The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (15 page)

This party was all that had kept her sane over the last week. She couldn’t leave Shakti alone for a moment. The puppy was always under her feet, tripping her up, or crying incessantly if Jess left the room. Every time she put the cowboy somewhere she didn’t have to look at it, it reappeared on top of her roll top desk. The front of her bedroom was unnaturally cold, and she was having bad dreams. Every time she tried to contact Chandra, she either mysteriously forgot or her technology failed. It was too bad, because Chandra loved a party. Tyler hadn’t been available most of the week, what with preparing for the tourist season, making sure he had staff to cover the increase in business, all his supplies stocked, his menu printed, and whatever else went into running a café in a tourist town. When Jess wasn’t trying—and failing—to write, she was happily planning this party.

Tyler had spent last night at Jess’s house and she rode into town with him in the morning. They spent the day together at the café, making final preparations for the new kids’ big splash onto the Skoghall social scene.

Tyler came out of the kitchen and eyed his dining room. “It looks nice, Jess.”

“Just nice?”

“
Really
nice.” He put his arms around her waist. “I might leave the lights up after the party.”

“Good.” She kissed his cheek. She had worn a summery dress and sandals. Most people would probably wear shorts and t-shirts, but she couldn’t resist the floral sundress. Working from home and meant she was dressed down ninety-nine percent of the time. Tyler’s hands slid from her waist to her hips as he admired her figure, then slipped around the back to flirt with her ass. “People could arrive any second,” she reminded him as she pushed her hips out.

“And they’ll see me holding your ass?”

“
Mm-hm
.”

“Let them be jealous.”

Jess laughed and pulled away playfully just as the screen door opened. She had hand-delivered the invitations, giving her a chance to meet most of the business people on Main Street, and now she hoped she could keep the names and faces straight. Lora Zabrowski carried a bowl of pasta salad into the dining room. She owned the antique store between the café and the inn. Jess greeted her and showed her where to put the pasta as Dave came in, carrying a bag of chips and tub of dip. Tyler greeted Dave with a firm handshake. And so their hosting duties went as the café filled with their guests.

Beckett was among the last to arrive, carrying a ceramic fondue pot in oven mitts with a bag over his shoulder. Jess ushered him to the food table and rearranged things so he could set down the pot. “Did you make this?”

“I did a line of fondue pots a couple years ago when fondue parties got trendy.” He took a metal holder and tin of gelled fuel out of his shoulder bag as he spoke.

“I had no idea you’re so commercial,” Jess teased. She unloaded the rest of his bag, pulling out bamboo skewers and containers of strawberries, dried fruit, lady finger cookies, pretzels… “Geez, Beckett, you went all out. Nobody’s going to leave the fondue with this set up.”

He stirred the chocolate mixture and shrugged. His longish blond hair had a ski bum quality about it. Jess would have been dismissive of him in other circumstances, but Beckett didn’t seem to care one way or another about people’s opinions, which helped him wear the look. Jess suspected he would get away with any look between his cool demeanor and those damn blue eyes.

“Hey, Beckett.” Tyler slid in next to Jess. “Can I grab you a drink?”

“Sure. Red wine tonight, I think.”

Tyler withdrew his hand from Jess’s waist and stepped over to the drinks table to pour Beckett’s glass of wine.

“I love that pot. Do you have any more?” Jess asked.

“Not for a while now, but I can make you one.” He tapped his spoon against the side of the fondue pot, satisfied the chocolate was smooth and ready to eat.

“That would be great.”

“What would?” Tyler reappeared at Jess’s side and held a glass of wine toward Beckett.

“Beckett’s going to make me a fondue pot.” Jess smiled at Tyler, her excitement shining in her eyes. Tyler did not return the smile, and Jess’s faded as he again put a hand on her waist.

“There’s Lora,” Beckett said. “I’ll introduce you two.”

Beckett crossed the room, weaving between people, pausing to say hello, shaking hands and clapping shoulders. Jess and Tyler trailed him, smiling at their guests, the guests they did not really know. Jess counted faces, ticking off names in her head, promising herself she would talk to everyone before the night was out. Tyler’s hand on her elbow was like a weight she had in tow.

“Lora,” Beckett said. She lifted her eyebrows and made an O of her mouth when she saw Beckett, wagging her finger at him. Whatever she was about to say, he cut it off. “I want you to meet Jessica Vernon.”

Jess stood in front of Lora, and Tyler planted himself at her side. “We met last week.” Jess smiled and held out her hand. Lora held up her wineglass and hors d’oeuvre plate. A short curvaceous woman, Lora wore her natural padding like an accessory she’d chosen, instead of fighting it like some unnatural burden the way most women did. If Lora had a complaint about her figure, you would never guess it. Her Asian-styled silk top had fluted sleeves that draped her pale arms and a deep V-neck that showed off cleavage deep enough to hide a rhinoceros. She had lifted her blonde hair off her neck with a butterfly clip, but left long bangs framing her round face, a complement to her dark-lashed eyes.

“How nice to meet you again,” Lora said. “Great party, Tyler.”

“Lora,” Beckett said, “was friends with the woman who owned your house last. You can ask her whatever you want to know.” Beckett nodded at the ladies, his duty complete, and slipped away to talk to other people.

“So
you
have that old place.” Lora eyed Jess with new interest.

“Yes,” Jess agreed. She didn’t know what to say with Tyler clinging to her elbow. She was about to ask something about the barn when a man she didn’t recognize asked Tyler for more ice, drawing him away. Jess worried her relief was obvious, but there might not be time for subtlety. “Beckett said your friend was unhappy there. Did something happen?” she asked.

Lora looked over her shoulder like the woman she was talking about might be within earshot. “Lots of things happened. I don’t know the whole story, but Cathy sank a bunch of money into remodeling the master bedroom and had big plans for the place. She was a painter. I think she wanted to do something with the barn, make it an education center or something, maybe partner with the inn for out-of-towners.” Lora looked for a table nearby and led Jess over to one. She set down her dishes and gripped Jess’s arm with soft, manicured hands. “Some places are bad news. That house just about drove Cathy nuts, and when she left, she was flat broke. The bank got the house.” She let go of Jess’s arm and raised her wineglass to her lips. After a pause, she lowered the glass without drinking, then tilted her head and made a little sucking sound with her mouth. “But you know that, since you must have bought the house from the bank.”

Jess decided not to respond to that statement. “What kind of things drove her nuts?”

“I think you already know, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Do you know anything about the history of the house? Who had it before Cathy?”

“No, but if I were you, I’d cut my losses and get the hell out of there.” Lora looked around the room, perhaps seeking better company, but settled for picking up her plate and wineglass again. “Have you tried the artichoke dip? I think I’ll get some more.”

Jess watched Lora weave through the crowd toward the food table without bothering to tell her that she had made the dip. She was scowling. Cutting her losses had occurred to her more than once this week.

“Jessica?”

She turned around to find Mike and Carrie Cummings facing her with bright smiles. “Hi. How are you?” They owned the Skoghall Inn on the other side of the antique store. A two-and-a-half story building built on the slope of main street, it was originally the cottage of a Danish shoemaker. Mike and Carrie lived elsewhere in the village, making the Inn a sort of off-site B&B with Carrie delivering breakfast to their guests every morning from the back of her Subaru.

“Great party,” Mike said. “How did you get Tyler on board?”

“It wasn’t hard.”

“Really? He seems,” Carrie lowered her voice, “like such a loner. Odd for a café owner.” She glanced at Mike through tiny oval spectacles. “I mean, we’re in the hospitality industry, too. Imagine doing that if you didn’t like to talk to people?” Carrie’s wispy brown hair seemed to float around her pixie face. When she wasn’t care-taking at the Inn, she sewed couture clothing. A number of her pieces were for sale in the gift shop next to the Skoghall Hardware, and she had a thriving online store that kept her in bobbins. Carrie had dressed for the party in a swingy blue skirt and ruffled top, no doubt her own handiwork. Her shoes had a couple inches of heel on them, making her taller than her husband.

“I think he hides in the kitchen most of the time,” Mike said. A mass of spiraling black curls, the kind that made Jess want to slide her fingers right into them, bounced on his head he moved. Mike was a painter who had lost his parents unexpectedly in a car accident. The shock of losing them in their sixties, before they’d even had the chance to retire, had been the catalyst that brought Mike and Carrie to Skoghall. They sunk his inheritance into the Inn and began their lives anew, committing to work that fulfilled them and trusting that an income would follow. Carrie had told Jess their story when she delivered the party invitation, and it made Jess feel they were kindred souls. Her divorce settlement was just like their inheritance, a terrible boon. “He’s a great chef, though,” Mike said, as though making penance for his previous remark. “Have you tried the spanakopita?”

Jess shook her head. She was beginning to realize that everyone in Skoghall saw Tyler as reserved to the point of challenging the social order.

“Jess, we have a question for you,” Carrie grabbed Jess’s arm excitedly and gave a little squeeze. “We want to offer guests an arts experience. Something unique to Skoghall. We want to partner with all the local artists and offer people the chance to spend some time with a painter,” she gestured toward her husband, “a clothing designer,” herself, “a potter…you get the idea. And we were wondering if you would be our resident writer?”

Jess was stunned. She looked at Carrie and Mike in turn and found matching expressions of happy anticipation. “Sure.”

“We’ll pay you, of course.”

“The guests will really.”

“It will be so much fun. People will get to choose the artist they work with for an afternoon.”

“Just a few hours.”

“It’ll make our Inn experience unique.”

Mike and Carrie talked excitedly, laying out their big idea and how it would increase traffic at their Inn as well as visibility of the local artisans with no up front costs. Carrie began telling Jess she would need some of her credits or a bio to put on the website, that they were so excited to have her involved, and the program would begin right away, this season.

Tyler moved along the outside wall of the dining room, skirting the crowd. He held one hand  out to touch the wall, while the other fumbled with his hip pocket as though rolling a worry stone under the fabric. Jess, however, knew what he kept in that pocket. “Excuse me,” she said. “That sounds great and I’m really excited. I am, but I think Tyler needs help with the food.”

“You’ll do it?” Mike asked.

“Absolutely.” Jess put a hand on each of their arms, “Let’s talk more tomorrow.” She stepped away from Mike and Carrie, then sidled between Lora and someone she hadn’t met yet, a lanky man easily six-three with hands like shovels. “Excuse me,” Jess said as she squeezed through. Near the doorway to the kitchen, Dave and Beckett were talking to Miss Jayne Grundi, an older woman who had grown up in the area and moved back after retiring from forty-three years of elementary education. She owned the ice cream parlor and wrote poetry. Although concerned about Tyler, Jess’s thoughts stayed with the Cumming’s invitation to be a resident writer. It could be the social in she was looking for. She hoped telling Tyler her news would distract him from whatever was going through his mind. “Hey, Jess,” Dave called as she passed by. Jess waved and motioned that she’ be back in a minute or two. Dave nodded and turned his attention back to Miss Grundi.

Even with a party in full swing, the kitchen appeared immaculate. Tyler was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s stepped outside. There was an exit off the kitchen where he and the wait staff took their breaks. Jess walked past the stainless steel prep counters and commercial fridges. She didn’t notice that the door to the pantry was open until she was upon it. Tyler stood just inside, his shoulders slumped and head bent forward.

Jess stretched out her arm and touched his shoulder. “Ty…”

His hand shot up from his side as his torso rotated toward Jess, the power of the strike coming from his hips and shoulders. Tyler grunted as his fist struck Jess’s face, his knuckles, those solid protuberances, impacted her cheek bone with shocking force. On the downward swipe, the edge of his ring caught Jess’s cheek. Jess stumbled back and fell into a prep counter, the small of her back slamming against the rounded steel edge. As she fell, she knocked into a stack of stainless steel mixing bowls that clattered and rang as they hit the floor. The bowls spun on their sides next to Jess’s head, and the world crashed down around her.

Jess couldn’t move. Her body lay askew. Nothing seemed to be in its proper place. Then she felt the thudding of her heart and blinked against the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. Things began to throb and the first awareness of pain caused her to gasp for new air.

“Jess? Jess, are you all right?”

She turned her head to look at the person calling her name, her body able to again respond to her will. Beckett knelt beside her, his blond hair falling forward into his concerned face. She blinked at him, then looked past him at Tyler. He was stricken, his mouth moving open and shut like some fish long deprived of water. His left hand clenched the oblong shape of the knife inside his pocket. Jess brought her gaze back to Beckett’s face and nodded.