Mulled to Death, page 10
“I can’t believe you came all the way back up here for that,” Reid says to Sage, shaking his head in wonderment.
“Hey, it’s a collector’s item,” Sage says defensively. “Besides, I didn’t come just for that. I came to make sure you guys were okay with the power outage.”
“And it’s a good thing you did,” I say.
I can’t even think about what would’ve happened if my friend had waited until morning to search for her missing hairpin or left us in the dark.
“Did you see anyone on your way up?” Reid asks. He cranes his neck to search both directions of the hallway.
There’s nothing but an unmarked door—probably some sort of maintenance or storage room—elevators, and the stairwell. The lights flicker ominously overhead but remain on.
Sage frowns, lines forming between her eyebrows. “No. Who was I supposed to see?”
“Someone locked us out.” Reid shifts his focus, casting me a meaningful look. “After what happened to Annmarie, we need to tell the sheriff.”
This takes me aback. I wrap my towel around me like a cape, my teeth still chattering. “They must have thought the roof was empty. It was a fluke, completely unrelated to Annmarie.”
“I saw someone inside when I was banging on the door,” Reid argues. “Whoever it was had to have heard me and did nothing. Then the power went out for no apparent reason.”
Dread seeps through my veins, leaving me feeling shaken and exposed. I’d been too consumed with panic to consider the possibility this wasn’t random. That perhaps we were targeted. My skin crawls at the thought.
I look from my boyfriend, whose face is uncharacteristically serious and, even worse, scared, to my friend, whose attention is peculiarly fixed on the ceiling. Sage paces the length of the hallway, her freckles standing out against her pale skin, her eyes taking in every detail overhead.
“Missing another hairpin?” I ask.
“No, checking for cameras.” Sage shakes her head, her lips downturned as if she’d just lost a significant case. “Too much to hope for, I suppose.”
“Good thought.” I give her hand a squeeze. And suddenly, I can’t be in this hallway, in nothing but my swimsuit, for another second. “Let’s get out of here.”
With a promise to text Sage with an update, Reid and I head back to our room. I change into the coziest clothes I packed, all layered together—long underwear, sweats, wool socks, CU Buffs hoodie, and even a fleece jacket. I’ll be roasting in no time, but the fear of freezing is still too raw.
Reid dresses much more reasonably, donning a pair of jeans, flannel shirt, and unlaced boots. He perches on the end of the bed. “I’ll make the call if you want.”
It’s a tempting offer since, like most millennials, I have an aversion to the telephone. You’d think owning a business would have forced me to overcome this quirk but honestly, it remains an uncomfortable part of the job for me.
I exhale as I take a seat next to him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks, but it should be me. The sheriff will remember me.” Which might not be a point in my favor.
The duvet is so soft and cushy, it morphs to my body like a marshmallow. All I want to do is sink into the folds and pretend this day never happened. Instead, I search for the phone number to the sheriff’s office and, given my cell service is patchy here at best, dial it into the hotel’s receiver.
“Summit Sheriff’s Office,” an efficient voice answers.
“Yeah, hi, I need to talk to Sheriff Scott?” It comes out like a question, like I have no idea what I need. Which isn’t far from the truth.
“What is the reason for your call?”
Where to start, I muse. Reid drapes an arm around my shoulders and I flash him a grateful smile.
“I’m a guest at Silver Creek and talked to Sheriff Scott earlier about Annmarie Bauer’s accident, or nonaccident, as the case may be.” I chuckle nervously and get on with it. “Anyway, something just happened that I think she’d want to know about.”
Thankfully, the dispatch lady needs no further convincing. “Can you give me your location and contact information in case we get disconnected?”
“Room 408 at Silver Creek Lodge, and my number is 303-555-8542.”
“Please hold.”
I fiddle with the zipper of my hoodie and mouth to Reid, On hold.
A minute later, the lady returns. “Sheriff Scott is on the premises and will meet you in the lobby.”
“Perfect,” I answer. “We’ll head down there now.”
* * *
* * *
Despite the late hour, the lobby is hopping with guests milling about the game room, loitering near the lounge, and coming or going from the village. There’s a charged energy in the air, as if some sort of benign current was released through the space when the electricity came back on.
The buzz of laughter and chatter is the embodiment of revelry. I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. That was supposed to be me this weekend, dammit. Instead, I’m seeking out the sheriff for the second time today.
I give Reid’s hand an extra squeeze, a signal for him to stay by my side. From the steeliness in his gaze, he’s not going anywhere. My heart swells and then shrivels with shame. The emotions are too much, like trying to swirl a glass of wine filled to the brim.
There’s a fire crackling in the dual fireplace and I tug on Reid’s arm. We drift toward it. In the chair closest to the fire is Madeline. She lifts her furry head as I draw near, the flames reflected in her pale-gold eyes. She emits a satisfied purr as I pet her with my free hand. My throat constricts at how badly I wish I could snuggle with my own kitty, who never fails to make me feel better.
“Have you seen the sheriff?” I coo at Madeline. “Because I don’t see her anywhere. No, I don’t.”
Reid flashes me a bemused smile. He talks plenty to his own cat in various voices, so has no room to mock.
Madeline mews in response and I give her ear one last scratch.
Sage and Liam emerge from the archway that leads to the dining room, each carrying two ceramic mugs. Sage hands me one of the mugs and I breathe in the wafting steam, the aroma floral and soothing.
“Chamomile?” Reid asks after Liam passes him a mug. “Really, man? Couldn’t you find anything stronger?”
“Blame this one,” Liam says, nudging Sage with his shoulder. “She said it would be calming.” Liam turns his attention to me. “You okay, sis?”
All jibing and bickering aside, Liam has always viewed himself as my protector, and I catch the spark of retribution in his eyes now. We may not agree on everything—or anything, really—but when push comes to shove, he’s got my back. Just like I’ve got his.
Not wanting to worry him even more, I force a smile on my face. “Just be glad you two left when you did.”
“I tried to warn you: relaxing is serious business.” Liam slips his free hand into the pocket of his joggers, his shoulders hunched forward. A shadow darkens his features. “It wasn’t all sunshine inside, either. After the power’d been out for a while, I came down here to see what was going on and that lady at the front desk basically drop-kicked me for even asking.”
“Paisley?” I surmise.
He grunts in the affirmative.
“She’s in the wrong profession if that’s how she treats guests,” Sage says, rubbing my brother’s arm reassuringly.
“Too true,” I say.
I hear Sheriff Jenny before I see her. She’s chatting animatedly with Cash, strolling from the direction of the dining room. “Akira cleaned you out good.” She chuckles, no doubt referring to the infamous poker game we’d been invited to.
“Don’t remind me.” Cash exaggerates a wince, pulling a knit cap over his curls. “I’ve gotta go lick my wounds.”
Jenny snorts. “She’ll take more than that if you’re not careful.”
“What are you going on about now?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Cash shakes his head as he shrugs on his winter jacket over his chef’s coat. “Next week, can you please not grill my players? Puts a damper on the whole scene.”
“Part of the job.” She claps Cash on the shoulder and continues, with a wink, “As is this.” She strides over to where we’re congregated as Cash disappears into the night.
Even though Jenny has presumably had a very long day, she appears just as energetic and capable as when we spoke this morning. Her hair is slightly more disheveled, and her coat is draped over one arm, showcasing her khaki sheriff’s uniform and gleaming gold badge.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” I say by way of a greeting.
“Parker.” She takes in me and my posse, an amused expression on her face. “Fortunately, I was here for another matter.”
“The poker game?” I ask.
“That, and a reported theft.” She leans her hip against the chair, not blinking twice at the cat in the lobby. “It seems that someone saw the power outage as an opportunity to help themselves to a tennis bracelet. Although my guess is it’ll turn up on the wrist of the husband’s mistress.” She shoots us a look that tells us she’s not entirely kidding. “I’d keep your rooms locked if I were you.”
I think back to the lady I overheard chewing out Paisley for jewelry that was supposedly missing from her room. At first, I’d dismissed the lady, but now I wonder if there’s something to her claim. And if it’s possible the thefts are related to Annmarie’s murder.
“A murderer and a thief,” Liam interjects. “This will definitely ding my Tripadvisor review.”
Jenny regards him coolly. “Don’t judge Silver Creek by all this,” she says, gesturing broadly. “We’re really a good town.”
I see the pride in her eyes; the rush to defend her hometown makes sense. I feel the same way about Boulder.
She brushes a wisp of hair off her cheek. “But you didn’t call me for my two cents on local accommodations.”
Hastily, I make introductions, ending with Reid. “Reid was with me when it all went down.”
“And what exactly went down?”
With Sage and Liam offering their silent support, Reid and I take turns explaining about getting locked on the roof, seeing someone in the hallway, and the electricity then going out. To her credit, Jenny listens attentively to every word, pulling her notebook out at one point to jot a thought down.
“If it hadn’t been for my friend, I hate to think how long we would’ve been stuck up there. Or what might’ve happened.”
After we grow quiet, Jenny scratches her nose and shuts her notebook. “Honestly, it doesn’t sound malicious to me. It sounds like you two were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
After what happened to Annmarie—what I’d witnessed—this doesn’t sit well in my gut. I chew on my bottom lip.
Reid isn’t satisfied, either, which is surprising, since being overly suspicious is usually my MO. “It doesn’t seem like too much of a coincidence to you?”
“Not with Valentine’s Day being this weekend. Resorts are always nutty around holidays. But I want you to call me if anything else comes up.” She pulls a card from her cell phone case. “Here’s my direct line.”
The sheriff’s calm centers me, gives me a small piece of my composure back. Enough to realize that with Annmarie’s killer at large, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder, wondering what—or who—could be lurking around the next bend. And there won’t always be a hairpin to save me.
Chapter Nine
When tragedy strikes, society has this pesky inclination to return to normal, even if normal is no longer achievable. Such is the state of Silver Creek the next morning.
The café, sporting-goods shop, and runs are open, the chairlifts rotating in their constant cycle while visitors queue up for tickets. The mountain, of course, remains unchanged, reaching toward the majestic blue sky, as it’s done before us and will continue to do long after us.
But that’s where the normalcy ends.
The resort is ridiculously crowded, even for a Saturday. Cars are already being directed into overflow lots as swarms of people pour in from every direction. They’re sporting Bauer Power T-shirts over their jackets; red, white, and blue accessories; and waving tiny Olympic flags in Annmarie’s honor.
It’s as if she transcended from legend to myth.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d checked this morning to find #BauerPower still trending online. There are headlines galore, tugging at the heartstrings as they recount Annmarie’s life, her woes and triumphs, and how she died too young doing something she loved. There was only one article that referenced her passing being under investigation in Summit County, the briefest hint that maybe, just maybe, there was more to her accident.
Soon, other news sources will follow suit and sniff out the story. I can’t even imagine what sort of circus will descend on this quaint village when that happens.
To be honest, I’m not in the mood to strap on skis. But it was either this or mope around the hotel room, oscillating between sorrow, self-pity, and lingering stress from the Jacuzzi debacle. So here I am. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed thanks to the copious amounts of coffee I consumed at breakfast.
Reid doesn’t share my misgivings about today, wanting to make the most of our time here and, I suspect, to pay homage to Annmarie in his own way.
Reid, Liam, Sage, and I cross the bridge over Silver Creek, the water bubbling despite the thick layers of ice and snow coating each bank.
I find myself jostled by the parade of mourners, dodging stray ski poles and unwieldy snowboards. By the time we get to the end of the significant chairlift line, I’m twitchy and grouchy and about ready to call it quits.
Reid must sense my unease, because he waves for us to follow him. “I know a guy.”
Envious eyes drill into us as we bypass the line, squelching in our boots along the outside of the zigzagging rope and cones. Reid continues past where the chairlift rotates through the pulley system and continues to the adjacent bungalow.
The door is open a crack, allowing the crisp air and sunshine to pour in. Reid knocks on the doorframe.
“Told ya I’m on my coffee break,” Boone growls, swiveling around in his chair, thermos in hand. It’s clear we’ve interrupted a private moment. He wipes at the corners of his eyes, but not before I see glistening traces of tears.
Then I remember that Boone and Annmarie had been close. How, as unlikely as it might seem, he was the nearest thing to family she had. Perhaps she was the same to him.
And suddenly I feel terrible for intruding on his space and time to—what?—cut in line. Shame sets my cheeks ablaze.
When Boone registers our—mostly Reid’s—presence, his lined face breaks into a lopsided smirk that, with his slumped shoulders and elongated sigh, comes across as unbearably sad. “Missed you last night, Maverick.”
“That so?” Reid asks, the catch in his voice suggesting he’s as aware as I am of our imposition.
“Aye,” Boone says, sounding distinctly pirate-esque. “You might’ve stood a shot against that wine chick.”
I recall the words I’d overheard last night between Jenny and Cash. Apparently Cash wasn’t the only one Akira cleaned out during the poker game. I stifle a grin, silently cheering for Akira. You get yours, girl.
“Akira did well, then?” I ask.
“Beginner’s luck.” He tries for good humor but dips his chin.
While words sometimes feel empty and like they can’t begin to alleviate the pain of grief and loss, they can at least let someone know they’re not alone.
“We’re all so sorry for what happened to Annmarie.” I shake my head and swallow, momentarily overwhelmed. “You have my condolences.”
Boone nods in thanks, his face grim. His hand trembles and there’s a beat where I fear he might completely break down; I wouldn’t blame him. Beneath his scraggly beard, he works his jaw back and forth.
“I still can’t believe it,” Reid adds, resting his chin on the top of his board. “Annmarie seemed so . . . infallible.”
“It’s a damn shame.” Boone sniffs, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “If I ever find out who did this, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Did the sheriff talk to you?” I ask, even as Liam digs his ski pole into the back of my calf. I shoot him a dirty look over my shoulder, rubbing my leg. Just because he doesn’t want me to investigate doesn’t mean he has to leave a bruise.
“Sure,” Boone says, resigned. “Jenny questioned everyone, said it was routine. She was especially interested in the chairlift rotation, who was working where and at what times. I told her all that’s on the schedule.”
“Was anyone not at their post yesterday?”
Boone pierces me with his blue eyes, clear and undiluted like the Colorado sky. “It’s my job to keep the young pups in line. If one of them wasn’t—which I’m not saying they weren’t—it’d be on me as much as them.”
So, I’ll take that to mean yes. But who? I scan the inside of the shed for a hint. It’s minimalistic, like a cross between an office and a break room. There are controls for the chairlift—nobs, levers, buttons, and receivers. A color-coded wall calendar, lists of rules, and emergency phone numbers line the walls. A microwave and hot plate rest on top of a mini refrigerator. But no handy list of employees.
“Your bark really is worse than your bite,” Reid says. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell.”
Sage and Liam shift behind us, Liam’s pole bumping into my calf again, not on accident. I shuffle forward to give him more space.
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.” I swish words around in my mind, evaluating their poignancy and flavor. “I want to figure out what happened to Annmarie, to get her the justice she deserves.” Before anyone else gets hurt.
