Murder, She Slopes Page 7

  “What are you doing in my bed?” I asked.

  “You fell asleep, and I didn’t want to leave you alone with the door unlocked.” He got to his feet and crossed to the fireplace, turning up the heat.

  “Well, thank you. However, that doesn’t answer why you were snuggled up next to me in my bed.”

  I sat against the logs that formed the wall of the tree house and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders.

  “I started out on the couch but I was cold.”

  “Uh-huh.” I glared.

  “Penny, I’ve thought about it,” he said slowly, his brown eyes serious. “We could make it work. We could make us work.”

  I was too stunned to respond, blind-sided by his proposal. He tried on a grin before continuing. “I could stop being such a jerk face. How would that be?”

  “Don’t do this to me,” I said. I could hear my own voice rise in pitch as I panicked. I lowered it. “Or to yourself. I’ve started dating someone else. You and I are just friends now.”

  “It’s only been five months,” he said wistfully. “It hasn’t been that long.”

  I got out of bed and went to the window. Looking down, I saw a small patch of light on the ground below me. I could hardly make it out with all the swirling snow, but because everything was so dark, it stood out. It looked like someone else couldn’t sleep. I turned back to Lucas.

  “Long enough for you to have gotten married.”

  Lucas’ head drooped. “I told you that was a mistake.”

  “Maybe, or maybe you were right to walk away,” I answered. “Regardless, too little, too late.”

  His eyes widened for a moment and then he slumped down into himself. “I know,” he mumbled.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, turning away from him. I didn’t want to see his face filled with hurt. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to hide in my room.

  “Hey, Pen!” he said. I turned back to him. An effort at a smile was stretched painfully over his face. “Don’t worry. I was just kidding around. You know me, always joking.” He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ll settle for sex on the side if you ever change your mind,” he said.

  “Oh, lord,” I mumbled.

  Then he was gone, in a clatter of footsteps down the outer stairs.

  I took a big breath and curled the blanket back around me.

  A peaceful calm fell over me. The tranquility of the tree house was absolute. At least until I went back to bed. Then my mind assaulted me with images from the scary movie.

  I stared at the wooden beams that ran across the ceiling down to the door, imagining a masked machete wielding maniac breaking through. The tree house creaked, and silence settled around me. I woke at least three times, wishing I had my gun under my pillow. On the fourth wake-up, I seriously considered knocking on Lucas’ door. I quickly discarded that idea, though, remembering the puppy-dog look he’d given me. To escape my overactive imagination, I turned to logic. Felix Tremblé’s leering gaze as he hovered over me in the hot tub. Noel Bluebird yelling at Justin outside the chalet. Marie-Angelique efficiently slicing vegetables with her large butcher’s knife. And Lucas’ shadowy face at my window.

  Eve’s voice was suddenly in my dream but I couldn’t see her. The room was black. Pulse pounding. I threw off the tangled covers that were over my head and convulsively reached to run my hands through my sweat-soaked hair. Then I heard someone bang on the glass and I bolted upright. Wait a minute. There really was someone staring through my window!

  I pulled my tense body up out of bed and saw Eve standing on the ledge with her nose pressed to the glass.

  “Penny, let me in. It’s freezing out here.”

  I shivered from the cold sweat and wrapped myself in a housecoat and slippers, then moved to unlatch the door. The tightening behind my right eye signaled the onset of a really shitty migraine.

  Moments later she burst in.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. I looked over at the clock. Six a.m. Not the crack of dawn, but considerably earlier than an accepted time for house calls. “Did someone else die?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Get dressed. Gloria and Denise should be here any minute.”

  I pulled on harem pants and a sweater. Eve was at the counter putting on a pot of coffee. I grabbed a protein bar from my suitcase.

  “You want one?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “We're gonna have breakfast at the Chalet.” She pointed at the empty wine bottle next to the flask on the table. “Romantic date?”

  “Not quite.”

  She put the bottle in the trash can and read the initials on the flask. “You sleeping with jerk face again?”

  “Depends on your definition of sleeping with.”

  She started to respond when someone knocked on the front door. A couple seconds later, Denise and Gloria stepped inside.

  “Grab some coffee, then we have somewhere to go.” Eve said to me.

  I unwrapped my bar, poured some coffee, and sat at the table across from Denise and Gloria. They were as stone faced as Eve.

  “What are the three of you up to?”

  “Well, the ladies and I were spit balling theories last night, and we thought what if one of these people knew Holly prior to coming to the resort and bore a grudge?”

  “Holly would have said something to Lucas,” I said automatically, but I realized as soon as the words were out of my mouth that that was an unfounded assumption. I had no true idea what their relationship was like. I had a one-sided hunch, but it didn’t absolutely follow that she would say something. Not if it would have been worth it to her to keep an earlier relationship a secret. “Okay, why would someone bear a grudge against her?”

  This was an open-ended question in my opinion because Holly was deplorable, but I wanted to hear their theory.

  “Blackmail,” Eve replied.

  From what I knew of Holly, blackmail wouldn’t necessarily have been beneath her moral standards. Lucas said she was after his money and he was ready to leave her.

  “I already said that; you’re just stealing my theories now. Are you going to add anything valuable?”

  “We need to start snooping. Maybe Marie-Angelique is really an exotic dancer.” Eve grinned.

  “Or a pill-popping Stepford wife,” Gloria chimed in. “You hear about people with secret lives all the time.”

  Eve nodded her head. “Exactly. How would people feel about their host if she wasn’t matronly and perfect?”

  “That seems a little much but I see where you’re going with this.” And privately I thought there was always the Noel Bluebird angle. Was he really Dani Tremblé? Had he escaped a mental institution or jail for a crime? Had Holly found out? I glanced out the window.

  “So, what’s the plan then?”

  "Denise says everyone is either still asleep or busy prepping breakfast at this hour. The ladies come here regularly for breakfast. So, they’re going to head into the dining hall, just like normal.”

  “We’ll be on look-out and distract detail,” Gloria chimed in.

  “Meanwhile we’re going to sneak upstairs and search their private rooms,” Eve added.

  “Great, so we’re going to do a little B&E before our B&E. Just another early morning outing with you, huh, Eve?”

  The women just stared at me.

  “You know breaking & entering before our bacon and eggs.”

  “Just be quiet and finish your coffee, dear.”

  ***

  We reached the second floor of the chalet successfully and made our way to the massive master bedroom door.

  “You go in,” Eve whispered. “I’ll stand guard. If anyone shows up, I’ll start coughing.”

  I nodded and placed my hand on the doorknob. “Hello?” I whispered as I turned it. Thankfully, there was no answer. I clicked on my penlight and tiptoed in to what appeared to be an open-concept apartment. A large sofa took up the far wall facing a fireplace and television. I headed past the couch and straight down the
hallway. The next room was presumably their son’s room, and then the bathroom, and finally the room after that was the master bedroom. French doors led out onto a deck. The bed was perfectly made, and there were no clothes or messes on the floor. I moved silently to the closet and perused the hangers and shelves, careful not to leave anything out of place. I had a feeling that Marie-Angelique would be the type to notice. One of the nightstand drawers was slightly open. Excitement bubbled in my veins at the prospect of discovering a clue. I shined my flashlight inside, dropping to my knees for a better view. My light revealed several pill bottles. This must be Justin’s drawer. Sure enough the medication was prescribed to him. I took a couple of pics with my cell and put them back the way I’d found them.

  I moved to the other table and crouched down. My time was running out. I needed to get back downstairs before the lobby filled up for dinner. I was almost ready to give up when I found a diary under the mattress.

  I flipped it open but there was nothing exciting inside. Nothing I couldn’t have guessed about Marie-Angelique, anyway. Then I noticed a note folded up at the back. It was a love letter, and it wasn’t from Justin. I was about to snap a picture when I heard a door just outside the suite open and then slam shut. Holy crap! Eve started coughing. My mouth went dry.

  I switched off the flashlight and shoved the diary away. I ran to the French doors, but the drop was much too high. Instead, I considered hiding under the bed but it was only a matter of time until Marie-Angelique and Justin returned and I was in no hurry to get caught in someone’s bedroom. I’d once got stuck under someone’s bed for three hours while investigating a cheating husband and don’t even get me started on the summer’s incidence with Ben Baboon. It had not been pleasant, especially given the fact that Eve had overdosed him with laxative. I tiptoed into the living room and listened.

  “Can I help you?” a woman’s voice sounded from outside the suite’s door.

  “Oh, hello there. Do you work here?”

  “Well, I sure don’t wear this uniform for its fashionable cut,” the woman said with a chuckle.

  “Wonderful,” Eve said, playing it up. “I was just looking for the washroom. Is it in here?”

  “Oh no, that’s where the Tremblé’s live. The washroom is downstairs. Here, let me show you.”

  I could just imagine the show Eve was giving the woman. She probably had her legs crossed while she fidgeted madly.

  “That would be great. Thank you so much. This old bladder ain’t what it used to be. Hey, I think I saw you the other day. Some horrid man was yelling at you, right?”

  I heard footsteps leading away, and I hurried to the door. At least if I snuck back into the hall I could make a mad dash for the stairs, and claim I was in search of my friend who’d wandered off. I inched my way toward the opening, relieved to see the hall was empty. At the top of the stairs, I leaned over the loft-style edge and took stock of my surroundings. Marie-Angelique was on the phone at the reception desk. The vibration of my cell phone startled me and I ducked down.

  “Hello.” The voice on the phone was Marie-Angelique’s. “Excuse me for disturbing you so early, Miss Trubble,” she twittered anxiously. “But Detective Pierre Bumble is on his way to the chalet and he’d like to come and see you.”

  I cleared my throat. “No problem,” I assured her nonchalantly. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  It took me four minutes to find the back stairs and run back to my tree house before I heard the knock at the door. Two men in Ville de Mont-Tremblant police parkas were on my doorstep.

  “Miss Trubble?” Officer Morin, the younger of the two detectives moved a little closer. “I know it’s early, but if we could just go over a few details.”

  I forced my features into the smile of a conscientious citizen and motioned them to enter the room.

  “Are you okay?” the detective asked, “you seem winded.”

  “Who, me? I practice martial arts. I was just doing some shadow boxing,” I said with a smile.

  Detective Bumble smirked at the flask as he placed a box of doughnuts and a thermos of coffee on the table. Shoot.

  “Do you have any coffee mugs?” he said with a grin. His chin dimple really was deep. “Thought we’d bring breakfast to you since it was so early.”

  I pulled a few from the cupboard and set them alongside the coffee, my own smile wavering as I nonchalantly removed the flask and took a seat. The man in the uniform sat down next to me and pulled out a notebook and pen.

  “Officer Morin, here, is going to take a few notes,” Bumble said genially. “If you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head vigorously. Not me. I wouldn’t mind. I’m a good citizen.

  “Would you like a doughnut?” Officer Morin asked, his eyes clamping onto mine. “Miss Trubble?” They were handling me. After all, I was once one of them. My stomach tightened.

  “Miss Trubble? Are you all right?”

  All right as opposed to what? “Sure, I’m fine.” I replied, grabbing a crueler out of the box.

  “Coffee?” Bumble’s eyes remained on mine.

  I nodded.

  “So, is it true that you used to be a detective?”

  “Yes, although I’m a journalist now.”

  “Why’d you leave the force?”

  “It wasn’t the right fit, I guess.”

  “It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure.” Bumble’s own chest seemed to puff up as he said it.

  “Were you having an affair with Lucas?” Officer Morin asked.

  “Of course not,” I replied, mustering up the haughtiest tone I could manage while simultaneously licking icing from the corner of my mouth.

  “Uh, huh,” Detective Bumble bent closer and his grin disappeared. “So, can I be so forward as to ask why you’re even here, Miss Trubble? Are you reporting on this situation?” I smelled coffee and the faint tang of alcohol.

  “No, sir, I’m just here to lend Lucas support.” I licked my chapped lips. It was a conscious effort to keep my voice steady. “Lucas and I are friends. He was obviously distraught after he found his new bride murdered.”

  Bumble stared at me, saying nothing. I went on.

  “Listen, his seventy-year-old mother asked me to come here! She’s in a nursing home. Lucas and I have been best friends since we were kids and together for four years and you don’t just stop loving someone as a friend or otherwise just because they get...”

  Abruptly, I realized I was not only babbling but incriminating myself. Whatever technique Bumble was using, it was working.

  “But enough about me,” I said, picking up my coffee. “Have you heard of or seen anyone named Dani?”

  He settled back into his chair, frowning. “You think someone named Dani had the opportunity to do in Miss Biltch,” he said. His voice was full of geniality once more. “Maybe you’ve got some information I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “Or you could do your job and investigate,” Like I just did, I thought.

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. Why are you so dead set on pinning this on Lucas? I was a cop for all of five minutes and I can see signs pointing in other directions. Like how about Justin Tremblé or Noel Bluebird? They had a fight about something last night and the kid—Felix—was upset earlier in the day when speaking to Noel. And what about the good doctor? She’s definitely hiding something. You don’t find anything shady about any of them?” I retorted.

  He tapped his pencil against his page, ignoring me. “Let’s just focus on you for now. You met Holly Biltch, right?” Bumble asked, completely dismissing everything I’d just said. My blood boiled. “What did you think of her?” he asked.

  I hesitated but blurted out the truth, anyway. “I didn’t like her.”

  “Why?” he pressed.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Are you buddies with your girlfriend’s ex-lovers?”

  Bumble’s cheeks reddened.

  “She was my ex-boyfriend’s new love. Am I supposed to like her? Not t
o mention she was a dishonest gold-digger,” I said bitterly. Damn. I hadn’t meant to use that tone. I smiled in an attempt to redeem myself. “And that’s not just what I saw listed on her acting resume.”

  “And…” prodded Bumble.

  “Seriously, those were my impressions. I didn’t know her that well.” My excuses sounded inadequate in my own ears, but I had already said too much.

  “Your fiancé knew her well, though, didn’t he?”

  “My ex-boyfriend,” I corrected. “I’m not sure what you heard, but we were never engaged.”

  “Okay. Your ‘ex-boyfriend.’ How did he feel about Miss Biltch?” Bumble’s eyes were still on mine.

  “We didn’t talk that much about her,” I said.

  “He must have told you by now about the fight they had the night she was killed. Seems like he was leaving her for you,” said Bumble in a quiet voice.

  I told myself that he couldn’t force me to respond and took a gulp of my coffee. I was not going to be manipulated. I set my cup aside and laced my fingers then I looked the detective straight in the eyes. “Actually, I’m a little in the dark about a lot of things. For one thing, how was Holly Biltch killed?”

  “How do you think she was killed?” Bumble returned the question.

  Oh good, more games. I shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “We think she was strangled,” he finally responded.

  “Strangled? So, crime of passion? You think she knew her killer and that’s why you’re so set on Lucas.”

  “Not necessarily. We are looking at another angle.”

  “Care to share?”

  “She was skiing, Miss Trubble, so presumably moving fast. She wasn’t social or friendly, so we don’t think she would have stopped to chat with anyone. We think she was caught somehow, possibly a trip rope. Then she was bludgeoned and strangled and left dead in the snow.”

  A trip rope or she was roped with a lasso? I instantly thought of my incident on the porch. Was Noel the killer? Had she offended him or jilted him. But he’d saved me from falling off that porch...it made no sense. A flood of nausea was enveloping me. Or had he done that because Lucas had suddenly appeared? I looked back at the detective. “Detective, you said she was strangled. Could she have been roped around the neck?”