Lacing up for Murder

Whistling River Lodge Mystery #1

Irene Radford

Chapter 3

At the top of the stairs, I slipped off my semi-sensible, wedge-heeled loafers and raced downward. The railing steadied me on my reckless progress. I knew every creak and splinter in each tread. This route saved me both time and distance returning to the lobby. Two minutes to the Board Meeting.

Narrowly confined wooden risers gave way to metal safety grids. I pelted down without pause for the mesh digging through my nylons.

At the final doorway I paused long enough to brush a cobweb off my shoulder, straighten my A-line skirt, and replace my beige shoes, dressier than loafers, more comfortable than pumps with heels.

Professional and composed, I emerged into the lobby. The three lacemakers waved me over. I sighed, then gave them a genuine smile. Gabrielle Zobokov, the convention organizer, held an armful of frothy lace samples — the same weight and texture as the cobweb I’d so casually brushed off a minute ago.

“Is there any way we can get another display case?” She looked from the numerous pieces in her hands to the tasteful arrangements in the four feet by six feet case beneath the north window.

“Let me see what we have in storage. Possibly we can arrange another case between the registration desk and the gift shop.” A quick call on my walkie-talkie sent Drew, the maintenance chief, in search of something suitable.

“I envy you all the time and patience to work such exquisite pieces,” I said, peering at an ecru collar in the display. The neat label called it Milanese.

“The object is the process, not the finished product,” Gabrielle chuckled. “Think of it as a metaphor for your life’s journey.”

“Sort of like me and this hotel.” I returned the laugh.

“Excellent comparison. Did you know that the need to embellish with lace dates all the way back to ancient Egypt?” She fingered her black vest festooned with fragments of lace, each a different pattern and shape. “Archeologists have found mummy shrouds with the ends deliberately frayed and then the dangling threads knotted into geometric patterns.” Gabrielle’s gaze strayed to the lovely Milanese piece. The she lifted the lid and tweaked the placement a millimeter.

I excused myself and made a beeline for the boardroom next to the Canyons Restaurant where Lady Anya still held court. I ignored the bustle and crowd at the front desk. A bevy of Asian men in custom tailored suits chattered to a sole tall blond man.

My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. No. He wouldn’t dare come here.

Would he?

He had his back to me and a bulky sweater draped over his shoulders. No way to determine if the set of his shoulders really was familiar or not. A leggy woman with an impressive shelf of a bosom and bright auburn hair clung to his arm as if she needed him to hold her up. I definitely had never seen her before.

My interns and one experienced clerk would holler if they needed me.

As I passed Janice, the restaurant manager still hovered near the alcove. I signaled her to send coffee into the Board Meeting. She looked a little puzzled.

I didn’t have time to find out why.

An empty Board Room greeted me. A half-full carafe and stained coffee cups littered six places at the long oval table. “What?”

“They told me to tell you they’re finishing the interview on the Cascade Nine,” Janice said at my shoulder.

The Cascade Nine, the most challenging section of our golf course that bordered the Whistling River and climbed a couple of hills. Knowing my Board of Directors, they’d decide to hire Craig Knudsen based on his golf swing without regard to his credentials. “Did I ever tell you, Janice, how much I hate golfers?”

oOo

“Miz McLain,” a voice crackled over my walkie-talkie.

“Yes, Hector.” I had hired Consuelo’s nephew as chief groundskeeper. Smartest thing I’ve done in a long time.

“Miz McLain, we got a problem on Cascade Seven.”

I mentally calculated where on the long golf course number seven was. The longest fairway of all nine holes on that course, number seven squeezed between a cliff on one side and a band of forest on the other. It curved slightly at the big water hazard that divided it nearly in half. Standing at the tee, a golfer could not see the hole flag at the other end. The creek that fed the pond, poured down a waterfall one hundred yards back a steep and narrow defile in the cliff.

“What kind of problem?” I asked, retreating into the meeting room so that no one could overhear.

“Ducks.”

“What about the ducks?” We always had ducks swimming in and nesting near the two water hazards, one on Seven and another on Five.

“Dead ducks.”

“What?” I hoped I’d heard wrong. With this much static on the line maybe he said something else. Almost anything else.

“Two mallards and a merganser. Dead. Savaged. Feathers and guts all over the grass.”

I swore, picturing a swath of bright feathers, bloodied and tarnished. “Can you clean it up before a guest stumbles on them?”

“Too late.” In the background, above all the static, or maybe the cause of the static, I heard a high pitched keening that made the wind sound mellow.

I gulped. “On my way.”

“Not to worry. The new guy is handling it.”

“What new guy?” My brain spun.

“The one playing golf with the Board.”

“Craig Knudsen?”

“Guess so.”

“I’m on my way.” Time to see for myself what this Security hot shot was really about. Not everything on his resume added up. Still, he had more credentials than any other applicant for the job. The board might like the way he played golf, but I needed him to work Security, not play golf with the board.

I cruised back through the lobby just as the big party of Asian businessmen wandered toward the elevator.

“Consuelo, are the rooms ready?” I whispered into the walkie-talkie on another channel.

“Not to worry,” Joy’s voice came through the crackle of static. “We’re just finishing up here.”

Relief washed through me. “I suppose the rooms smell of sage?”

“Right on.”

“Did you clean up any ashes of other...um...substances you might have burned?”

“Not to worry.”

“I’m headed out to Cascade Seven. Meet you in the coffee shop shortly,” I said more brightly.

“Rain check. I’ve got a Golden Retriever in desperate need of a bath and some TLC on his coat.” Joy made her living grooming and training dogs. She’d worked wonders with Salt and Pepper, the hotel mascots.

The two poodles were yapping in my office. I decided to take them with me out to the Cascade course. They needed to burn off some energy.

“Rain check,” I agreed.

Then the tall blond man with a black sweater slung across his shoulder turned to say something to his shorter Japanese companions. I got a good look at him for the first time.

Jared Rynelli. My ex.

No wonder the set of his shoulders looked familiar. And the leggy auburn-haired debutante clinging to him wasn’t the woman he’d gotten pregnant and left me for. This one sported a wedding band with a diamond the size of Mt. Hood on her left hand.

For the cost of that rock he could have paid off all of his back alimony and our divorce settlement. Twice over.

Anger boiled in my stomach, threatening to bring up my lunch.

I swallowed deeply and clung to the shadows. Now was not the time for a confrontation. Now was not the time to allow my emotions to get in the way of professional behavior. His Japanese companions paid very good money to rent expensive suites and play golf every spring. They also conducted a number of business deals on the golf course. They liked our hotel. I liked having them as guests.

I couldn’t afford to alienate them with my anger. Boiling rage better described it. Jared Rynelli had made millions since I married and divorced him. What was a lousy three hundred grand to him?

Three hundred thousand dollars would go a long way toward fixing the roof and making a down payment on sixty acres of clear cut. It would also give me a bigger chunk of ownership in the hotel corporation. A chance to out-vote some of the local investors who bought into the resort just so they could play golf for free whenever they wanted.

A service corridor took me to my office and a back exit to the golf course. I jogged with Salt and Pepper, the black and white poodles, down to the Cascade course as fast as my shoes and skirt allowed.