to look.

Nothing. No one.

I waited a beat, heard nothing more, turned back and caught up to the others, making a mental note to pay closer attention to who might occupy that suite across the hall.

Martha was still holding the private elevator door open.

“For someone so young, you sure walk slow.”

After tomorrow’s workout, I’d probably be crawling.