Powdered Murder (17 page)

"Yeah," I responded.

I watched him walk down the street and make the climb up the hill towards the guest parking lot. Ten years ago, letting him go off and marry someone else might have killed me. My chest was heavy like a weight was sitting on it and a tiny tear ran down my cheek. But if Patrick wanted to be more than friends, he needed to
choose
me. I wasn't about to become the girl who sabotaged the famous Lila Clemton.

When Patrick's figure disappeared into the snow, I looked at the front door of the Grizzly. It beckoned me to come in and have a drink. After the night I'd had, I was seriously considering it. I touched the door and pushed it open, realizing that I had another excuse to stay and have a chat with some the bar's regulars. The rumor had it that John Slagger was here last night.

The Grizzly looked as it normally did. It was set up to look like an old saloon for the tourists, but not many tourists came here. The bar hadn't changed much since it opened back in the early 1900's. The actual bar area consisted of a long, wooden counter in front of a framed mirror. Antique bottles were displayed along a shelf hanging in front of the mirror and the bottle's reflections made it look as if there were far more bottles than there actually were. There were wooden tables matching the color of the bar set up tightly around the room. All of them were for two to four people. An arched doorway was in the corner with stairs leading down to the cellar and a couple of private rooms. Joy and I had this theory in high school that a secret cult held meetings down there during full moons.

"Look who it is." A man tapped his shot glass on the counter and laughed a wheezy laugh when I approached the bar. He was in here every night, and if he missed it was because he had a deadline to meet at work. Booney was a columnist for the
BC Gazette
. The whole operation was run by him and about two other people. I was amazed at his ability to find interesting things to write about in such a small town. My favorite piece of his was the article he wrote on my high school principal's haunted shed. It had half the kids in town sneaking around her place at night to see if it was true. Judging by the way I'd seen Booney cower when she was around I suspected she once rejected him, and he wrote the article as payback. No single, middle-aged woman with men like Booney as dating prospects wanted teenagers trying to hold séances in her backyard.

"Hey, Booney," I greeted him. "How are you?" I took a seat next to him and Stella Binsby, the woman who ran the corner market. Stella had a glass of red wine and Booney was already half way through his craft beer.

"I haven't seen you in here for years," he stated. Booney usually smelled strongly of aftershave and spearmint. He used an excessive amount of it to hide the scent of his smoking and drinking habits.

"Well, I was training for a marathon, and then—"

"Always excuses," he butted in, his speech was already beginning to slur. "How about a cold beer on me, huh?"

"Actually I'm not here to stay," I replied. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about last night."

"Last night?" he repeated, confused. "What happened last night?"

"A man came in here with Ada." I ignored his question. "Did you see him?"

"Oh yes," he responded right away. He glanced at Stella and chuckled. Stella returned his look and let out a small laugh of her own. Her frizzy hair had streaks of gray in it that was the same color as the stubble on Booney's chin. "He was here."

"For how long?"

"His date didn't last too long," he answered. "He's not exactly a smooth talker with the ladies."

"Like
you're
such an expert," Stella joked. "He asked just as many questions as you." Stella nodded at me. "You should have seen it, Essie. He gave Booney here a run for his money."

"Is that a fact?" I responded.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say that he was a fellow journalist," he muttered.

"He
is
a journalist," Stella confirmed. "Probably doing a story on that wedding at the resort tomorrow."

"You all know about that too?" I asked.

"Of course we do," she continued. "It's happening on our front doorstep."

"Did John tell you that's why he is here?" I asked Stella. She wrinkled her nose.

"That's what his name was. I was trying to remember it." She took a tiny sip of her wine. "No, but he didn't have to. He asked Booney a bunch of questions about Patrick and the Jaye's."

"What did you tell him?" I turned back to Booney who was passing his empty beer bottle to the bartender.

"Just the usual," he chuckled. "All about Patrick's rise to fame and how all the little fellas in town want to be pro boarders just like him." The bartender, one of the Collins' boys who was on his semester break from college, raised his eyebrows as he passed Booney another. "He wrote it all down."

"And you didn't think to ask why?" I exhaled, frustrated.

"He did it
secretly
." Booney sensed my disappointment and gave me a light slap on the shoulder. "These young’uns think they have the world figured out. I may be old, but I still know a reporter when I see one typing his notes into his phone like he was checking missed calls. I knew what he was doing the whole time!" He chuckled again and his laugh quickly grew louder and louder. He held up his beer to Stella with a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Oh no," I muttered. "What did you do?"

"I told him where he could find good ole Mr. and Mrs. Jaye." He covered his mouth when one of his loud laughs came out as a wheeze. He coughed and took another swig of his drink. "Up at the top of Pinecliffe Trail."

"What?" I blurted out. "That road leads up the mountain to the abandoned mining cabins."

"I know," he proudly replied.

"You better hope he doesn't try to come back down while it's dark." I crossed my arms.

"Oh, I'm sure he turned around after the first mile of rocks and potholes." He ran the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe away the foam from his drink. "Serves him right for poking around in Patrick's business. The Jayes have had enough of that all these years."

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked the caller ID and saw that it was Joy, probably calling to apologize again. I nodded at Booney and Stella and quickly stepped outside where there wasn't clinking glasses and cackling.

"Joy?" I answered the phone.

"Before you ask," she began. "I haven't been fired. Mr. Kentworth said the dinner was a success and he's looking forward to seeing how the wedding turns out tomorrow."

"Good."

"But that's not why I'm calling," she added. Joy cleared her throat. "None of it matters anyway because I have decided to cancel the whole thing."

"Mr. Kentworth won't let you do that," I informed her. My pulse quickened as I waited for her to explain why she was willing to throw away everything she had worked so hard for. Patrick's face flashed in my mind and I forced myself to push it aside.
Has he said something?

"Then I'll resign." She spoke clearly and confidently. Joy wasn't kidding around. She was serious. "I would rather be jobless than have to plan my only sister's funeral. I can't believe I was the last to know about what happened this morning. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were so busy that—"

"You told Sheriff Williams, right? I can't believe the geezer hasn't made an arrest yet."

"He won't admit it, but he's a little out of his league on this one," I answered. I brushed a few flurries from my face and warmed my frozen hand on the back of my neck. I dragged my feet in the fresh powder as I gradually walked away from the Grizzly and onto the open street.

"I'm calling it," she responded. "As much as I wanted that promotion, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if the killer knocked off one of my family members."

"And here I thought that you were calling to say how sorry you were for what you did in my apartment." I attempted to lighten the mood. I heard the tension in Joy's voice when she'd spoken of canceling the wedding. Too much of her life had been spent trying to climb the ladder at the resort. I couldn’t let her cancel, not when I was close to finding the killer.

"Right," she gulped, lowering her voice. "I still can't believe I did that. Wade is … well, he should be locked up."

"Uh-huh." I knew she was only trying to draw attention away from the truth. She still had feelings for him and she probably always would.

"Back to the wedding," she casually changed the subject. "Mr. Kentworth just left so … I'll prep some client files tonight and then march into his office first thing tomorrow morning ready to resign."

"Whoa," I replied. Joy was so hot or cold that I would often find myself being her voice of reason. With her, it was either one end of the spectrum or the other. "Slow down, sis. I appreciate the gesture, but I can't let you ruin your career because of me."

"Essie," she shouted into the phone. "Someone tried to kill you!"

"And if you give me until tomorrow I think I know who."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"I swear." I glanced up the road at the snow-capped mountains. There was one person who was at the hotel when Donna was killed. Someone who had all the resources he needed to slither around and do things like pick up an anonymous cupcake order, and break into Lila's suite. Someone who was close to us all, yet distant.

Franco.

"I don't know," Joy hesitated. "I know I asked you to help me, but I never thought it would go this far."

"Just tell me one thing," I continued. I knew that with more time I could finally figure out who was stirring up trouble trying to stain the town's reputation and put my sister out of a job. "Where is the wedding party now?"

"It's late," she answered. "The Millbrecks and Patrick's parents went home. I just missed Mom and Dad when I got here, and Lila and the others are in their rooms."

"What about Franco?"

"No." She paused and chuckled to herself. "He's in the bar as usual. Working for Lila is the sort of job that makes you want to hang yourself so he usually gets plastered before bed."

"Plastered?"

"Okay," she admitted. "I'm exaggerating, but he takes his time and enjoys himself
after work
."

"Is there any way you can make sure he stays put for the next hour or so?"

"What do you have in mind?" Joy curiously asked.

"It's probably best if you didn't know."

I started the journey back to my apartment to warm up my car. I wasn't going to risk wandering through the dark and the freshly fallen snow when somebody wanted me in a body bag. Hopefully that
someone
was currently sipping martinis at the hotel bar.

"I guess I could give him a couple of free drink vouchers, valid tonight only."

"Perfect." I hung up and jogged the rest of the way.

I had a gut feeling that Franco was hiding something, and his secret could be that he was a stone cold killer.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My heart pounded the entire elevator ride to Franco's room. I'd done something I'd only ever thought about doing, and I was surprised at how easy it was to walk right into the head maid’s tiny office that also acted as a cleaning closet and swipe a room key. I'd stared at the floor the rest of my journey towards the guest rooms. I was sure I would be caught if I looked someone in the eye.

The elevator dinged and I carefully walked down the hall to Franco's suite on the same floor as Lila's. The hallway was quiet, and a decorative table near the end of the hall greeted me with a vase of newly-placed poinsettias. The brilliant red contrasted with the cream-colored walls. I gulped when I reached Franco's door, wondering what I might find when I turned the door knob and had a glimpse of his belongings and hygiene habits.

I swiped the key and my eyes widened when a green blinking light showed me the key card had worked. I turned the handle and pushed open the door. The suite was dark and quiet. I took a step. The floor creaked behind me and I jumped, almost hitting the wall. A faint whisper came from behind me.

"Essie, you little sneak."

"Lila?" I gasped. She was standing behind me, watching me breaking and entering into her assistant's private room.

"I thought I heard something," she responded. She was wearing a silk nightie and a white sleep mask with the word
Bride
embroidered on it rested on her forehead. "I'm a light sleeper. I thought you were Franco and I wanted to run over tomorrow's schedule one last time. He must still be at the bar, the boozer."

"I was just—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, hun." I raised my eyebrows as she stepped past me and flipped on the lights. "I've been wondering what he's hiding myself." She thumbed through a stack of gossip magazines on his nightstand, each marked with pink Post-its. I pulled one of the pink tabs and the magazine opened up to a page with a picture of Lila shopping in L.A. the week prior. I watched Lila glance at the photo and then turn her head.

"What makes you think he's hiding something?" I asked. She hadn't glared at me or even studied my choice of late night attire with a critical eye. Clearly, she and Patrick hadn't had a conversation yet. Tomorrow's wedding was still happening.

"Same reason
you're
up here." She chuckled and ran her fingers over a half empty bottle of bourbon on the mini bar. Franco's room was smaller than Lila's room, and tidier. His closet was color coordinated, and his bed wasn't made the usual way the maids made the beds with the sheets folded down twice and complimentary leaf-shaped chocolates on the pillow. Franco must have made the bed himself.

"You think he had something to do with Donna's accident?" I was weary of mentioning the word murder around her as her wedding was in the morning. I wasn't sure how she was currently processing the events of this weekend. One moment she'd looked perfectly happy and the next moment she'd been sobbing.

"Who knows?" She opened the drawer to her nightstand and picked up a ratty, torn copy of
A Tale of Two Cities.
"A die hard Dickens fan," she commented, dropping the book back in the drawer. "He re-reads that stupid story every year."