Heather Horrocks - Who-Dun-Him Inn 01 - Snowed Inn (24 page)

I smiled. “It wasn’t a good day for any of us.”

Handing me his American Express card, he asked, “Half of three nights, right?” He did seem to be in a good mood today. And the unwelcome thought struck me that it could be because Calabria was no longer around to keep him in the restrictive contract.

I smiled. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He smiled back and I swear the temperature in the room rose.

As I ran the card and printed the receipt, as Garrett signed it, as the three of us chatted, I wondered two things. How motivated could a man be to break a contract? And how did Martha learn about my mortgages?

A glance through the window stopped my wondering. Four Summit County officers carried a big, black, body bag. Down the carriage house stairs. Across packed-down snow. Securing it into the back of the big Snowcat, they climbed into the cab, and the great vehicle rumbled and began to move.

I got the shivers again at the sight of Gregorio Calabria leaving the Inn and heading toward Park City.

* * *

I was shivering again nearly an hour later as Paul, DeWayne, Liz, and I stomped through the snow to the carriage house. With the body removed and the crime scene officially released by the Summit County Sheriff’s Department in the mid-morning, Paul wanted to see if anything was out of place. I didn’t want to see the blood.

I glanced at Liz, who gave me a thumbs up for encouragement, and felt grateful she was there to provide moral support. I held the key in my trembling hands and tried to insert it into the keyhole. Finally, Paul took it from me, gently unlocked the door, and handed it back. Kicking snow from his boots, he stepped inside, followed by the rest of us.

It was kind of surreal. Here I was, in the carriage house I’d been in all my life, now newly remodeled, but in need of a thorough cleaning. I looked at the carpet where the body had lain, my eyes drawn to the dark spot of dried (I hoped!) blood. The stain was huge.

DeWayne said, “There’s a company you can hire to clean it.”

“That’s what the sheriff said.” I looked at him, slightly panicky. Seeing his warm, caring brown eyes, I calmed a little. “You think they can hide this?”

DeWayne nodded reassuringly. “Sure, they can. I got one of their cards for you.” He handed it to me.

Liz, now green around the edges, grimaced and said, “But Silver City has never had a murder before. How do these guys know how to deal with blood?”

“They’re based in Salt Lake,” DeWayne said. “Trust me.”

And I did, so I sighed deeply, nodded my head, and glanced at the card. Under Emergency Clean-Ups was the name of the company, Martin & Sons. And their motto: We Clean Anything.

Paul continued, “Look around, Vicki. Is anything missing?”

I could see the fine powder I recognized from watching television shows that was used for dusting fingerprints. I walked around— but not where the body was lying— and looked more thoroughly. Everything seemed to be in place. Except the piece of lava rock.

When I told Paul that, he nodded. “The deputies took it as evidence.”

Otherwise, things looked as they had before the murder.

Liz sank into one of the chairs. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so quiet. Or looking quite so green. Then she made a dash for the bathroom. I thought maybe I’d join her.

“Sit down,” Paul ordered as he motioned toward a chair. “You’ll be okay.”

I did as he said and the urge to be sick passed. In a moment, Liz returned.

We went upstairs and I looked around. I asked if BJ could have her suitcase back, and Paul said that was all right. I had no clue what would happen to Calabria’s stuff.

When I stepped into the upstairs grand bathroom, I gasped. Paul was right behind me, then DeWayne, and Liz. I pointed at the large bathroom mirror above the sink. Dead center was a vivid lip print in lipstick. A kiss mark. And underneath it, in the same lipstick, was printed, in block letters, HOW DOES IT FEEL?

“We saw this before,” DeWayne said. “Ms. Killian must have been admiring herself with a kiss. We’re not even sure why she would leave that message to herself, unless she was congratulating herself for getting engaged.”

Paul shook his head. “Can you say narcissistic?”

I shook my head. “No, guys. Not narcissistic.”

Liz raised an eyebrow. DeWayne quieted, a frown settling on his face. Paul humored me. “Okay, can you say egotistical?”

“No, I mean it’s not what it looks like. That’s not BJ’s lipstick.” I’d recognize that audacious shade of fuchsia lipstick anywhere. “That’s Martha’s lipstick.”

“Why would another woman come into this bathroom and kiss the mirror?” DeWayne shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you kidding?” Liz put her hands on her hips. “Martha, the ex-wife, was rubbing it in the face of the fiancée, BJ.”

“So,” I said. “Martha was here in her ex-husband’s bathroom off the bedroom. Last night. The night of the murder.”

We were all silent for a moment, staring into the mirror, our reflections overwritten by block lipstick letters.

Finally, Paul said, “I think it’s time for another chat with Ms. Martha Turner.”

Chapter Seventeen

Back at the main house, DeWayne took Liz downstairs to lie down as she was still not feeling well while I trailed Paul to the second floor. As we reached the top of the stairs, the door to Martha’s room opened and out slipped Xavier. Standing at the door, Martha waved to him and smiled, a soft, little smile. Was I imagining things? Or had the woman just made love to Xavier, too? He certainly looked relaxed and happy.

When Martha caught sight of Paul, her look hardened. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Well, I just saw something disturbing. Suppose you explain it to me so it makes sense.”

When Xavier saw me, his smile vanished. He tried to slip past me without talking, but I caught his arm and said, under my breath, “Xavier, what is going on here?”

He stopped, without turning to face me. “We were talking.”

“Talking?” I repeated skeptically.

I saw the light dawn in his eyes as he realized what I was insinuating. He scowled. “That is none of your business, but it’s not what it apparently appears.”

“Xavier, this is important. I want you to promise you will not get involved with the guests.”

He stopped, turned smartly, frowned and said mockingly, “I promise I will not get involved with the guests.” As he left, he muttered something about people’s dirty, little minds. I guess I was just put in my place, wherever that was.

Paul’s voice snapped me back to the moment. “Coming?”

As I followed him into Martha’s room, Paul motioned to me. “I’ve asked Mrs. Butler to join us.”

Martha shrugged as she sank onto the comfy antique couch and patted the seat beside her for me. I sat. I also glanced at the bed to see if it was rumpled. It was not.

Martha didn’t motion to Paul. He remained standing.

She had the candle warmer on and the scent of orange creme filled the air. My favorite. I was surprised, though, that Martha didn’t ask for something spicier. Risque, even.

Martha smiled pleasantly and waited. It was the longest I’d seen her remain quiet since I met her. She crossed one long, sexy, black-stockinged leg over the other, and her black skirt slid open at the slit, revealing her thigh and nearly more.

Paul made some throat-clearing sounds. “Ms. Turner, at the crime scene, on the bathroom mirror,” he paused, as if he wasn’t sure how to word it. “Did you leave a message?”

He sounded so official, I had to resist smiling. I didn’t want to ruin the mood he was setting, but it was hard to look at him and not remember the older brother who taught me how to spit from the little footbridge over Hanson’s Creek.

“It is a memorable shade, is it not? And you’re wondering why that
audacious
shade of lipstick was on Gregorio’s mirror? Okay, I’ll tell you. I went out when the blonde bimbo came inside after their fight. I talked with him about our children.”

She crossed her legs in the other direction, again revealing a lot of flesh, and glanced at Paul. I wondered if she were doing it deliberately to distract him. Yes, I think she was.

“And?” Paul prompted, undistracted. I was proud of him.

“When I realized he wasn’t going to reconcile with our children, I decided to take another tack.” She shrugged. “I used him. And, in some small way, I got back at BJ. She knows I was with Gregorio. Now she knows we did the wild thing.”

“The wild thing?” Paul repeated.

I had to smile. We led a sheltered life in these mountains. I knew he knew what she meant and was simply asking her to clarify, for business’s sake. But the murder had definitely intruded on our innocent way of life. In nice Mormon circles, the only wild thing done was with your spouse. Fooling around wasn’t entirely unheard of, just more guilt-laden.

“He enjoyed the last sex he ever got.”

Paul folded his arms. “Some people might say you made sure he didn’t have anyone after you.”

“Well, those people would be wrong. If you see any of those people, you can have them talk to Garrett. I was with him at the time of the murder.”

“With him?” Paul fished for more information.

“Sure. Spending time with. Hanging out with. I told your deputy that. Garrett can vouch for my whereabouts. He saw me leave Gregorio’s cabin and we walked back together. And Gregorio was still alive at the time. Very much alive.”

“Ms. Turner,” Paul changed directions, “were there any people here this weekend who held any grudges against you?”

Martha shrugged. “I rub some people the wrong way.”

“Alexis says you cheated her on a contract—” I began.

“Alexis hates me, so I wouldn’t believe anything she says.”

Paul tapped his pencil. “Has she always hated you?”

“No. We had a great working relationship until the last five years. Then, all of a sudden she grew distant.” Martha shrugged again. “I figured she believed Gregorio’s lies about me. He certainly told enough of them.”

Paul stuck his hands in his pockets and was silent for a moment, as if he were deciding how to phrase his next question.

Suddenly, I remembered what I saw and told him about the wet carpet and unlocked window.

Martha shook her head. “Whoever was out there had to be insane. Do you always get this much snow? How on earth can you do business during the winter?”

I started to tell her this was much more than we usually had, but Paul interrupted my weather report. “This is a personal question, but why was Xavier in your room just now?”

“He’s a sweet boy.” She laughed. “You don’t need to worry. I prefer my men older and more experienced.” She ran her gaze up Paul and smiled. “I am not doing the wild thing with Xavier.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but what could I say without sounding prudish? Nothing. So I kept my prudish mouth shut. And I wondered if any of the authors this weekend were giving us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

* * *

When my phone rang, I excused myself from Martha’s room and went down to the office. The caller was a potential guest. I was relieved they hadn’t all heard about the murder, and went downstairs to make the reservation. A group of three couples wanted to come for a skiing trip in February. After booking the rooms and hanging up, I pushed back my computer keyboard and noticed my ring was missing.

The ring Robert gave me. My wedding ring. I tried to remember if I put it on this morning. But I never took it off, unless I was working in the kitchen on something that could get it messy. As I searched the kitchen window sill and table and counters, the memory of the day Robert proposed hit me and I had to stop and clutch the counter.

Dressed up for a dance, he brought me a dozen roses, which I knew he couldn’t afford while studying for his degree. He handed them to me, and as I got misty eyed, he knelt on one knee, took my free hand, and said, “Victoria Ross, will you marry me?” as if I were the most perfect woman on earth.

That day, I cried for joy. As tears burned their way from my eyes now, I was filled with the grief of Robert’s loss, all over again. I cried so many times that I told myself I wouldn’t cry again. But it was a promise I was unable to keep.

I leaned against the counter, my hands to my face, and wept. For Robert. And for the ring that was my last link to him, symbolizing our love and marriage.

I told myself my ring had to be lying around somewhere, but the stress of everything combined— the murder, the investigation, the unanswered questions, the fear— overwhelmed me. I wept, most of all for what Robert and I would never have again, at least not in this life. Even my belief in life after death, and marriage for time and all eternity, couldn’t stave off the pain of not having Robert there with me right then.

Grandma caught me by surprise, walking into the kitchen while I was still crying. I turned quickly and tried to turn on the water in the sink to hide my unrestrained sobs.

“Vicki? What’s wrong?”