The cliffside was supposed to be a place of serenity, an escape from the world’s clamor where one could watch eagles soar and not think about murders or deceit. But as Lars inched closer, my heart drumming a frenetic beat against my ribs, serenity was the last thing on my mind.
“Wait!” I said, holding out a hand to stop his approach, injecting a bit of levity into my voice as if we were just two old friends catching up rather than me confronting a potential killer. “I’m not done.”
Lars looked at me, his eyes a mirror of the turbulent skies above. “Penny, what are you really doing here?”
I took a deep breath, letting the crisp alpine air fill my lungs before exhaling my discovery like some tea-infused confession. “I’ve been thinking, Lars. About Stefan, about the poisoning. Something doesn’t seem right. I know you’re involved.”
I didn’t—but Lars didn’t know the extent of what I knew.
“You think I wanted to kill Stefan, my mentor?”
“Let’s not play innocent, Lars. We both know ‘mentor’ is a generous term for how you felt about him. Stefan was the only person standing between you and being the top guide in this resort. And snagging sponsorships, which we can see, based on Dominik Bauer’s sneaking around, can be one heck of a motive for all sorts of moral slippery slopes.”
Lars’s laughter, a hollow echo against the cliffside, shattered the stillness of our standoff. “This is preposterous!” he spat out, but his eyes betrayed him, darting to the edge and back. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? The great Penny Hawthorne, tea connoisseur turned detective.”
“Please,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes even as adrenaline surged through my veins. “I prefer ‘purveyor of truth,’ thanks.”
His jaw clenched visibly, and I watched, almost fascinated, as the façade of the confident climber crumbled. Anger flared in his eyes, the icy blue now stormy with fear. “You have nothing on me,” Lars growled, but his voice was tinged with desperation.
“Really?” I asked, unable to help myself despite the danger. “Because from here, it looks like I have enough to steep a whole pot of Guilty as Charged blend. You have access to aconite. And”—I suddenly realized the last piece of the puzzle—“you told me yourself that you had a drink with Stefan the night before he died.”
“So? We did that quite often, having a drink together.”
I pressed on. “You must have slipped the aconite into his brandy before you left. He was heading to his room to have some when he got a headache at the tasting. It would be perfect. You asked me if I had gotten the aconite for my tea from the mountain. You knew I would be blamed. But you didn’t count on the fact that Stefan wouldn’t have any of the other tea ingredients in his system, only the poison you slipped him. What are the chances that, if we test the brandy in his room, it will have aconite in it?”
For a second, there was only the sound of our breathing and the distant call of an alpine chough. Then suddenly, with the swiftness of a mountain cat, Lars lunged at me, hands outstretched, aiming to send me flying over the precipice.
“Whoa, Nelly!” I yelped, sidestepping with a grace I didn’t know I had, my heart hammering against my ribcage like a drum solo at a jazz festival. I’d faced many perils before—running out of lavender for my signature Calm the Storm tisane, the infamous scone shortage of ’08—but nothing quite like this.
My ballet lessons from third grade had nothing on the nimble footwork I executed as Lars’s fingers grazed my jacket. “Missed me,” I sang out, a jittery laugh escaping me as I danced away from certain doom, the gravel beneath my boots skidding precariously close to the edge of the cliff. My survival instincts kicked in, rooting me to the solid ground with the determination of an ancient alpine tree.
“Stand still!” Lars barked, his eyes wild with the panic of a man whose plans were unraveling faster than a ball of yarn in a room full of kittens.
“Sorry, not part of my daily routine!” I shot back, heaving for air, trying to keep the mood light despite the gravity—literally—of the situation. My mind was racing—was this how it all ended? Not with a peaceful cup of chamomile but with a tumble down a mountainside?
Just as another lunge from Lars sent a shower of stones cascading down the cliff and my balance teetered on the brink, a blur of motion caught my eye. Lucas Bennett, ruggedly handsome savior in a windbreaker, appeared like a plot twist in the final act.
“Lucas!” I gasped, relief flooding through me. His timing was impeccable, his entrance dramatic—a true knight in Interpol-issued armor.
“Let her go, Lars!” Lucas commanded, his voice cutting through the thin mountain air with the authority of a man who’d done this kind of thing more times than I’d steeped Earl Grey.
I hardly had time to register Lucas’s arrival before he was upon us, his strong hands grabbing hold of Lars’s jacket, yanking him backward with the finesse of someone well-versed in the art of apprehending villains. As they struggled, I scuttled back from the precipice, my heart still beating to the rhythm of a high-speed chase scene.
“Are you okay?” Lucas managed to ask me, even while expertly dodging an elbow to the ribs from Lars.
“Better now that you’re here,” I admitted, cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the close call. It was one thing to theorize about murder over a cup of rooibos; it was entirely another to have someone willing to tackle a murderer for you.
Lars lunged again, and Lucas grabbed him in a chokehold. Lucas’s grip on Lars was unyielding, an iron vise born from countless arrests and takedowns. With a practiced twist, he maneuvered Lars into a different hold that seemed straight out of an action movie, the sort where the hero never has a hair out of place. Lucas, however, had several—a few rebellious strands that danced in the alpine breeze like they were choreographed by nature itself.
“Enough, Lars!” Lucas barked, his tone steady despite the physical exertion. “This is over.”
Lars bucked wildly, a cornered animal with nothing to lose, but Lucas matched him move for move. It was like watching a professional dancer take on a flailing novice. There was a grace to Lucas’s movements, a precision that spoke of years honing his craft—not just chasing criminals but ensuring that the good guys didn’t end up as collateral damage.
My breath hitched as I witnessed the scene, unable to tear my eyes away. For a moment, I forgot all about rare tea blends and botanicals—this was raw human strength and bravery distilled, and it was remarkable.
“Careful, Lucas,” I called out, my voice shaky but insistent. The last thing I wanted was for him to join me in the “nearly got shoveled off a cliff” club.
Lucas flashed me a quick grin, the kind that should’ve been patented for its ability to make one’s heart do somersaults. “Don’t worry, Penny. I’ve got this under control.”
With a deft maneuver, he managed to pin Lars to the ground, the thud echoing around us like a gavel proclaiming justice. In that instant, I knew that if there were such things as guardian angels, they’d probably have Lucas’s square jaw and determined eyes.
“Thank you,” I murmured when I finally found my voice again, stepping closer to where Lucas stood, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the scuffle. My gratitude spilled out, warm and genuine, swirling between us like the steam from a fresh cup of chamomile tea designed to soothe frayed nerves.
“Always. Next time, tell me where you’re going so I don’t have to track your phone.” His gaze locked with mine, a silent vow wrapped in those three simple words.
In that prolonged look, I saw more than the Interpol agent who’d swooped in to save the day; I saw a man who’d leapt without hesitation into danger for me—a woman who’d started out as nothing more than an amateur sleuth with an affinity for the healing power of plants. And he did so with a bravery that was as natural to him as breathing.
There was a depth to Lucas Bennett that went far beyond his rugged exterior and his badge. And as our eyes met—mine wide with a cocktail of relief and newfound respect, his calm and reassuring—I knew that whatever lay ahead, we’d face it together. After all, teamwork makes the dream work, even when the dream involves dodging would-be cliffside assassins.
I looked down at my phone—the scuffle and chase with Lars must have gotten me to a position where my signal had connected. Three bars stared at me from the upper corner of the screen.
Whew. Good luck.
Lucas’s grip on Lars was ironclad, his fingers digging into the fabric of Lars’s jacket as if he were a falcon clutching its prey. The wind howled around us as if protesting the violence, but Lucas was steadfast, an immovable force against the chaos.
“Enough, Lars!” Lucas barked, his voice slicing through the tumult like a chef’s knife through a particularly stubborn squash. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Stefan Vogel!”
I stepped back, my heart still doing the tango in my chest. It felt surreal, watching Lars’s face contort from fury to panic. He thrashed like a fish out of water, or perhaps more aptly, like a climber dangling from a precarious overhang.
“Murder? No, you’ve got it all wrong!” Lars spluttered, trying to wriggle free, but Lucas was having none of it. With deft movements that spoke of countless arrests, Lucas maneuvered Lars’s arms behind his back and snapped handcuffs around his wrists with a satisfying click that echoed off the cliffside.
“We found aconite in your room and the signed contracts for Stefan’s sponsorships. Of course, the money would flow to his protégé if Lars was out of the picture. Once we figure out the method of delivery, you’re cooked. So save it for the judge,” Lucas retorted, his tone cold. His eyes met mine for a split second, a silent communication that we both knew the game was up for Lars.
“I think you’ll want to test the brandy snifter in Stefan’s room,” I said—and Lucas’s eyes brightened as he nodded.
As Lucas secured Lars, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of vindication. The pieces of the puzzle had finally clicked into place, each bit of evidence I’d painstakingly gathered leading to this moment. It was like finishing a crossword puzzle where every word was “guilty.”
“Looks like you won’t be scaling any summits for a while, huh?” I said, unable to resist the urge to poke fun at the irony of a mountaineer being brought low. Lars shot me a withering look, which I returned with a sunny smile. I may not have muscles for cuffing criminals, but I had enough sass to compensate.
“Justice has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” I mused aloud as Lucas led Lars away, his firm steps crunching on the gravel path. It was the sound of truth triumphing, of deceit unraveling like a poorly knit sweater.
“Indeed it does, Penny,” Lucas replied, shooting me a grin over his shoulder that made my insides do a little somersault. “And so does teamwork.”
“Teamwork and a knack for not getting shoved off cliffs,” I added, feeling lighter than I had in days. Stefan’s killer was caught, the mystery solved, and I had managed to not become part of the cliffside flora.
“Can you get down the trail?” Lucas asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Go!”
As they disappeared from view, I took a deep breath, the scent of pine and justice filling my lungs. Life in this cozy little town might return to normal now, but I had a feeling things between Lucas and me were just beginning to sprout.
The adrenaline had barely ebbed when I found myself alone, gazing out over the cliffside where moments ago my life hung by a thread finer than the chamomile roots in my Egyptian Sunset blend. My hands trembled—a natural side effect of almost being fertilizer for alpine wildflowers—and I shoved them in my coat pockets to still their shaking. The sky was an impossible shade of blue, mocking me with its tranquility.
I jogged after Lucas to find him at the trail base, a white SUV parked askew. Lars was in the back.
“Close call, huh?” Lucas’s voice pulled me from the edge, both literally and metaphorically. He’d finished securing Lars, who was now likely rehearsing his story for the authorities, minus the bit about cliffside shoving, and then closed the car door.
“Understatement of the year,” I replied, my laughter tinged with hysteria. “I nearly became a permanent fixture of the scenic tour. ‘On your left, you’ll notice our very own precipice-perched Penny.’”
Lucas approached, his boots crunching on the gravel path that had just been a stage for criminal confrontation. He stopped beside me, close enough that I could see the flecks of green in his eyes. “You did good, Penny. Not everyone would stand their ground like that.”
“Stand, dodge, semi-graceful flailing—I’m a woman of many talents.” My attempt at levity didn’t quite mask the quiver in my voice. I took another deep breath, focusing on the sensation of solid earth beneath my feet rather than the void that had beckoned so invitingly.
“Come here,” Lucas said softly, and before I knew it, I was enveloped in the kind of hug that managed to squeeze the remaining fear out of me. His arms were a fortress, and within them, I allowed myself a moment of vulnerability.
“Thanks for the save,” I murmured against his chest, where I could hear the steady thump of his heart—a reassuring rhythm in the chaos of my own thoughts.
“Always,” he promised again, his voice a low rumble. As we parted, his hands lingered on my shoulders for a second longer than necessary. It was comforting, grounding, and a tiny bit electrifying.
We stood side by side, looking out at the horizon where the sun flirted with the peaks, casting long shadows that stretched across the valley like fingers reaching for the last warmth of day. Silence settled around us, not awkward, but filled with a shared sense of accomplishment. Our eyes met, and there was an unspoken agreement in that gaze; we’d been through the wringer, him with his detective prowess and me with my tea-infused intuition, and we’d come out the other side victorious.
“Stefan’s going to get justice,” I finally said, the words a balm to the tumultuous mix of emotions swirling inside me.
“Thanks to you, Bauer is cleared, as well,” Lucas added. “I did jump to conclusions on that one, I’m ashamed to say. But we must revel a bit in my impeccable timing of today.”
“Of course,” I chuckled. “Some impressive life-saving between friends.”
“Partners,” he corrected, and there was a new weight to the word, one that felt like a promise of more adventures to come.
“Partners,” I agreed, a smile playing on my lips as the last rays of sunlight danced across the cliff, turning everything it touched to gold—including, it seemed, the possibility of what lay ahead.
“Lucas, I—” My voice was a hoarse whisper, words failing to encapsulate the enormity of my thanks.
He looked at me, and even with his focus divided between me and the subdued Lars, his gaze was steady. “You’re safe, Penny. That’s all that matters.”
The way he said it, with such conviction, made something warm bloom in my chest. It wasn’t just the adrenaline or the near-death experience talking. It was the realization that this man, who had initially dismissed my theories as fanciful concoctions, had come to value me—not just as a partner in crime-solving, but perhaps as something more.
“I agree that your timing is impeccable,” I managed to say, mustering a wobbly smile. “And here I thought chamomile was the best rescue remedy.”
He cracked a grin, the tension easing from his features. “Well, I’ve always been more of an action than an herb kind of guy.”
“Clearly,” I said, feeling my heartbeat finally begin to decelerate. “Herbal tea’s loss is definitely my gain.”
There we stood, on the precipice of both danger and discovery, our breaths mingling with the mountain air. In that moment, I knew that whatever lay ahead, maybe I wouldn’t have to face it alone.