Chocolate Dipped Death (9 page)

“Maybe she’s working at her sister’s house,” I suggested, reluctantly giving up and swallowing the mouthful.

Evie shook her head again. “Delta would never let her do that. She’s too angry. But you know what that means, don’t you?”

“No. What?”

“It means Savannah didn’t make the candy she entered in the contest last night.”

I was getting more than a little tired of the accusations and, frankly, I thought Evie owed me a hint about her cocoa just for listening to all of them. “You don’t know that for sure,” I said.

“But she couldn’t have made it, Abby. She couldn’t. And she’ll show up again tonight, carrying around candy that somebody else made, all ready to pass it off as her own.”

“You can’t just assume that she’s doing something underhanded because you don’t like her,” I said firmly. “And you can’t keep accusing her without proof. If she doesn’t do something to stop you, her husband will.”

Evie’s smile grew chilly. “I don’t
like
her because she’s always doing something underhanded—and usually to me.”

Karen might argue that part with her, but I wasn’t going to open that particular can of worms. I really didn’t care who suffered most at Savannah’s hands, I just wanted to protect the integrity of the contest and stop the public bickering. “Look, Evie, I know that you and Savannah have a long history, and I know that you have reasons for feeling the way you do, but she could be in real trouble.”

“Trouble she brought on herself.”

I pretended not to hear her. “We’re putting together a search party at the shop. Most of the other contestants have agreed to help. Will you come?”

Evie laughed and shook her head. “And play into Savannah’s latest head game? I can’t believe you’re even asking.”

“I’d ask for her help if you were the one in trouble.”

Evie’s smile faded. “And she’d turn you down even faster than I have. Don’t worry about her. She’s fine. I’d bet everything I own on it.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so I thanked her and left her glaring at her cocoa mugs. I coaxed Max away from the warm spot on the floor and led him back outside. I’m not usually in touch with psychic energy and New Age vibrations, but the negative energy surrounding Evie was so thick I stood outside for a few minutes gulping clear, clean air before I could make myself get into the car and drive away.

 

Evie’s attitude bothered me as I drove to the other end of town. Snow and traffic made the usual five-minute drive to Silver River Road take more than twenty, but it felt so good to be alone, I really didn’t mind.

I circled the block a few times looking for a place to park, then finally squeezed the Jetta into an empty space at the bottom of the hill. Slowly, carefully, I pulled the bouquet of cinnamon roses from the car and set off on foot with Max at my heels. It was impressive, if I do say so myself, with three dozen glistening cinnamon “roses,” set off by deep green silk leaves and clusters of baby’s breath, all arranged in a crystal vase. A red velvet bow nestled in the center. Curls of ribbon peeked out from behind the greenery. I hoped Dylan and Richie liked it as much as I did.

Like many of the buildings in Paradise, the Silver River Inn has gone through a number of incarnations since it was originally built. It started life as a school-house, but the sprawling brick building has also been a miner’s hospital, a library, and an office complex. Four years ago, Richie Bellieu and his partner, Dylan Wagstaff, bought the place. They gutted it the first year and spent the second bringing it to life again, this time as a bed-and-breakfast.

I was gasping for breath by the time Max and I climbed the two flights of stairs from the street, but I caught my breath when we stepped through the heavy wooden door into the hushed and elegant atmosphere inside. I couldn’t see anyone in the long hallway leading to the kitchen, so I turned toward the lobby. Only the sound of Max’s claws on the polished hardwood floor broke the silence.

Richie and Dylan were working behind the registration desk. While Richie’s fingers flew across the keyboard of their computer, Dylan was focused on the open drawer of a file cabinet. The polite smiles they turned toward the door when they heard our footsteps turned into smiles of genuine pleasure when they saw Max. Oh yeah . . . and me.

They’ve been life partners for at least ten years, but you won’t find two more different people if you spend a lifetime looking. Richie, whose naturally dark hair is carefully highlighted and spiked, is flamboyant and filled with enthusiasm for life. In some ways, he’s more feminine than I am, but I try not to let that bother me. He was wearing a pair of tight black leather pants and a silk shirt, half of which was leopard print that faded into a turquoise feather design. A matching turquoise beret tilted just so on the top of his head.

Dylan is quiet and far more reserved. He keeps his light hair neatly trimmed and his clothing conservative. While he makes no effort to hide his lifestyle, neither does he go out of his way to advertise it. Maybe he figures that Richie advertises enough for both of them.

With a cry of delight, Richie abandoned the computer and swept out from behind the desk with his arms spread wide. “Max, you handsome thing. I had no idea Abby was going to bring you to see us today.” He wrapped his arms around Max’s neck and kissed the air noisily. Max’s entire back end waggled with excitement, and he managed to land a couple of wet, sloppy dog kisses before Richie could avoid them.

Richie’s delight made the worry about Savannah seem unreal somehow. I grinned at Dylan and slid the bouquet onto the counter in front of him. “You’re going to lose him to Max one of these days if you’re not careful.”

Dylan closed the file cabinet and turned a look overflowing with affection on Richie and Max. “Too late. I can’t compete.” He pulled his gaze away and focused on me. “This is a pleasant surprise. Is Karen sick or something?”

Dylan’s not a gossip, but I didn’t feel comfortable talking about Karen behind her back. I shook my head and slipped a cookie from the silver tray at my elbow. “I needed a break, and this seemed like a good excuse to take one.” Footsteps clattered down the stairs, and a couple of laughing guests spilled outside. I watched their heads disappear as they descended to the street and looked back to find Dylan inspecting the bouquet. “Business must be good,” I observed. “Your parking lot is completely full.”

“Business is good all over town,” Dylan said. “We’re full all this week, and we have another big group coming in next week. I’m almost afraid to say this aloud, but it looks as if we might actually have a good year.”

There’s nothing more deadly in a ski town than a drought. Ski runs without a solid snowpack aren’t good for much. Pile up five or six drought years in a row, and you’ll see frightened and frantic faces everywhere you look. The six years the Rockies had just endured had dented a lot of bank accounts and bankrupted others. Everyone was glad to see the snow this winter.

“Nobody deserves it more than you two,” I told Dylan. “You’ve put in a lot of work on this place.”

He leaned forward and inhaled the cinnamon scent of the bouquet. “You don’t know the half of it. Now let’s just hope the snow keeps coming.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed,” I assured him.

He moved the bouquet to the center of the L-shaped counter, spent a few seconds adjusting it, then turned back toward me. “I heard you had a little excitement down at Divinity last night.”

Richie looked up sharply, gave Max a final pat on the head, and stood to rejoin us. “Did Evie Rich really accuse someone of cheating?”

Max sank onto the hardwood floor and buried his nose in his side, perfectly content not to chew as long as he was with people. “Yes, she really did,” I said. “And now the other contestant is missing.”

“Missing?” The word erupted from both Richie and Dylan at the same time. Richie leaned on the counter with both elbows and pumped me for more information. “Missing as in . . .
missing
?”

“We don’t know yet.” I glanced at my watch and grimaced. “We’re trying to put together a search party, but it will be dark soon, so I’d better get back. We can use all the help we can get. If you can break away, even for a little while, please do.”

Dylan hitched himself onto a desk behind the counter. “Do you think something’s happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” Just the thought made my stomach churn. “All I know is that her husband can’t find her,” I said, and filled them in on the details.

Richie looked shocked. “Do you think she was kidnapped?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now that Richie brought it up, I couldn’t rule it out. “She and her husband have money,” I said, “so I guess it’s possible. I don’t think anyone’s made an attempt to collect ransom, though. It’s more likely she got hurt while she was out jogging.”

“And nobody has noticed her in what? Eight hours?”

Dylan jumped from the desk and pulled his coat from a hook in the corner. “Can you handle business here while I help look for her, Richie?”

“Go. One of us should help, and you’ll be better out there in the woods than I would. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

“Make phone calls,” I told him, almost weak with gratitude. This kind of bonding together is the best part of living in a small town. During my years away, I’d almost forgotten how great it is to actually know your neighbors. “Send anyone you can round up down to Divinity. We’re organizing the search from there.”

Richie nodded and reached for the phone. “What about the contest?”

“Postponed until we find Savannah and make sure she’s okay.”

He pressed the receiver against his chest. “What if she isn’t okay?”

That wasn’t a possibility I wanted to consider. “She’ll be okay,” I insisted, “and the contest will be under way again by tomorrow.”

Dylan dug gloves from his pockets and worked his hands into them. “I’ll bet Evie is royally pissed, huh?”

Again, I decided to be discreet. “She’d rather go ahead tonight, but she understands why we can’t.”

“But she’s not going to help look for the missing lady, though, is she?” Richie asked.

“Well I—I don’t know.” It’s not that I don’t trust Richie and Dylan, it’s just that I’m still not sure where I fit in Paradise, and talking about my customers to their friends and neighbors doesn’t seem like a good idea.

“She won’t help,” Richie said, bobbing his head in agreement with himself. “She’s way too competitive for that. She’s one of the most competitive people I know.”

I thought about her wall of fame and knew he was right. But that left an uncomfortable sensation rolling around inside me.

Dylan pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the trash. “How can you say that? You don’t even know her that well.”

“She’s in my yoga class,” Richie said firmly. “I spend an hour with that woman twice a week, and I’ve seen her practically break her neck trying to be number one.
I
sure wouldn’t want to be up against her in a contest.”

The uneasy feeling grew stronger. “Why not?”

“Because.” Richie said, meeting my gaze steadily. “Evie Rice is the kind of person who would stop at nothing if it meant the difference between winning and losing.”

And that, I realized with a sinking heart, was exactly what I was afraid of.

My conversation with Dylan and Richie made
me more determined than ever to find Savannah and get her back home safely. I didn’t like wondering if she was alive or not, and I
really
didn’t like suspecting Evie of something she may or may not have done. It’s hard to look someone in the eye under those circumstances. I needed to find Savannah, if only to get my imagination under control.

Miles had told me that he’d already talked to Delta, and maybe there was nothing she could tell me that she hadn’t told him, but she was Savannah’s sister. She’d be the most likely person to know where Savannah might be.

Last I heard, Delta was working as a manicurist at the Curl Up and Dye, an establishment I tend to avoid, mostly because Paisley Pringle, the parlor’s owner, is determined to “fix” my hair. If I have to “fix” my hair at any point in the future, Paisley is the last person on earth I want to be behind the scissors. Her mother comes in a close second.

Not that my hair couldn’t benefit from some attention. It’s cocoa brown, short, and coarse. Most of the time, it looks like someone hacked at it with a dull knife, but I’m not a fan of Paisley’s work. I’m just not eager to see how much worse I can look.

Under the circumstances, however, maybe I could survive long enough to see what Delta could tell me. I drove back into the center of town and parked in the lot next to the salon. I didn’t see Paisley’s yellow VW bug anywhere, but her mother’s teal Cherokee was parked by the back door, and my heart sank. The nut hadn’t dropped far from the tree, if you know what I mean.