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“How can you learn anything without some innocent questions? He doesn’t understand women at all.” Porsche declared.
I had to agree. People chatted, kibitzed. It’s natural. That’s why Porsche and I checked the new schedule of activities, on a large whiteboard in the lobby, designed to keep everyone’s mind off being trapped like a caged animal. We decided to join the evening cooking class. Surely we could get some gossip going naturally.
The makeshift classroom was held in a windowless medium-sized meeting room with each six-foot table stocked with ingredients and low-tech handheld or manual equipment. A nice printed recipe card for each person to make notes on and take with them was included.
At the head of the improvised kitchen was a man in the classic tall, round, pleated, and starched white chef’s hat, the toque. Chef Ryan was a thirty-something guy with blue eyes, tanned, and short brown hair with a rough edge to him. He looked like he would have been more comfortable in the Ranchhand saloon rather than teaching a cooking class.
We were to make a Chocolate Bavarian Torte that would look like the drool-worthy example in front of the class when it was done. Four layers of a chocolate cake with some cream layers between and on top. Since we were last minute additions, Porsche and I had to share and make one torte together. We were okay with that. Wink.
I slipped on the white apron with the Alpine Sun logo, a sun partially behind a rugged mountain with beams radiating outwards, imprinted on the front.
The best part, Chef Ryan said it would take thirty minutes for our masterpieces to bake, so the ten participants consisting of eight women and two men would get to have a drink and eat the sample torte. Which meant a perfect time to chat it up with the others. I figured Porsche would get one of the men or even Chef Ryan talking while I focused on the women.
“You’ll make two rich chocolate cakes, essentially devil’s food cakes. After they bake and cool, you will slice each in half with the long knife at your stations and top each layer with a whipped cream cheese frosting. The result is a decadent treat.” Chef Ryan told us, and it sounded so simple. Easy for him to say.
Mixing up the dry ingredients for the cake went amazingly fast with everything already sitting out, pre-measured. Porsche beat the batter with the hand whisk.
I looked around at my fellow class participants and felt good about chances of getting them talking, but would this varied group know anything about Bryce Caine or Christopher Burns? They were a diverse group from grandmotherly types to a teen boy, designer jeans to velvet jogging sets, Rolexes to Fossil watches.
We poured the batter into the two greased and floured round cake pans. They carted away all the pans to the ovens with table numbers assigned so you got back what you made. We then made the frosting and let it sit while we sat to have a slice of the provided torte with some signature hot chocolate. After the initial exclamations of ecstasy from everyone’s first taste subsided, I jumped in. I was on the job after all.
“This was a great idea to keep us busy.” Everyone nodded, mouth’s full. I would have to do better.
“Porsche, did you hear Kara’s ex is here? I wonder if he was around and about last night? They always look at the spouse.” I went for a stage whisper, just loud enough to be heard.
One of the men, a twenty-something black haired guy in an LL Bean plaid flannel shirt surprised me when he spoke up at my bait. “True. I chatted with him in the lobby this afternoon. They were married for eight years, all of which he claims were a nightmare. He seems too timid, whipped, to have killed her.”
“I don’t know about that, you know how they say anybody can kill if provoked or pushed far enough. He could’ve snapped.” This was from a woman in heeled boots and a Ralph Lauren sweater dress.
“I saw the two of them at dinner exchanging barbs, but I didn’t see him after that.” I tossed into the mix to keep the talk going.
“I heard he was seen in the whirlpool with his girlfriend pretty late, like midnight.” Heeled boots lady offered.
“But was Bryce seen after that by anyone?” I followed up but got shrugged shoulders or blank looks.
“Between two and four a.m. that the cop asked me about, so I guess that’s when she was killed. I would think anybody up and around at that hour would be noticed.” Flannel shirt guy said.
“By whom? Everybody else is asleep at that hour.” Heeled boots lady proclaimed. Although that was a good point, I was with the flannel guy. Somebody had to have seen something.
“Unless somebody was...ummmm, leaving one room and going to their own.” I tossed out to keep the conversation going. If somebody had a one-night fling and was walking back to their own room at that hour, they would have seen a person and thought they were doing the same. But how could we ever figure that out? Surely, after the news and interview with the cops that information would have come out.
This was going nowhere. I hated to waste the time.
“I heard Kara got into an argument in the lobby. I wonder who that was with.” It was worth a shot.
“Oh, that was the real estate agent guy. I was there. They were arguing over a deal that went bad and that Preston fellow said she owed him the earnest money and an apology.” Replied a grandmotherly looking woman with too much blush and too bright of red lipstick. I couldn’t help but wonder what brought her to ski country. I couldn’t see her on skis, but I could be wrong.
Well, at least there was that piece of information.
Porsche jumped into the fray, “What about that Chris guy? At dinner we heard him and his wife tell Kara to talk to their lawyer. I think they had sued her.”
“I heard somebody say they were suing her for selling them a house when she knew advance plans of a major road going through the neighborhood. They had to move after only three years. I admit I’d sue her butt, too.” The sweet looking senior lady shared. Okay, maybe she was more of a spitfire than I initially thought.
“I wonder where he was after dinner?” Nobody seemed to know where lawsuit-Chris had been.
The cakes came back and the warm chocolate smell lifted my mood automatically. We removed them from the pans and very carefully cut them in half, then layered them with frosting. After covering the top, we shaved chocolate curls for the final decorative touch on top. I didn’t know how we would eat it after indulging already, but we packaged it up in the provided cardboard box with the logo on top.
Once we left the meeting room with our Chocolate Belgium Torte, we returned to our room and I stuck the torte in the little refrigerator.
“I liked the class. I’m glad we got at least some information, but even if we hadn’t gotten those tidbits I had fun. I’ll have to make this at home.” I shared. I was proud of our effort and thought I would make this for the next family dinner and surprise Aunt Regina.
“Hey, looks like we have a message. The hotel phone is blinking its red light.” Porsche dialed the message retrieval number and listened. “There is something waiting at the desk for you.” She called down to reception. “They’re sending somebody up with something for you.”
I hadn’t a clue what it could be, but after a few minutes, there was a knock at the door.
“Miss Julienne LaMere, these are for you from our gift shop, we have an onsite floral greenhouse.” He handed me a bouquet of flowers with white lilies, lavender daisies, some white asters, a sprinkling of purple lilies, purple button poms, and greenery all in a royal purple vase. I tipped him and sat the flowers down. They were lovely and produced a soft scent that no doubt would perfume the room.
I stared at the flowers like they were a Trojan horse, all lovely and innocent while hiding something dangerous. I took a deep breath and removed the card.
“Ma bichette, I’m thinking of you. Stay safe. Wish we were together. We will have more time together soon. I promise. Mason.” It was a nice - lovely gesture but it made my heart ache a little. My heart squeezed, I had a hard time breathing and my eyes swam. I blinked away the tears and forced a deep breath.
Porsche looked over my shoulder. “Ahhhh, he still calls you little doe.” I didn’t want to discuss this with Porsche. I was right, the beautiful flowers were an emotional ambush and I already knew what Porsche would say. At least I thought I did. I honestly didn’t know what I was feeling. Was I jealous of his time with an actress? Was I being needy or insecure and placing unrealistic demands on him? I was still working on what I felt. I put the card back and faced my dear friend.
“Right now I’m concerned at the lack of progress we made this evening.” I changed the subject.
“It wasn’t a total bust, we discovered it was the realtor guy who had the argument with Kara. We know that Bryce was seen around midnight at the hot tub.”
“But at this rate, we’ll be picking up a few bread crumbs and get nowhere. Plus, I’ll be in the conference most of tomorrow.” I huffed.
“You can pump that crowd, particularly during your luncheon time and between workshops. You may find a wealth of information. I can check out gossip all day. Besides, I’m hoping to interview that cop again”
“You were questioned already today.” Porsche just raised her eyebrows at me. Oh, she had a guy in her sights. I chuckled.
“Still, I think we need a plan of attack for gathering information.” I said.
“Too bad we don’t have the Baker Street Irregulars like Sherlock,” Porsche said as she threw herself on her bed.
Eureka.
“That’s just what we need, a network of eyes and ears to help gather information. But who can we trust?”
She propped herself up on her elbows, “What? You can’t actually think we can create a network of complete strangers and possible suspects.”
“Well...what if we handpicked a few of the staff who have worked here for a while, so they are trustworthy, and asked them to share information they overhear of the whereabouts of the few names on our suspect list?”
“You think an employee couldn’t have killed her?” She challenged.
“I don’t think so, they’d have no motive. She seemed to be new to the resort. Plus, any information they gather will no doubt be verified by Detective Larson. It isn’t like we’re asking for physical evidence, just hearsay which is just what Larson was trying to get from me.” It wasn’t the best argument, I grant you that. Still, I thought it was reasonable.
“I guess it could work. It would cover more ground. But, why would they tell us anything they hear?”
“I think the staff probably knows I had dinner with Larson, and if you start pursuing him it will look like we are working with him. We can hint at doing some legwork for him while his time is being taken with the storm issues.
We compiled a list of who we would approach in the morning to help us out. I would find Kyle and Zack from breakfast and enlist them. Porsche had a doorman she could talk to about helping.
“Feel better with our Resort Irregulars plan?”
“Yes, actually I do.” I just hoped it would work. In a way, I had the same setup with my neighbors last fall as they each funneled information to me about the pastor’s murder.
Before bed I texted Mason. “Got your flowers. They’re beautiful.”
Mason: “Thinking of you. Don’t let time apart get you down.”
“Up early –good night.”
Mason: “See you in my dreams. xoxo”
A heavy sigh escaped me. He seemed like the perfect boyfriend, yet I was in turmoil. I closed my eyes hoping for dreamless sleep.