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I made my way to the spa lounge area with curved couches in a circle around the semi-open fire to catch the gossip and warm myself in the process. Porshe’s breakfast was a bagel and cream cheese, so it could wait for a few moments. The fire was an open gas pit with an oblong stone base to set drinks on, with an off-white stucco flue hanging from the ceiling. It created an illusion of sitting around a campfire, in plush luxury though.
One wall was a bank of floor to ceiling windows displaying the gusting snow outside and a weak gray light, a testament to the sun’s struggle to penetrate the storm. Last night this had a peaceful view of the trees surrounding the building, this morning I couldn’t see anything but snow.
“You’re shivering dear. You went outside to see what the police were going on about, didn’t you?” A white-haired lady inquired in red track pants and jacket emblazoned with the Givenchy name down the sleeve.
I could only nod and hold my hands out to the fire, but every head turned in my direction.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense, for heaven’s sake. What’s the ruckus about?” The Givenchy clad woman pressed her garish bright red lips together.
I fought to keep my teeth from chattering long enough to say, “Woman is dead. Don’t know how she got there. No coat. Couldn’t tell much else.” I had everyone’s full attention now.
Somebody brought me a hot coffee from a nearby dispenser while another encouraged me to sit on the base around the fireplace. I drank the black coffee and the espresso strength started to shoot warmth through my body.
Once I had drained the cup, the interrogation began. “Was she a guest here?” “Did you know her?” “You’re positive she is dead and not just injured?” “How do you think she died?” “Do you suppose she fell over the railing?”
I held up my hand to stop the onslaught. It was like being with my Aunt Regina and the family, who I missed terribly in that moment.
“From the little I saw, there was no obvious signs of how she died. I don’t know if she fell over. She was being placed in a body bag, so she’s definitely dead and... I think it’s Kara Caine.”
A fifty-something man with a few extra pounds, styled salt and pepper hair, and Hugo Boss glasses gave a start at the name. He wore an LL Bean moss green flannel button down shirt with tan Docker pants. His eyebrows drew together making his already serious frown lines deeper.
The red Givenchy woman sniffed. “Is she that loud woman who argues in public?”
I shrugged in answer. I was more interested in what the others had to say. It took fifteen seconds before they were all talking again.
“She got all huffy at dinner last night I hear.” Red Ginvenchy woman said.
“Oh, that’s nothing. She was arguing in the lobby with some man, then yelled at the desk clerk.” Another woman joined the conversation. I made a mental note to follow up on what man she was arguing with. It could be important and I will gladly share information with the police.
“Is she the one I heard is a troll on the newspaper message boards and carries a grudge? Sounds like she can be mean.” Yet another woman dressed in all green said.
“Sure, I think she’s the troll. She’s a realtor, isn’t she? How can she sell houses with that personality?” Givenchy woman asked.
The man who was startled by my pronouncing Kara dead joined in, “I’m a realtor too, her clients love her. She’s charismatic, charming, even funny when she wants to be.”
“Hey, there are a lot of realtors here. You guys all vacation at the same time?”
“No, we have a continuing education class here. Well, it’s at another hotel but I love Alpine Sun. A few of us stay here.” He whipped out a business card, “Preston Pinder. Look me up if you are in the market.” His lips smiled, his eyes were non-committal.
“Hey, back to the Caine woman. How can she be hot and cold, mean and charismatic all at the same time? Don’t people get wise to her?” The man with glasses brought the conversation back on track as if I’d coached him.
The realtor Preston shook his head. “All I can tell you is, she really does have a following on Facebook and has people who think she is phenomenal.” I mentally heard an unspoken “but I’m not one of them.”
I looked him over a little more closely. I saw his rose-gold Cartier watch on his wrist and Prada leather loafers on his feet. Working in the resort business you get to know the expensive styles. Success dripped from him like oil. Wonder how many houses he had to sell to maintain just the watch. My immediate impression was one of privilege and polish. I figure as competitors he and Kara were like oil and water.
I was about to ask if anybody knew who the man Kara had argued with last night was, but a parka-clad police officer approached the group with the concierge following behind looking a bit flustered.
The concierge, Peter, rushed to speak before the officer could, “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience. The police will be taking statements regarding the unfortunate passing of a guest. If you could please wait here until he calls you into one of the spa rooms for an interview.” Interview? Who was he kidding?
Several more guests arrived, having been directed to wait for their interviews. Peter unlocked the spa facility doors and after a few short minutes he joined us with a clipboard. He checked off our names and room numbers from a master list and then took note of who was getting their interview with the cop. Either it was too early for the spa to open or treatments were postponed today. I realized Porsche’s bagel was going to be a tad later than I thought.
I was the third person ushered into the bright spa room with mint green and white accents and a fireplace on one wall. The massage table had been pushed against the windows. My gaze took in the snow now turned to a brutal blizzard. I wished I had brought my clarinet because I wanted to play “A Hazy Shade of Winter”. My fingers itched to fly through the chord changes to calm my nerves.
A folding table and chairs had been set up for the interrogations...um interviews. The wind howled rattling the windows.
“I’m Detective Johan Larson, and you are...?” He had sandy blond hair, weary blue eyes, and a voice somewhere between butterscotch and caramel, sweet and warm with a touch of salt. Perfect for interrogating the resort-set. A mild voice or handshake signaled weakness to many in these circles. His voice was just masculine enough for the realtor Preston Pinders of the world to take him seriously and just sultry enough for a woman to feel flattered by his questions. He wore black corduroy pants and a thick cable knit teal sweater...and snow boots worthy of Alaska.
“Julienne LaMere.” That was first rule of interrogations I learned from being the prime suspect last fall, only answer the specific question, don’t overshare like I do when I’m nervous. I sat back in my cold folding metal chair and scanned him up and down. I know what you’re thinking, but not like that! I was taking his measure. A detective, huh? So Vail had somebody who, at least on paper, was up to the job. That made me feel a tad better.
Detective Johan Larson took a few seconds to study me as well, no doubt looking for a speck of blood or something. He then devoted his attention to his notes and began asking questions.
“And what brings you to Alpine Sun?”
“I’m attending the resort management conference.”
“How did you know Ms. Caine?”
“I didn’t know her. I knew of her.” I was careful to make that distinction.
He looked at me, the full force of his now intense eyes laser-focused in on me. Gulp. Is this what a mouse feels like when a hawk is swooping in? My heart began to drum faster.
“Another interviewee stated you shared earlier that the victim was Kara Caine. How would you know that if you didn’t know Ms. Caine?” He stared at me. The hawk is circling.
I cleared my throat and tried for aloof. “Oh, I saw her for the first time last night at dinner and she was a bit loud when she had to wait. I found out her name was Kara Caine after dinner in the Royal Club because people were talking about her. When I looked over the railing this morning they were putting the...you know, in the body bag and I noticed the metallic blue shoes and navy-blue pants, just like what she had worn for dinner. That’s all.” I swallowed loudly and tried to slow my shallow breathing before I passed out or something equally pathetic.
Detective Larson’s attention was all on me and not his notes. Oh, goody! I gave up on aloof and tried to look as innocent as I could - the deer in the headlights look, which may have already been on my face for all I knew.
“Where do you live, Ms. LaMere?” He was looking at his notes and jotting down private comments.
“Colorado Springs.” My voice wobbled.
“Same as the victim. But you didn’t know her before dinner last night?” His eyes were back to staring at me and never wavered. I wanted to look away so bad, but I felt it would be a confession or something. So I met his gaze, squirming inside all the while.
“The Springs has a population of over half a million people. No, I didn’t even know of her until last night. That’s not unusual you know.” I bit my tongue. I caught myself wanting to chatter away.
“But, you are holding back something.” He tilted his head like he was trying to get a different perspective. “Might as well just tell me so you can relax.”
“It’s just hearsay and speculation. I don’t have any special knowledge.” A defensive tone crept into my voice. My palms were sweaty and I had an overwhelming urge to fidget but I managed to meet his gaze steadily. At least I think my gaze was steady.
He leaned forward and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “I’ll be careful to note it as hearsay, and since this isn’t a trial I think it’ll be okay.”
I attributed my anxiety to the mutual suspicion with Detective Lawrence last fall. I think Lawrence fitting me for a murder-one arrest left a lasting distrust in me toward the police. I still didn’t trust the detective in front of me, but I took a breath and took the plunge.
“Well okay. It seems that her ex, not sure if it’s ex-husband or just ex-boyfriend, is staying here. Bryce – Caine maybe if they were married. But they didn’t seem on good terms, nearly snarling at each other last night at dinner. Oh, plus there was a guy at dinner...Christopher, I think, with his wife and son. Kara stopped at their table and I overheard him say they must talk through their lawyers. The family clearly disliked her.”
I was quiet so he could catch up with the notes he was scribbling. He glanced up and motioned for me to continue. I told him about the former best friend in the bar who complained about her and the newspaper guy who was plagued by the victim.
“Anything else? Anything at all.”
“Well, talking in the lounge out there I met a colleague of hers, um Preston something. He might provide you more about her ‘cause he seemed to know her. But that’s all I’ve got.” I was able to breathe again.
“Where were you last night, early this morning?”
“After dinner and a stroll to tour the resort facilities, we went to the room for the night. That’s my friend Porsche and I. I got up early and went down for breakfast. I was on my way to take breakfast to Porsche...” I held up the little Styrofoam box with the bagel, “when I got sidetracked talking and now this.”
“We’re going to wrap this investigation up as quickly as possible. The roads have closed so you’re stuck in town, but if you should go to another hotel please notify the station. Forecasts are now predicting this storm system could get much worse.” The wind howled like a wolf again and the windows shook.
Things just keep getting better. Snowed in with a killer roaming the resort. I had the urge to go to the gym and practice the self-defense moves Mason had taught me.
“Um, I noticed there wasn’t any blood in the snow, at least not that I could see. How did she die? I mean, could it be an accident somehow?”
“Not much blood sometimes with this sort of wound. A nail gun to the head and then a dive over the balcony isn’t looking like an accident.”
My vision tunneled and my hearing went muffled. A nail in the head and tossed out in the freezing cold. If one didn’t kill her, the other probably did.
“Ma’am, don’t you faint or anything. Put your head between your knees and breathe deep.” I did as he instructed and finally I recovered, embarrassed and in a hurry to escape the interview. I tried to walk in an assured and sedate manner, but I fear I nearly tripped over my own feet to exit the interrogation...interview.
I entered my room to find Porsche wearing a towel and her hair wet, pacing while talking on the phone.
“I don’t know why she hasn’t called you back and,” She glanced at me, but I shook my head no, “I just got out to the shower but she isn’t here. Probably checking out where the conference will be...I promise I’ll tell her you called...yep, okay.” She hung up my phone and tossed it to me.
Okay, I was going to have to speak to Mason eventually.
“He’s been calling for the last forty-five minutes, even woke me up.” She had her arms crossed.
“Here’s a bagel for you, I couldn’t sleep so I went for breakfast early. Plus, I have two pieces of big news.” I figured she would forget about Mason once she heard about the murder, or at least that was my hope.
“Okay, spill. Don’t think this gets you out of dealing with Mason, girlfriend.”
I walked over to the balcony doors and drew open the drapes to reveal the blizzard in all its fierce fury, and two rather large raccoons huddled in the corner of the balcony in an embrace. My throwing the drapes open had startled them and they starred up at me with big eyes and their ringed tails wrapped around them.
Porsche called the front desk before I stopped looking at the masked visitors with a goofy smile on my face. Snow had already accumulated on the little balcony but it seemed to provide some shelter for the two. I was tempted to try and slip them some food or water, but the front desk insisted we not do exactly that. I closed the drapes part way to give them a little privacy.
“What was the other thing you wanted to tell me besides the storm raging and putting a crimp in the weekend?” She said as she began to get dressed.
“Remember that woman from dinner last night? She was found dead this morning out in the snow”
I made some in-room coffee and Porsche ate her bagel while I told her about my interesting morning.
“So, describe this detective. Don’t leave anything out. Start with how old he is and what he looks like.”
“Ummm, well he’s probably a couple years older than us...I think. And um, he has that blond strong guy thing going for him.” I was terrible at detailing what guys looked like for her. “Oh, and his voice is smooth as silk.”
Her eyes were bright and she was putting on lipstick. I wondered if she could get information on the case from him, just to satisfy my curiosity of course.
“I almost feel sorry for Detective Larson when he interviews you.” I smiled as she threw her hair towel at me.
My phone began ringing and Porsche crossed her arms. I answered the phone without looking.
“Oh, ummmm. Hi. Surprised to hear from you.” I couldn’t believe my ex-boyfriend, Brandon, had suddenly called.