Authors: A. Gardner
At the end of Canyon Street, I looked up and saw the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort in the distance. It was bustling with new traffic and the chimneys in the kitchen were working overtime. Smoke was rising from the rooftops. The cool mountain air exaggerated the puffs of smoke and made them look like mini rain clouds. Real winter clouds were moving in from the Rockies. I knew the clear weather wouldn't last. Not today when everything was supposed to be perfect. Another snowstorm was headed our way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Bad news." When I arrived at the resort I was met by Joy. She was dressed like usual in her gray pencil skirt and a conservative top hiding her tattoos. Her hair was brushed back and she had done her makeup flawlessly, hiding any evidence of her extreme exhaustion. "We've had to move the ceremony to the upstairs hall, and we've roped off half the hotel."
My ears perked up in hopes that the bad news was that the wedding had been postponed until further notice. I followed Joy up the employee staircase and towards the new wedding location. The ceremony was now going to take place upstairs where there was a full view of Bison Creek and the chair lift leading up the slopes. The mountainside was empty this morning, and the fluffy snowflakes that began falling made the valley look peaceful and serene. It was like the events of the past couple days had never happened, and Mother Nature was doing her best to wash over the madness with fresh buckets of white powder.
"What's happened?"
"The goons have arrived," she said discreetly. We entered the room that was being set up according to Joy's instructions with a vintage, wooden arch and elegant white chairs.
"Plain English, please. It's been a long weekend."
"The press are downstairs," she said through her teeth. "I mean, some of them won't admit that they're paparazzi, but they've all got cameras and they're all loitering in the lobby."
"Can't you get rid of them?" My heart raced. My time was up. It was only a matter of time before the world started asking questions about Donna.
"We've been trying, but it's not like we have experience with this sort of thing." She straightened the bow on one of the chairs and snapped her fingers at a florist when a decorated evergreen was placed in the wrong corner. Joy had done an immaculate job turning the hall and adjacent rooms for the reception into a winter wonderland, even though the ceremony only consisted of a handful of people.
"I can't believe you did all this and Mr. Kentworth still won't promote you to Head Coordinator."
"Story of my life," she said under her breath. "When I get the chance to shine it's ruined with murder and mayhem." She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers over the vintage arch placed in front of the rows of chairs. "Sorry." She glanced at me. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, but--"
"I know." I glanced down at the floor. "I was so close to solving everything. I guess I keep missing something."
"If anyone can catch that killer, it's you."
"So you keep saying," I replied.
"I say it because it's true, Essie." She took a long, calming breath and began following the florist to make sure all the greenery she'd ordered was arranged tastefully on the railings overlooking the great room.
I ran all the evidence through my head for what seemed like the thousandth time, stopping abruptly when I got to Patrick's kiss in the snow. Maybe if Patrick wasn't around I would have solved this case in no time.
My train of thought was disturbed by footsteps pounding up the staircase. Eli's cheeks were rosy as he ran to Joy and stopped suddenly to catch his breath. Joy placed her hand on his back and waited impatiently for him to tell her what was wrong.
What else could go wrong?
"They're getting restless down there," he breathed. "One of them is demanding to speak to a manager. I didn't know what else to do."
"Slow down," Joy replied. "Did you confirm that Lila is staying at this hotel?"
"Um…"
"Did you confirm that their getting married this morning?"
"Um … I might have.…"
"Eli!" Joy quickly broke her soothing, supportive demeanor and smacked him on the head. "What happened to
no comment
?
No comment
is your friend, remember?
No comment
will save you from blurting out the truth, remember? Or do I have to give my speech all over again?"
"I'm sorry," Eli whined. "But they asked so many questions and it all happened so fast—"
"Perfect," Joy said, raising her voice. "That's just great, Eli. Now I'm going to have to call the sheriff down here to keep them from parading upstairs during the ceremony. This is just what I need."
"It was an accident, okay." Eli stood up straighter, regaining some of his confidence. "I didn't mean to give anything away."
"Yes," Joy finally sighed. "Well, we would've had to deal with this sort of thing sooner or later." Eli nodded. "I just wish it didn't have to be
sooner
." She glared at Eli until he guiltily looked away. "Essie, will you take a peek at the damage? I need to check on Aggie in the kitchen."
"Of course." I agreed because I knew sifting through reporters might be my last chance at finding John Slagger, the loon on the loose. After all, being an undercover reporter was his cover when I first met him. I followed Eli downstairs and braced myself for paparazzi overload. I imagined what I'd seen in the movies, lights flashing and crowds shouting things to get my attention. The lobby looked nothing like that.
I walked with Eli to reception and found groups of people huddled all over the lobby and bar. Some had cameras and some were casually chatting. I couldn't tell which ones were guests and which ones had been sent from L.A., but one thing was certain. The press was here and I, like Eli, was confused.
"This man over here," Eli muttered. "He won't chillax. He keeps insisting on talking to a manager." I scanned the crowd for a tall, thin man with a brand new ski coat. John Slagger was still M.I.A. and if he was loitering around the lobby I didn't recognize him. "Over here, Essie."
Eli directed me towards a man with dark hair and trimmed beard. He was dressed in a suave suit and had a matching leather shoulder bag across his chest. He lifted his chin when he saw me – the way Martha sometimes did when she met someone new. It was her way of showing the other person she was a woman of importance. As if raising your chin above someone means you are high on the totem pole.
"Miss…?" The man searched my chest for a name tag. He immediately stopped when his glance lingered too long on the buttons on my shirt.
"Stratter," I said. The man reached out to shake my hand and I hesitantly accepted. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to speak to the happy couple about an exclusive deal with
Starstruck Magazine
. I know they will be interested in our very lucrative offer. Can you put me in touch with Miss Clemton's assistant or manager, perhaps?"
"Oh I—"
"I realize you have a lot going on here, Ma’am," he interrupted as if he had rehearsed his argument many times in front of the mirror. "I am only asking for a minute of their time, and I promise the deal I am here to negotiate is nothing short of seven figures. Please, let them know that."
"I will," I responded. "Mister...?"
"Oh." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated badge. "Mr. Thomsen. Here is my identification. You can call the magazine and verify my employee number if you like."
I accepted his badge and stared at the name on his identification card. It said
C. Thomsen
. I re-read his name a few times. It sparked something inside my head I couldn't let go of. I resorted to saying his name out loud to help my thought process along.
"C. Thomsen," I said quietly. The man watched me curiously as I kept repeating his name. "C. Thomsen. C. Thomsen."
"Yes," the man replied. "That is me. Like I said before."
"Are you okay, Essie?" Eli nudged my shoulder and waited for me to respond.
"C. Thomsen," I said again like a broken record.
"Yeah." The man was beginning to look slightly annoyed. "The
C
stands for Charles, but I go by Robert, my middle name."
"Charles," I whispered. "C. Thomsen. Charles Thomsen. C. Darnay. Charles." My eyes went wide. "Charles Darnay. Charles Dickens."
"You'll have to excuse her," Eli said, ignoring me. "She's had a little too much to drink if you know what I mean."
"Shush, Eli," I said. I faced Charles Thomsen (a.k.a. Robert). "You've read
A Tale of Two Cities
, haven't you? By Charles Dickens?"
"Is this some kind of trick question?" he looked from me to Eli to see if we were pulling some kind of prank.
"There's a character in that book named Charles Darnay," I stated.
"Um … yeah," he agreed. I looked at Eli.
"No clue." Eli shrugged.
"C. Darnay," I said. "Eli, go upstairs and make sure Lila and Bebe stay in their rooms." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number to the sheriff’s office. No answer. "Oh, for the love of…" I dialed the number again.
"Officer Williams," Murray answered.
"Murray," I shouted. "Where’s the sheriff?"
"He's out on patrol this morning," he answered. "Looking for you-know-who."
"Tell him to get to the resort as soon as possible, got it? As soon as possible!"
"What's the matter?" Murray asked. "You sound like you've seen a ghost or something."
"No." I gripped my phone tight and looked from Eli to the man from
Starstruck Magazine.
The clue was in front of me this whole time and I couldn't piece it together until now. Franco, the Dickens buff, had ordered and picked up the cupcakes using the name C. Darnay, a fictional character from the book he was currently reading. He texted Donna in behalf of Lila, snuck into the spa while Misty and Eli were off doing who knows what, and offered Donna a deadly sweet. And when Donna's throat started to close up, Franco pushed her into the pool and waited for nature to take its course.
"Then what's going on?" Murray waited eagerly for me to tell him why I was panting, insisting that the sheriff pay the resort a visit immediately.
I didn't know why Franco wanted to kill Donna. Maybe she knew about his book deal? Maybe she was planning on blabbing to everyone this weekend starting with Patrick. Maybe Bev already knew about it and that's why she backed out of the wedding? Maybe all this drama was his attempt at topping the New York Times' Bestseller List? All I knew was he was reckless, he'd tried to kill me, and when he finally found out that Lila and I knew about his book too, he would stop at nothing.
"I know who the murderer is."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I changed into my bridesmaid’s dress as I waited for Sheriff Williams to show up. I nervously cracked my knuckles while Bebe talked about how she'd decided to get a manicure with almond-shaped nails. The two of us were in Bebe's suite getting ready. Lila was in her room getting her hair done, and probably downing drinks. Franco was still in his room trying to get over a massive hangover from too much complimentary Scotch.
"Essie," Bebe commented. "Are you even listening?"
"Sorry." I switched to the knuckles on my other hand. "Keep going."
"Aren't you going to give yourself a touch up at least?" she suggested holding up a compact of bronzer. I looked in the mirror at my simple makeup and plain, wintery blue bridesmaid’s dress. It was long and meant to be worn with a shawl. The dresses were well made, but they weren't particularly flattering. It made sense. I was sure Lila didn’t want anyone to outshine her on her big day. My stomach churned. I couldn't force myself to pretend everything was normal. There could be a killer sleeping off his hangover on the other side of the hall.
"Sure." I dug through her makeup kit and pulled out some pink lipstick. I checked the label and grinned. It was one from Lila's makeup line. The color was called sugar salmon. "Where did Lila come up with these lipstick names?"
"Who knows," Bebe giggled. "She said she wanted to steer clear of bubble gum names whatever that means." She looked down at her wrist at the silver cuff she'd chosen to wear. I was almost certain that underneath the cuff was her usual white wristband. The random snapping was an unusual behavior. One that I had never seen before.
"Nice bracelet," I casually commented. "But it covers the other one."
"What other one?"
"The plain white one you always wear," I added.
Bebe didn't respond. Instead, her cheeks turned rosy and she pressed her lips together. She quickly cleared her throat and turned away. I didn't know her choice of accessories would turn out to be a sensitive subject.
"Sorry," I apologized.
"Don't be," she replied. "You're the first person to notice."
"Really?" The snapping was hard to miss. At least, for me it was.
"It's a … coping mechanism." She slid the silver cuff up her forearm, revealing the plain, white wristband. "I snap it whenever I have negative thoughts. Sounds stupid, I know. My psychiatrist recommended it. You know, an alternative to anxiety meds."
"Does everyone in Hollywood see some sort of therapist?"
"They're like a country gal's sweet tea," she laughed, snapping the wristband jokingly.
"I'll have to try that when I'm craving a doughnut."
Bebe giggled.
I touched up my lips and adjusted the top of my dress.
My muscles tightened every time the floor creaked. The sound of the elevator dinging rang through the room. There was a light knock on the door and I jumped to my feet to answer it. I was relieved when Sheriff Williams and Murray stared back at me. Joy stood behind them anxiously tapping her heel.
"Sheriff," I said." I'm glad you're here."
"I hear you have some information for me," he replied lowly.
"What's the sheriff doing here?" Bebe asked. She smiled. "Is he escorting us to the ceremony? Oh, how sweet."