Authors: A. Gardner
"You started it, sweetheart." He winked and it was just the thing that sent Joy over the edge.
"What are you even still doing here?" she shouted. "Get out! I'm supposed to be
relaxing
before I have to go back to work, not talking to the one person who makes me want to light myself on fire."
"Careful," Wade laughed. "Those are fightin' words."
"Oh shut up." Joy dropped her purse and took off her shoes. She left the front open, letting in a draft that might cause the pipes to freeze up if it persisted. "And
leave
." She stamped her foot.
"Yeah, I'll leave," he agreed. "But only if you show me your left forearm."
Joy held her wrist and kept the scowl on her face.
"No."
"Oh, so you lied?" He folded his arms. "You swore last time I saw you that you were getting that tattoo removed."
"I did!"
"Well then, let me see," he urged her on, taking a step close to her. "Show me that it's gone and I'll leave."
"What is he talking about, Joy?" Joy had so many tattoos that I'd lost track of all of them. They weren't tattoos that could be seen when she wore a pencil skirt and a blazer, but when she wore a swimsuit she looked like an entirely different person.
"She didn't tell you?" Wade looked at me. "Last year she tattooed my face—"
"Wade!" Joy yelled at him. She rolled her eyes and paused to take a deep breath. "Essie, will you give us a minute?"
"I'll give you more than that," I answered, grabbing my things and heading for the door. "I have a few errands to run. I'll see you back at the resort."
"Yeah, okay." Joy nodded, attempting to change her annoyed expression when she looked at me. The second she turned towards Wade again she couldn't hide her disgust.
"Don't light the place on fire," I muttered. "Oh and Wade, good luck." I carefully closed the door and walked as far away from my apartment as possible. If I didn't hear any more shouting I could act oblivious when Mrs. Tankle knocked on my door in the morning to complain about the noise.
I looked up and down the street. I didn't get the chance to tell Joy about the letter and the weight from the gym missing my head by inches. Judging by the fact that she didn't address it when she came home meant that news of my
almost
accident hadn't spread across the entire resort yet. For now, I'm sure the killer was content and sipping lattes at the Canyon Street coffee shop or having a swim in the hotel's lap pool. My first stop was the sheriff’s. I wasn't going to end up like Donna. I was going to find her killer before my luck ran out. Only Patrick's ghost cat Snowflake could stop me now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sheriff’s office is off of Canyon Street away from Pinecliffe Mountain. It used to be the old firehouse until a new one was built closer to the vacation condos and luxury lodges on the other end of town. Sheriff Williams and his son Murray live only a few blocks away from the station. The lights stay on day and night and the Williams' moved half their stuff into the old firefighters’ bunks. I think last Thanksgiving Mrs. Williams fixed their family dinner in the waiting room using a tiny portable stove just in case they got a phone call.
Murray stood up when I entered the room. He'd been reclining back in his chair with his latest sci-fi novel and a half-eaten bagel was next to his computer. I glanced around the room. No sign of the Sheriff.
"Essie." Murray cleared his throat. His hair was messy like he hadn't even bothered to comb it this morning. "What brings you here?"
"An attempted murder," I answered bluntly.
"Oh." He laughed and quickly ran his fingers through his hair to smooth down the matted parts. "You're joking."
"No," I answered. "Someone tried to kill me, Murray." I waited for him to sit down and start typing on his computer or at least look disappointed. "Well, aren’t you going to take my statement or something?"
"Oh." He hesitated, wiping the grin from his face. "So you are serious? Or…?”
"Murray," I muttered. "Just document it."
"Oh, right." He sat at his computer and turned it on. He avoided looking in my direction as I stood uncomfortably waiting for it to boot so he could actually do some work.
"Did you get anything back on that background check for John Slagger?" I asked.
"About that," he responded. "Dad said that—"
"Murray," I interrupted, shaking my head. "You and I went to school together so I'm going to be brutally honest for a second." I didn't know if telling him to grow up would do him any favors, but Murray had eyes for me. His crush wasn't only a grade school thing. He asked me out last year with a bouquet of red roses on Valentine's Day. I almost accepted them, thinking maybe I could come to tolerate him eventually. But then I noticed he forgot to pull out the card that said
to Sharla from Ronald.
Sharla is Murray's mother.
"Okay," he agreed. He leaned back, unsure of what I was going to tell him.
"You're an adult," I stated. Murray stared at me with a blank expression.
"Yeah," he lowly chuckled. "So are you."
"So act like an adult. Do what
you
think is best for once."
"But I do—"
"No," I went on. "I'm not talking about choosing a cereal for breakfast or what program to watch on TV. No woman wants to date a kid who needs to be told what to do."
"Do we have company, son?" Sheriff Williams entered the room chewing on a plastic toothpick. He rubbed the end of his mustache and glared at his son suspiciously as he typed.
"Sheriff," I said. "I was just stopping by to see if you found anything on that out-of-towner John Slagger."
Murray cleared his throat. He glanced at me with wide eyes and casually shook his head. The sheriff exhaled loudly and looked down at his boots before chuckling to himself. The tip of his nose was red and shiny. My gaze wandered down to the liver spots on his hands, a product of the outdoor labor he'd done when he was younger.
"Essie, we went over this," he reminded me. "I told you I've got this under control. I’ve instructed Murray here to keep our investigation confidential until further notice. If I need anything from you I'll be sure to call."
"Really?" I replied, frustrated. My fists clenched as I thought back to the way my entire body had frozen with fear when a forty-five-pound weight dropped from the top floor and landed next to my fragile feet. "You've got it under control?"
"I mean," he chuckled again. "The girl wasn't shot, stabbed or strangled. She fell at the spa. For all we know this was just some sort of freak accident. Don't rule that out."
"I don't think so, Sheriff. It was murder, and I can prove it."
"Oh you can prove it, can you?" He smirked and looked at his son.
"Yes." I lifted my chin and glanced at the bagel on Murray's desk. For a quick second Murray and I made eye contact. "The killer tried to strike again."
"What?" The Sheriff gulped.
"Yes, someone tried to kill
me
. I'm not making it up either. You can ask Eli over at the resort. He saw the whole thing."
"I'm writing it all down, pop," Murray responded. "And, Essie, I'll call you later about that other thing." He nodded. There was a grin on his face and he sat up straighter in his seat like he were proud of himself for making his own choices without his father interfering for once.
"Thanks, Murray," I said quietly. "I really appreciate it."
* * *
The snow started picking up as I walked down the street to the Bison Creek Bakery to inquire about John Slagger. Ada Adley was a distant cousin of the Millbreck's and she had a storefront that faced the center of Canyon Street. She had the advantage of seeing who came and who went on a regular basis, especially since she was always up front in the wee hours of the morning while her mother, a warm and welcoming woman, staid in the back baking up more product.
Ada isn't like her mother at all. Most tourists expect the town baker to be a friendly, jolly, cushy, old woman who sells you a pastry and then tells you a story about how the recipe has been passed down for generations. Ada is none of those things. She's in her mid-thirties, single, and she hardly smiles. Her caramel hair is usually braided and her expression is one of an exhausted mother who has been up all night with a crying baby. Ada is an artist at heart which is probably why she frequently dyes strands of her hair pink and blue. But after spending her twenties in New York City trying to make it as an oil painter and jewelry designer, she realized that she was even more broke than when she left home. Hence the permanent look of distaste on her face when she greets a customer.
"Ada," I said as I entered the bakery. The sign out front had gone through many name changes before the Adley's finally settled for nothing more than just the word
Bakery
hanging over their shop. I think they were sick of the grief they got from the town after Ada single-handedly renamed the store
Frost This
without consulting anyone.
"Essie," she replied. She adjusted her apron and waited impatiently as I looked behind the glass display. "We have the nutrition labels in the back. I remembered them this time, although I don't think the sort of customers we get in here really care how many calories are in their jelly-filled donuts. Although, you might be interested in my Vanishing Vegan Vanilla cupcakes. I call them my "Triple V" cupcakes. Mom thinks baking without butter, milk, or eggs is blasphemous, but they taste just as good hers."
"Maybe next time." I looked past the counter and refused to let my eyes focus on anything fried, sprinkled, or glazed. If I looked for too long than I would give in, and I wasn't the sort of girl who could stop after only
one
bite. "Do you still have some of that winter spice tea?"
"Our very own blend," Ada recited. "Of course we do." She began making me a cup. Her movements looked robotic like her body was on autopilot while her mind wandered off someplace else. Anywhere but the family bakery.
"Ada, a man came in here yesterday."
"Lots of men come in here, Essie."
"Yes, but this guy wasn't from around here."
"Oh you mean the Cali guy with the receding hairline," she responded.
"Tall, skinny?"
"Yeah, he was here." She handed me a warm cup. "Sugar, milk, honey?"
"No, thanks," I answered.
"Really? You're basically drinking herb water if you take it like that." She watched me blow on the warm liquid and take a sip. The lemon and hint of clove were enough to distract me from the smell of gooey cinnamon rolls and pumpkin spice jelly rolls.
"I don’t mind." I took a second sip and pulled some cash from my purse. "So that guy. Do you remember his name?"
"John," she said casually, counting my change. "And he tried to chat me up if you can believe that. His pick-up lines sucked though. I mean, he was all like
hi
and
how are you
and
what's your name
."
"The nerve."
"And then he asked me out for a drink around dinner time," she continued. "Said he was fascinated by my psyche."
"You didn't go, did you?"
"No…" She avoided making eye contact. "Not exactly. Just one drink."
"Did he tell you about himself?" I waited for her to elaborate, but she wasn't the type of girl who discussed her dating dilemmas in detail. She was more of an introvert who needed some prodding. "Where he's from? What he's doing here? Where he's been?"
In rehab maybe treating his Lila addiction?
"He said a few things about school." She sighed. "Some other stuff about the beach, but he mostly asked me questions the whole time. It was a lot like being interviewed for a newspaper really."
"What kinds of things did he ask about?"
"Me," she replied. "My background. My family. He wrote it all down too."
"You didn’t find that the least bit odd?"
She paused for a second and processed my question. She nodded slowly, but it didn’t seem to faze her that she could have been having drinks with a murderer. Or at least a murder's accomplice.
"I find this whole conversation a bit odd." She frowned. "You're asking just as many questions, Essie."
"I only have one more." I glanced out the front windows at the spot where Martha Millbreck exited the black BMW. "You see everything that happens on this street. How often do you see Martha?"
"Oh, I don't know. I tend to ignore family."
"Does she normally get dropped off in town so early in the morning, and by that same black BMW that was parked across the street earlier by chance?"
"Sometimes," Ada admitted. "But you know me. I stay out of all the nonsense that goes on in this town. In New York, people come and go as they please and no one goes around asking questions about it." I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to let out a laugh. Sure, Ada liked to stay out of the way, but at the end of the day, her troubles always ended up in the arms of her mother. And her mother was a Millbreck.
"This isn't New York City, Ada. When you get so few people living in one small space, you're bound to know when one of them clogs their toilet."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I shut the door to my tiny office and changed into my red dress and tights for the wedding dinner. The resort's finest event room overlooking lighted ski slopes was ready and Aggie was in a frenzy when I'd passed the kitchen. My heart fluttered as I thought of seeing Patrick again since our tight embrace in the employee lounge. He'd said he was worried about me, but it seemed that the wedding was still on. I zipped up the seam and stood up straight wearing my high heels. I wasn't used to shoes like these. My toes had hardly any wiggle room. If I was going to spend five hundred dollars on shoes it would be for the mother of all
running
shoes.
I placed my hands on my hips and practiced walking through the hallway. I approached the gym which was currently empty. Taryn had gone home and there wasn't a training session scheduled until tomorrow after the wedding festivities. To keep the event as closed door as possible, the resort had agreed to temporary close off certain parts of the hotel including the gym, the spa, the slopes, and the bar. It must have cost Patrick a fortune.