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POLICE CHIEF GORDON Hepler took advantage of a quiet moment to enjoy a roast beef sandwich at his desk and peruse the Mapleton Weekly’s classified ads. After months of “discussion,” his wife, Angie, had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to entertain the notion of looking for a new place to live. A home for the two of them. A place they could call ours. Maybe seeing actual houses would shift her reluctance to acceptance.
His cell interrupted with Angie’s ringtone. He circled a promising house listing, an unbidden grin spreading across his face as he took her call. Her tearful voice erased the smile.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Before she answered, Ed Solomon burst into his office. “Chief, we have a body. Thought you’d be gone already.”
“Angie, hang on. Something’s come up.” Gordon moved the phone away from his ear. “What’s going on, Ed?”
“No, it can’t wait,” Angie said. “It’s Megan. They’re going to arrest her. You have to help. Now.”
“I’m on it,” he said to her, more intent on Solomon’s announcement than what Angie was saying. He disconnected, set the phone on his desk. Crime in Mapleton was normally of the barking dog or too-many-beers-at-Finnegan’s variety. “Explain.”
Instead of dropping into his customary visitor chair, Solomon hung in the doorway. “Dispatch got a 911 call. Someone apparently dropped dead at a wedding reception.”
A dead body didn’t necessarily mean homicide. “Any reason to believe it wasn’t due to natural causes? One of the guests have a heart attack? Too much excitement?”
“Won’t know until we get there,” Solomon said. “Isn’t Angie catering a wedding today?”
As Solomon spoke, Angie’s words replayed, this time at the front of Gordon’s brain. They were arresting Megan, her partner in the event business. His pulse tripped.
A dead body at a wedding reception. Arresting Megan. It had to be the event Angie was catering. He tossed the remains of his sandwich into the wastebasket. “I’m coming with you.”
They climbed into Solomon’s department SUV. Ed buzzed down the windows, dissipating the oven-like effects of a black vehicle sitting in the Colorado August sun, as well as the distinctive aroma of a Finnegan’s garlic-laden pizza.
“Fill me in,” Gordon said.
“I thought you’d have heard the 911 call.”
“Must have come in while I was out. I walked over to Daily Bread to pick up a sandwich, came in through the back.” The odds of two weddings in Mapleton today were slim, but Gordon wasn’t going to get snared in the making assumptions trap. “This is at the new center out by Aspen Lake, right?”
“Affirmative. Dispatch rolled the medics and sent Vicky McDermott and the rookie—Rafe Perez—to secure the scene, start interviews. Medics did their thing, called the coroner’s office. Depending on how busy things are in the county, he could be there any time. Or after dinner. I’m going because I’m caught up on paperwork.”
Gordon snorted. “You’re looking for a mystery. Admit it.”
Solomon shrugged. “It’s been too quiet since we solved Nate’s murder.”
“Which is as it should be.” Gordon voiced his concerns. “Angie said they’re arresting Megan Wyatt. You know why?”
“They’re questioning everyone. I haven’t heard anything about arrests.”
They’d be questioning Angie, too, if they hadn’t already. Why had she thought Megan was in trouble? Someone dying at an event they’d catered might be bad for business, but even that would only be an issue if the victim hadn’t died of natural causes. “Food poisoning?” Gordon asked.
“Didn’t sound like it from what McDermott said.”
“Do you know who died?”
Solomon shook his head. “Mother of the groom. Don’t have a name yet.”
“Not a local, then.” Mapleton was small enough that if one of their citizens had died, McDermott would have mentioned it.
Gordon tried to remember whether Angie had discussed any of the wedding guests but drew a blank. She and Megan worked with whoever was in charge of the event, which, as he recalled, would be the mother of the bride if they followed tradition. Megan, with her history as an event planner, would organize the overall logistics, while Angie was in charge of the food.
“This is it.” Solomon turned at the towering wooden archway with the carved sign proclaiming it to be Lakeview Lodge.
They proceeded up the long, winding drive to the venue, a rambling wooden structure nestled amidst the pines and aspens. Gordon had been here once, six months ago, when the owners held an open house to show off what they advertised as a conference-getaway-event venue, touting its secluded location as a rustic alternative to typical big city hotels. Based on the events Megan and Angie had catered here, the lodge was succeeding.
Solomon parked his SUV next to McDermott’s cruiser, away from the vehicles he assumed belonged to guests and staff. Gordon and Solomon marched across the asphalt, accompanied by the aroma of pine and the sounds of cheerful birdsong.
Gordon paused briefly to take in the view. Sunlight glistened off the breeze-rippled surface of Aspen Lake. In the distance, sounds of splashing and children’s laughter told him kids were enjoying their last days of summer vacation. Hardly the mood for a death scene.
The coroner’s van sitting alongside the porch said otherwise. Must be a slow day for deaths in the county.
Back to business.
He climbed the steps to the porch, which held intimate groupings of padded wooden chairs and small tables. All were empty. McDermott would be keeping everyone inside.
Solomon radioed her they’d arrived, and she met them in the spacious lobby. Behind her, deputy coroner Pierce Asel wheeled out a gurney, body bag strapped in place. Wheels clacked across the tiled floor.
“You have anything?” Solomon asked.
“Son identified the body as his mother. No signs of violence,” Asel said. “Won’t know much else until I get her on the table.”
Solomon moved to hold the door open. “Need some help?”
“Got it,” Asel said. “By the way, your rookie’s going to need desensitizing. If he goes green at a clean death like this one, he’ll never hold it together if things get ugly.”
Rafe’s first death. Gordon sent Solomon to check on him.
“Keep us in the loop,” Gordon called after Asel.
“Always do,” Asel said.
Gordon turned to McDermott. “Vicky, what do we know? Angie called, said you were arresting Megan Wyatt. Is that true?”
“Not exactly,” she said.