On Thin Icing (26 page)

“She seems convinced that you’re going to fire her.”

Lance sipped his coffee. “Now why would she think something like that?”

“Because of the alcohol debacle.”

“Well, that wasn’t her fault, was it? Why would I fire her over something like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know—high standards, perfectionism, being upset that there was no alcohol for your retreat. Those all sound like valid reasons to me.”

“Darling, your imagination is too much sometimes. I assure you I have no intention of firing Whitney. I’m quite pleased with her work thus far. She has more to learn, of course. And she needs to ditch that silly tablet. I keep telling her this isn’t L.A.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Lance sounded incensed. “What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged.

“Juliet, don’t be coy with me. Does this have something to do with Tony’s murder?”

“I’m not sure.”

Lance scowled and ran his fingers along his goatee.

“Honestly, I’m not. Maybe. If Whitney was worried about you firing her, could she have killed Tony?”

Lance threw his head back and laughed. “Oh my, you have really been cooped up here for too long! Or perhaps the thin air is messing with your head. Whitney, a killer? Impossible. Absolutely impossible. That girl couldn’t kill Tony any more than I could. I don’t think she could kill a spider even if it was about to bite her. You must be joking.”

“You never know. Like Thomas said, ‘people can do things you’d never expect when under pressure.’”

“Thomas said that?” Lance winked. “Did he say that over a glass of wine last night, or was he too busy trying to fight off your Latin lover?”

“Lance.” I shot him a hard look.

“Truce. Truce.” He threw his hands up.

“Maybe Whitney and Dean paired up. I found him shooting in the forest last night.”

“Really?” Sterling looked up from his marinade.

“Yeah! He had a hunting rifle and claimed to be target shooting.”

Lance twisted his scarf. “Whitney and Dean? You can’t be serious. Dean is our most elder board member and I think Whitney would struggle to lift that.” He pointed to the sack of open flour on the island. “You’re slipping. This fresh mountain air must be getting to you.”

“Not if they worked together,” I insisted.

“You deal with her,” Lance said to Sterling. “I have some work to do before the masses arrive and want to be fed, but let me part with these words—Whitney is not your killer. Nor is our creaky British gent. Better get back to your sleuthing.” Lance turned on his heels and blew me kisses. “See you for breakfast, soon. Ta-ta.”

I knew that Lance had a flair for the dramatic, but he seemed certain that neither Dean nor Whitney could have had anything to do with Tony’s death. Was he right? What about their connection? She was his niece. Could that be who she’d been sharing the bottle of wine with the night that Tony was killed? I remembered that Dean said he had a hangover. Lance might be convinced, but I wasn’t. It was certainly possible that working together, Whitney and Dean could have killed Tony.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Sterling trekked back into the cold and recovered the sausages from the cooler. We had finally figured out baking at this altitude, just in time to head home. Breakfast prep was a breeze. Within the hour everything was baked to perfection and ready to go.

We got a jump start on the pizza dough and desserts for lunch. I couldn’t believe how quickly the past three days had sped by, and I couldn’t stop reviewing the potential murder suspects in my head.

Whitney had a motive whether Lance believed it or not. She was genuinely concerned about getting fired. Dean was her uncle. Could he have killed Tony to protect her? Or had they teamed up and killed him together? Dean was an accomplished hunter. I still wondered what he was doing shooting in the woods last night.

Then there was Gavin Allen. He was a burly guy, who also knew how to operate a hunting rifle. He had the physical strength for murder. But what was his motive? I couldn’t figure out a reason he would want Tony dead.

And Mercury. She seemed genuinely rattled about Tony’s death, but maybe it was an act. She was desperate to make the resort a success. If Tony had really been stealing from her that was certainly a motive for murder. But how would she have done it? She would have needed an accomplice.

Focus, Jules. I flicked my wrist. You are here to bake.

Sterling and I served breakfast to grateful guests. The board members devoured all the sweet rolls and sausages. Apparently, the morning after a wine-tasting tour called for sustenance. Carlos joined everyone for coffee. They all chatted amicably about how much fun they’d had with him as their vintner, and encouraged him to come to OSF.

The Professor and Mercury both nibbled on breakfast. Thomas was noticeably absent. I wondered when the coroner and a team of workers would arrive. I also wondered how hard it was going to be to drive back to Ashland in the deep snow.

I didn’t have too much time to worry about it. As soon as we cleared the breakfast dishes, we turned our attention to lunch. Carlos wasn’t needed in the bar, so he offered to teach Sterling how to throw pizza dough.

It was hilarious to watch them take turns flipping the dough into the air.

I wanted to wow Lance with a parting dessert. I decided on cherries jubilee. The classic flambé is an artful sweet dessert that would send the guests off in flames. It’s an underutilized simple technique that would be sure to leave a lasting impression. Flambéing caramelizes the sugar and deepens the flavor. I would set it aflame at the table and serve it over vanilla bean ice cream.

Carlos tossed the dough, twirling it in a spiral first. “You see,” he said to Sterling. “It is all in the wrist. Flick like this. It will give more air to the dough for a light and crispy crust.”

Sterling watched as Carlos made it look easy. I knew it wasn’t. When it was Sterling’s turn, the dough hit the ceiling and stuck for a moment before landing on the stove.

“That is okay, you try again. Keep it spinning, yes?” Carlos was calm and encouraging. Some chefs run kitchens by force, berating and yelling at young sous chefs. Not Carlos. He had a different approach. He infused fun in everything he did. From blasting Latin music to playing practical jokes, his relaxed style put everyone at ease. That didn’t mean he wasn’t in control of his kitchen. Quite the opposite. Staff respected him, and worked twice as hard to please him.

Sterling tossed the dough again. This time it made a full rotation and landed on his outstretched hand. A smile spread across his face. “I did it!”

“Yes, yes.” Carlos clapped him on the back. “Bravo. Try it again.”

“Has anyone seen the rum?” I asked.

Sterling concentrated on the flying pizza dough. He shook his head, but didn’t speak.

“There is a bottle of very good rum behind the bar,” Carlos replied, keeping one eye on Sterling. “Do you want me to get it for you?”

“No, you guys keep working on the pizza. I’ll go find it.”

I left to the sound of them laughing as dough landed on Sterling’s head.

“Do not worry. This happens all the time.” Carlos grabbed the dough and plopped it on his own head. He posed with it for a second and then said, “We have a rule in the kitchen. If it lands on you—you eat it. This one becomes your pizza. What do you want on it?”

Lance was explaining his new fund-raising strategy to the board when I scooted past the table en route to the bar. The bar was dark and empty. Two long shelves were framed in the window. Bottles of gin, vodka, and vermouth glimmered backlit from the sun. “Sun, ah, sun,” I said aloud. I hadn’t been this happy to see the sun for years.

The resort looked picturesque. Icy crystals sparkled under the sun’s warming rays. Last night’s snow had covered most of the fallen debris. It looked as if a blanket of white had been cast on the ground. The dark evergreen branches stood in stark colorful contrast to the sea of blinding white.

I scanned the shelves of alcohol, looking for a bottle of rum. There was one bottle, but it only had a quarter inch of rum left. Not enough to flambé my cherries jubilee.

There had to be more rum somewhere. It was a staple in so many well drinks. I turned around and checked the cupboards under the bar. There were two cases of wine in the first cupboard, and boxes of clean glasses in the second. I opened the third cupboard where standalone bottles of hard alcohol sat in perfect rows.

I checked the labels, finally finding a full bottle of rum near the back.

Jackpot.

As I pulled the bottle from the cupboard my hand hit something. I scooted closer, and pushed the bottles to the side. In the far corner of the cupboard was an envelope. Without thinking, I pulled it out and opened it.

Inside the envelope was a giant stack of cash. At first I thought it must be tip money, but when I looked closer at the bills they were twenties and hundreds. There had to be a few thousand dollars in the envelope.

There was something else in the envelope. I shoved the cash back in and removed a piece of paper. It had the Lake of the Woods logo on the top and read: “Lake of the Woods Marina.” Someone had written a ledger on the paper. It documented cash transactions in the bar and at the marina. I scanned the paper until I found OSF’s order. It was for two cases of wine—one white and one red. The total order was for seven hundred dollars, but that number was crossed out and in the column next to it someone had written a price of fifteen hundred dollars.

I had found proof that Mercury was right. Tony had been skimming from her.

I read through each entry. Something didn’t add up. Not only was Tony overcharging customers in the bar, but the same thing was happening at the marina. There were entries for fishing boat rentals that were more than double the listed price.

That didn’t make sense. How was Tony skimming from the marina, too?

I dropped the paper on the floor. All of a sudden I realized how. Gavin. Gavin had to be in on the scheme. Gavin and Tony had been working together to steal from Mercury and guests at the lodge. The paper was tangible proof.

I had to get this to the Professor or Thomas, without anyone noticing.

Poor Mercury. She’d put her trust in Gavin and he had been stealing from her, too. I couldn’t believe it.

I tucked the note back into the envelope, and stacked the bottles in place. Then I hid the envelope in my bra, and closed the cupboards.

I hurried back to the dining room with the bottle of rum. Maybe I could catch the Professor’s eye and motion him into the kitchen.

When I walked past the dining table, the Professor wasn’t there. Neither was Mercury. Where had they gone?

A new thought popped into my head as I returned to the kitchen where Carlos and Sterling were hurling pizza dough in the air. I hadn’t been able to figure out what motive Gavin might have had for killing Tony. Now I had one resting against my chest. What if Gavin wanted all this cash for himself? With Tony out of the picture, and knowing that he had Mercury’s unyielding trust, he stood to pocket all of this cash. Gavin had to be the killer.

Chapter Thirty

Why hadn’t I figured it out before? Mercury had said that Tony claimed he wasn’t the one stealing from her. Was that because he planned to put all the blame on Gavin?

I thought about the hunting rifles at the marina. Gavin had access to them and knew how to use them. Had he and Tony had a fight about their scheme? All Gavin would have had to do was grab a rifle from the rack and shoot him. He could have lifted Tony into the freezer. He had the strength.

“Jules, are you okay?” Sterling’s voice startled me. I almost dropped the bottle of rum on the floor.

I caught it on my elbow. “Yeah, sorry.” My hands shook as I set the bottle on the counter. “How’s the pizza lesson going?”

“Good.” Sterling smiled and ran his hands across a line of thin round circles waiting to be transformed into pizzas.

“Those look great,” I replied. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Julieta, what is wrong?” Carlos noticed.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” I lied. “How are we doing for time?” I wanted to go find the Professor and Thomas right now. The envelope felt like it was burning my skin.

“We’re good,” Sterling said, pointing to the clock. He was right. There was plenty of time, and cherries jubilee didn’t take long. If worse came to worse I could cook them while Lance and the board were noshing on their pizzas.

“Do you guys mind if I step outside for a sec?” I asked.

“Step outside into the snow?” Carlos said with a disapproving look.

“I won’t be long, and you know the drill, right, Sterling?”

He pointed to each pizza. “Red sauce, white sauce, olive oil, right?”

“Exactly.”

“No problem. We got this. Right, Carlos?”

Carlos nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Okay, I’ll be back as fast as I can.” I turned and hurried away.

I checked the bar one more time, just in case the Professor or Thomas had come back while I was in the kitchen. It was still empty. They had to be outside. I zipped up my coat and placed my hand on top of my chest. I didn’t want the envelope to slip out.

Maybe they were at their cabin. I would try that first. I ran up the hill.

The resort looked welcoming and picture-perfect under the winter sun. Smoke spiraled from cabin chimneys. If I wasn’t on the trail of a murderer, I would have stopped and snapped a picture for Mom. She would love this.

You can admire the view later, Jules, I told myself as I raced toward Thomas and the Professor’s cabin, kicking powder into the air.

My breath came in shallow gasps. The Professor and Thomas were sharing the cabin directly across from mine. It had the same layout, only theirs was larger and had a ramp leading to the porch. I grabbed the hand railing to steady myself as I flung my body up the ramp. With the storm gone and the roads being clear, Gavin could get away. This was his chance to escape.

Did he suspect that anyone was on to his scheme?

I banged on the screen door.