I had always believed that a good cup of tea could solve just about any problem. Yet, as I sat cross-legged on the plush comforter of my resort room, surrounded by a sea of scribbled notes and grainy photographs, I was beginning to think this mystery would take more than a well-steeped Earl Grey to crack. Though Lucas and I had gone over everything, I was stuck on the idea that we’d missed something.
“Come on, Penny,” I muttered to myself, tapping a pen against my chin, “think.”
The other suspects—jilted lovers, disgruntled colleagues—had all paraded through my mind like a suspect lineup at a masquerade ball. But there was one new one—Renata Hofstetter—I kept coming back to tonight. Renata was a patron of Stefan’s, and Lucas seemed to look right over her as a suspect. There were multiple pictures of her and Stefan at charity events. Renata’s empire might’ve been built on generosity, but rumors on the same social channels where I’d dug up Stefan’s sordid activity suggested Renata’s sponsorships and her nonprofit sports foundation were as shaky as a soufflé at a Zumba class.
“Ah-ha!” A triumphant exclamation escaped me as I connected a note about a sudden withdrawal from one of Stefan’s expeditions to a sizable donation Renata had made to the same cause. Curious timing, or suspicious tie?
“Looks like you might be wearing designer gloves, Ms. Hofstetter, but are they clean?” I murmured to the empty room, feeling a surge of adrenaline. The pieces were starting to form a less-than-flattering picture of our poised philanthropist.
“Or perhaps you’re just a red herring in Louboutins,” I added, not willing to convict on circumstantial evidence alone. “Time for a little tête-à-tête with Renata,” I decided. She too, like Stefan, kept a suite here for the winter season.
With my curiosity now a raging inferno, I slipped into my burgundy flats—practical yet stylish—and snatched up my notebook. It was as though the secrets within its pages had suddenly sprouted legs, urging me to chase after the truth. I paused at the door, taking a deep breath and straightening my posture. Renata Hofstetter might have been a master of poise, but I wasn’t exactly a slouch in the department of determination.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, more to my reflection in the mirror than anyone else. Then I stepped out, my heart keeping time with the quiet click of the lock falling into place behind me.
The corridor was a welcome calm before the storm, the plush carpet muting my steps as I made my way to the elevator. My pulse quickened with each floor passed, like a drumroll building to the main event. When the doors parted with a soft ding, I was greeted by the lively hum of activity that could only mean one thing—the lobby was abuzz.
It was a scene of orchestrated chaos, a symphony performed daily beneath the opulent chandeliers of the resort’s grand entrance. Guests swirled around me, their laughter and chatter a soundtrack to their leisurely pursuits. A gaggle of skiers clomped past, their gear an awkward dance partner against the marble floors. I watched them for a moment, envying their carefree oblivion to the darker undercurrents tugging at my thoughts.
“Focus, Penny,” I chided myself, threading through the throng of vacationers. Camera-wielding tourists, aiming their lenses like hunters on safari, captured the grandeur of the alpine retreat. A pair of honeymooners, lost in each other’s eyes, nearly collided with a bellhop whose stack of luggage wobbled precariously—a metaphor if I ever saw one.
Everywhere I looked, life unfolded with vibrant abandon, a stark contrast to the tightly wound spring coiled within me. But I couldn’t afford to be swept away by the gaiety. There were answers to unearth, suspicions to confront.
I navigated the social labyrinth with the stealth of a cat stalking a particularly well-dressed mouse—Renata. And there she was, across the lobby. Renata Hofstetter was a striking figure amongst the cluster of elite patrons, her laughter as light and airy as the designer scarf that flirted with the breeze of passing guests. I smoothed my skirt, a pre-battle ritual, and advanced toward her with the feigned casualness of an off-duty detective.
“Renata,” I greeted, my voice threaded with a cheer I didn’t quite feel. “I was hoping we could chat about Stefan Vogel.”
“Stefan?” Her eyebrow arched in practiced surprise. “Tragic what happened. The mountains will mourn their lost son.” The way she spoke of him, he might as well have been a distant cousin twice removed rather than a close associate.
“Indeed, they will,” I murmured. “Such a shame how money troubles can sour even the noblest endeavors. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Money troubles?” She feigned ignorance, but beneath the facade, I sensed a ripple of discomfort. “Stefan never mentioned anything of the sort to me. Our partnership was purely… philanthropic.”
“Of course.” I nodded, my gaze steady. “Purely philanthropic. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if his expeditions ever put a strain on your generosity.”
“Are you implying something, Ms. Hawthorne?” There was steel in her voice now, a hint of the alpine chill outside.
“Merely making conversation,” I assured her, my heart pounding a Morse code of intrigue against my ribs. “After all, it’s often those closest to us that we know the least. Don’t you agree, Renata?”
Her laugh was a shard of ice breaking off a glacier. “You have quite the imagination… Penelope, is it? One might think you’re trying to cast blame elsewhere because of your own…culpability.”
“Perhaps,” I conceded with a tilt of my head. “Or perhaps I’m simply seeking clarity in a rather murky blend.”
Renata’s eyes narrowed momentarily before she composed herself, her smile returning like the sun after a fleeting cloud. “Well, I do hope you find the clarity you seek. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friends and I were just discussing our next charitable venture.”
“Of course,” I said, stepping back as she turned away, her entourage absorbing her once again like a flock around their shepherdess.
“Charitable venture, indeed,” I mused, making the entourage pause again. “Renata, let’s not dance around the maypole here,” I said, trying to inject a dollop of levity into my tone. “We both know that Stefan’s last expedition didn’t exactly fill his coffers with the expected donations. Surely you must have had some concerns about your investment.”
“Concerns?” Renata echoed, her voice smooth as silk but cold as the alpine air outside. “My dear, my philanthropic endeavors are not bound by such petty anxieties.”
“Right. Because who would worry about a few missing francs when there’s so much philanthropy to be done?” My words were light, but my insides were knotting tighter than the strings on a corset. The truth was close—I could feel it hiding just beneath the surface of her immaculate facade.
“Your insinuations are baseless and quite frankly, tiresome,” she snapped, her demeanor now as brittle as the ice sculptures gracing the resort’s entrance. “Stefan’s financial acumen was as solid as Swiss banking itself. Your attempt to sully his name is disgraceful.”
The barb stung, and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “I’m not sullying anyone’s name. I’m trying to understand why someone with an empire at his feet ended up six feet under with empty pockets.”
“Perhaps you’re looking for scandal where there is none,” Renata suggested, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you sure it’s not your own business that requires scrutiny? I think you might need to scare up some legal fees soon.”
“It’s not like I had anything to gain from all this.”
“Everyone has something to gain—or lose,” Renata retorted, her lips curling into a semblance of a smile that never reached her eyes.
“Except I’m not playing a game, Renata. This isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about justice.” My words came out sharper than intended, fueled by the frustration bubbling inside me like a pot left too long on the stove.
“Justice,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Or perhaps vengeance dressed up in noble clothing. How well did you truly know Stefan, Penny? You’re a stranger here.”
“Vengeance?” I felt a laugh bubble up, humorless and edged with steel. “Trust me, the only thing I’m avenging is my good name.”
“Quaint,” Renata said, though her gaze remained icy. “But misplaced humor won’t distract from the questions that need answering.”
“Nor will deflecting them,” I countered, standing my ground. “I’m not the one with a history of backing financially dubious expeditions.”
“Accusations without proof are just words, Penny. Careful, or they might just blow back in your face,” she warned, her composure slipping further as the verbal volley continued.
“Then let’s find the proof, shall we?” I proposed, my determination crystallizing. “After all, the truth has a funny way of steeping to the surface.”
Renata’s eyes flashed with a challenge, a silent duel unfolding between us in the middle of the bustling lobby. Accusations hung in the air, palpable as the scent of freshly baked pastries from the nearby café. We were at an impasse, yet neither willing to back down. The next move was crucial, and I was determined to make it count.
“Look… Penelope,” Renata said haughtily, “Stefan was on the verge of three very lucrative sponsorships—ones that would have made him and my nonprofit a lot of money. Why would I kill him?”
“…Oh.”
It was all I could say—my face flamed in embarrassment. Had I missed that detail in my research?
Renata straightened, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that could’ve etched glass. “This conversation is over.” With a swish of her designer skirt that probably cost more than my monthly rent, she sailed through the throng of oblivious tourists, leaving a wake of perfumed air and unanswered questions.
I stood there, amidst the clink of teacups and the murmur of après-ski plans, feeling the heat of the confrontation dissipate into the cool alpine atmosphere. A thread of doubt tried to weave its way in, but I choked it back. It was frustrating being at another dead end.
Back in the refuge of my room, I flopped onto the bed, the springs protesting under the weight of my curiosity.
“Alright, Penny,” I muttered to myself, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers painted among the stucco swirls. The answer to Renata had been in the case file Lucas had given me a copy of—Lucas had listed all three of the sponsorships in her profile. That was why he hadn’t seemed concerned.
I’m such an amateur.
But with a renewed sense of purpose, I vowed to sift through the murky depths of this alpine intrigue. Stefan’s killer was still at large, and I couldn’t let personal peril deter me from the pursuit of justice. The truth was out there, waiting to be poured out.