Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) Page 6

  “I swear,” I said. “And right now they’re all eating from a big pot of baked beans, like cowboys in the Wild West.”

  “Is that so?”

  The lights flicked back on again, and someone called my name. I’d been pacing, traveling all the way to the far end of the lobby. Back at the reception area, Christopher had returned with his cousin.

  Hurriedly, I told Logan, “Sorry, I have to go check myself and my cat into a fancy mountain resort now.”

  “Go easy on the beans.”

  “Very funny, Mr. Sanderson.”

  “Have a great time,” he said warmly. “Send me a message later, if you feel like it. I might not be in contact much, but I’ll try to check in.”

  “Will do.” We said goodbye and ended the call.

  As I walked over to join my group, I held the phone to my chest and replayed the conversation in my head.

  He’d definitely made a move. After months of being friends and living in the same duplex, it had taken me driving three-and-a-half hours away to finally get us together. Sort of.

  When I saw Logan Sanderson again after this three-day vacation, everything would be different.

  Chapter 9

  Christopher’s cousin, Butch Fairchild, took us on a whirlwind tour of the lodge.

  I’d met Butch before, in Paris, on the same trip that I met Christopher. He was a decade older than Christopher, and had relished his role as the worldly, older cousin. He’d already been prematurely balding back then, but possessed a macho charisma that had girls approaching him, asking to touch his smooth-shaved head.

  A few months after Christopher and I had started dating, he confided in me that Butch was technically a second cousin, from a branch of the family that didn’t have much money, and so Christopher had paid for nearly everything on their trip. That arrangement hadn’t sat well with Christopher; it felt too much like paying someone to be his friend, so he’d distanced himself from Butch after that.

  They’d lost contact for several years, but by the look of their interactions on our lodge tour, with Butch pulling Christopher into a playful headlock every chance he got, the reunion was going well.

  Butch looked different from the other Fairchilds I’d met over the years, with their fair hair and tennis-court-ready wardrobes. For starters, he was much taller and bigger than Christopher. With his smooth, shaved head, plus the many tattoos on his arms, Butch looked less like a tennis pro and more like a Navy Seal.

  I had always liked Butch, because he had the good kind of tough guy personality—confident enough in himself that he could come across as powerful without acting like a jerk. His voice was deep yet soft, his manner gentle, and he smiled continuously. He was proud of the lodge, and passionate about the renovation.

  We were all surprised to hear the stone and glass building wasn’t completely new, but an extensive remodel and upgrade of what had once been a cabin.

  “Not bad for an old hunting shack,” Christopher said as we toured the in-house spa on the lower floor.

  Butch winked at us. “It’s no Lancaster Hotel, but I hear the food’s okay.”

  “I’m really happy for you,” I said. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, and can you believe I only just found out you married a woman from Misty Falls?” I swatted Christopher. “This one forgot to tell me.”

  Butch winked again. “There’s plenty this one doesn’t know about. He hasn’t even seen my newest tattoo.”

  Christopher pulled a face. “Is it even somewhere I’d want to look?”

  Butch laughed. “All in good time. Let’s pace ourselves, folks. We’ve got three whole days to fill with drunken debauchery.”

  Jessica and I exchanged a look. She had Jeffrey in her arms, and shifted her hand to cover his ears.

  “No drunken debauchery in front of the cat,” she told me. “He’s young and impressionable.”

  “How about sober debauchery?”

  She replied, “Can one even engage in sober debauchery?”

  “I hear you need snowshoes for such a thing.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense.”

  After the spa tour, Butch showed us to our rooms, which were also on the lower floor. The lodge was a two-level, L-shaped building that hugged the south side of the mountain. With six nicely-appointed rooms on the lower floor and three spectacular suites on the upper floor, and a mix of beds and convertible sofas, it officially slept forty-two guests.

  For the three-day trial run, there would be nine people, seven of whom we’d met already. The eighth person was Marie, Butch’s wife, but we hadn’t been given any clue as to the identity of the ninth.

  “Gorgeous,” Jessica said when Butch showed us the room we would be staying in. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Jessica and I were in a generous-sized room with two queen beds. Christopher’s room was its mirror image, and connected to ours by an interior door.

  Butch pulled some plastic wrap off the room’s full-length mirror. “It’s not finished yet, but you get the idea. Feel free to make notes of anything that’s not to your liking. We want our guests to feel right at home in our little ol’ mountainside hunting shack.” He reached down to give Jeffrey a chin scratch. “Isn’t that right, little buddy?”

  I said, “Again, Butch, sorry about the cat situation.”

  He picked Jeffrey up and cradled him in his muscular, tattooed arms. “Uncle Butch doesn’t mind one bit,” he said to the cat. “You tell your mother that both of you are welcome here any time. Just remember you’re on my side, and you have to back me up when my wife’s old friends turn on me like a pack of hyenas.”

  Jeffrey’s ears went back. He didn’t know what hyenas were, but he didn’t like the sound of them turning on anyone.

  Jessica asked, “You don’t get along with your wife’s friends?”

  Butch scoffed. “They call themselves the Batty Geniuses, but if you ask me, it’s only the Batty part that’s true. You’ll see. Even Marie gets a little strange when she’s under their influence.” Still holding Jeffrey, he held open the room’s door and nodded for us to follow. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the ol’ ball and chain.”

  Back on the upper floor of the lodge, Butch led us through the dining room, where workmen were painting the walls a neutral taupe, and then into the kitchen, which was free of workmen and looked finished, ready for the grand opening in a few weeks.

  Butch said, “As you can see, this is where the money went.”

  Christopher whistled in agreement. “You must be in deep with someone.”

  “Just to ourselves,” Butch said. “We’re self-financed, which means all the profits will be ours.”

  “In a few years, maybe. But what about operating capital to get you through startup? Money for wages alone will set you back—”

  Butch clapped Christopher on the back. “Now, now. I didn’t invite you here for a lecture. Besides, once people get a taste of Marie’s food, the whole world will be dying to get a room up here. Isn’t that right, Marie?”

  At the mention of Butch’s wife, we all looked around the steel and gray kitchen. Something moved near the sinks, and I realized with a start it was a person.

  “Hello,” she said with a meek wave.

  Marie Fairchild wasn’t the type of brassy, outspoken woman you’d expect as the wife of a macho guy like Butch. Everything about her was understated, from her plain brown hair, worn in a ponytail, to her thick eyeglasses, gray dress, and gray tights. The only bit of color was her rubber Crocs-brand shoes, bright candy-apple red, in the classic clog style. Her shoes matched the red dials on the stove. She blended with the kitchen seamlessly, which explained why we hadn’t noticed her.

  Christopher was the first of us to shake her hand. “So nice to finally meet you. I’m sorry I missed the wedding, but I trust you received the gift?”

  Quietly, she answered, “Yes. Thank you.”

  Jessica and I introduced ourselves and the cat, who was still in Butch’s tattooed arms.
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  “Tuna,” Marie said, then disappeared into one of a pair of walk-in refrigerators. She emerged with a slab of raw tuna, and quickly got to work, searing the fillet in a skillet over gas flames.

  “You don’t have to go to any fuss,” I said. “A can of something will do just fine, until I can run into the nearest town.”

  Butch answered for his wife, “The nearest town is the one you just came from. Don’t worry about the fuss. Marie likes to spoil people, isn’t that right?” He patted her on the shoulder. “This is just a warm-up for the crowds that’ll be coming soon.”

  Christopher kept scanning the kitchen equipment. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he added up the renovation costs in his head.

  He asked Butch, “How many months until you’re out of the red ink on the day-to-day?”

  Butch let out a deep laugh. “We’re not going to worry about that until later, after we’re open.”

  Christopher shot me a look. I nodded discreetly to let him know I’d caught the red flag as well. People who declare they’re not going to worry until later should usually be doing the complete opposite.

  “That seared tuna smells good,” Jessica said. “Can I help you with anything, Marie?”

  Marie mumbled about having everything under control.

  Butch set down Jeffrey, who sat calmly on the floor, eyes wide and tail swishing as he watched Marie. Her proximity to the tuna made her the most interesting person in the room.

  Christopher asked Butch about the ventilation system, and the two of them went off to look at vents.

  Jessica stood at my side and whispered in my ear, “We are getting dinner tonight, right? Otherwise, Jeffrey might have to battle me for that pan-seared tuna.”

  “We won’t die,” I whispered back. “I’ve got some Junior Mints in my purse.”

  She elbowed me teasingly. “I haven’t seen a single staff member, outside of the construction crew. In a place this size, there should be prep cooks in the kitchen all day. Dinner time’s coming, and I don’t see anybody trying to help Marie except for Jeffrey, and you and I both know that cat won’t even peel a potato.”

  “He’s not great with tools that require thumbs.”

  I looked around for signs of resort staff who might have been shy and staying out of sight, but found none. Jessica was right to be concerned. Three-and-a-half hours up the side of a mountain was well outside the delivery range for Golden Wok.

  Marie delicately plated the tuna for Jeffrey and set it before him. He dove right in, which made her smile.

  Jessica cleared her throat and pushed up the three-quarter sleeves of her shirt. “Marie, did your staff call in sick? Let me help with something. I work in catering, and I take direction well.”

  Marie gasped. “No, no. You’re Butch’s guest. I couldn’t possibly let you help.”

  “Honestly, getting to work in a brand-new kitchen like this would be a privilege. And maybe I could put it on my resume.”

  Marie looked down at her red clogs. “I could use some help,” she said weakly.

  Jessica had already located an apron and pulled it on. She started washing her hands, right at home.

  The Fairchild cousins had wandered off, so I gathered up Jeffrey plus his food, and excused myself to take him back to the room.

  When I got to the room’s door, the construction foreman was dropping off a plastic litter pan. “Now, that’s just regular sand in there,” he said. “It won’t clump like the commercial litter, so I brought you an extra bag.”

  “Thanks! You’ve made us feel right at home.” I pulled out some cash and handed him a tip.

  The foreman seemed confused, but accepted the money and walked off.

  Once we were inside the room, I explained to Jeffrey, “I didn’t mean to insult the man. It’s just force of habit from all my business travels to tip the bellhop.”

  Jeffrey jumped into the litter pan and started rearranging the sand so it was more to his liking.

  “All the comforts of home,” I mused to myself as I took a second look around the room.

  A glass door led to the snow-blanketed patio. Beyond the perimeter were stone planters that would hold flowers in the summer, and beyond that was nothing but trees, a steep drop-off, and then the valley. Inside the room, the decoration matched the rustic setting, with walls the color of granite, and furnishings in every shade of bark, from the dark brown of pine branches to the silver-white of paper birch.

  I relocated Jeffrey and his sand castles to the washroom, then plugged in my laptop while commenting, “Let’s hope they paid the Wi-Fi bill before the start-up money ran out.”

  A minute later, I sighed. There was internet, but I needed a password.

  “Just as well,” I said, closing the laptop and reaching for my investigation manuals.

  I’d just settled on the bed with a book when someone knocked on the door. I opened it, and found nothing but an empty hallway. I looked left and right. Nobody was there. I rubbed the goosebumps on my forearms. The patterned carpet running up and down the hall reminded me of that horror movie, The Shining. I closed the door quickly, before scary ghost twins could appear.

  Someone knocked again, and that time I answered the interior door, the one connected to Christopher’s room.

  He had a map in one hand and a camping lantern in the other.

  “Let’s go check out the lava tubes,” he said.

  “You mean the caves? I don’t know. Dinner’s soon, and I was going to have a relaxing bath.”

  “You don’t take relaxing baths.”

  “And you don’t go spelunking. Where’d you get that map?”

  “It’s top secret, actually. Highly confidential. You’ve already seen too much.” He folded the map and hid it behind his back.

  I reached for it, curious, but he only yanked it farther from my grasp.

  “Let me see that map. Is it for hidden cave networks?”

  “What do you think?”

  Chapter 10

  The first rule of being in a secret cave exploration society is you don’t talk about being in a secret cave exploration society.

  And you certainly don’t share the maps with the general public.

  I hadn’t done much cave exploration, much less been in a secret society, but I’d always been fascinated by the idea. There were rumors of secret Oregon caverns and their entrances, but this information wasn’t readily available, and for good reason. It took only a few disrespectful partygoers to ruin pristine underground sites with beer cans and graffiti.

  But I wasn’t planning to put any secret maps on the internet. I just wanted to see the yellowed paper Christopher had, because it was the closest thing to a treasure map that I expected to see in my lifetime.

  “Please? Just a peek?”

  Christopher kept backing away from me, laughing and tucking the folded map into his jeans pocket. “Come with me and you can do more than peek at my map.”

  Grumbling, I grabbed my boots and coat.

  Christopher held the lantern low, at his hip, lighting the cavern without blinding us. Holding a candle or lantern ahead of your face looks great in movies, but blinds you in real life.

  At the first fork, he led us to the left, to the smaller of two chimneys leading up. He hopped over some loose boulders and climbed up with ease.

  Puffing as I hustled to keep up, I commented, “You’re as spry as a mountain goat.”

  “Must be all the yoga.”

  I laughed. Christopher didn’t do yoga, and made fun of people who did.

  After twenty minutes of steady climbing, I asked, “How are your parents?”

  “Getting older, with the exception of my mother’s face.”

  “She finally got that second facelift she wanted?”

  “And a new handbag! They made it with the leftover skin.”

  His joke made me laugh so hard, I stumbled on some gravel and nearly wiped out. Christopher caught me easily and held me with his free arm.

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nbsp; “A new handbag,” I wheezed as I blinked away the tears of laughter. “Since when do you make jokes about your mother’s plastic surgery?”

  He grinned. “Credit should go to my father. He’s been making that joke for months.”

  “Now I’m really confused. Since when does your father make jokes about your mother’s plastic surgery?”

  “People can change, you know.”

  “Sure, but they never do,” I said.

  His voice got soft. “People change if they have the motivation.”

  He was still holding me, our faces only inches apart. Our lips got closer and closer. I fluttered my lashes, closed my eyes, waited, and just as I felt his breath on my mouth, I reached down and yanked the map from his hand.

  “Hah!” I cried, stumbling backward while waving the map in triumph. “I’ve got your super-secret map!”

  He gave me a serious look. “Stormy-Lou, don’t look at that. It’s not for your eyes.”

  “Too late.” I backed up a safe distance, then used my phone to take a photo of the map for later.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  I studied the map for a moment, while my emotions rose up like storm clouds gathering.

  “You liar,” I said in disbelief. “This isn’t some hand-drawn secret map. It’s mass-printed on this yellow paper to look antique. There’s a logo right here in the corner, from the Oregon Tourism Commission.”

  “There is a secret passageway, though.”

  I crumpled the map and tossed it at him. “You can shove your stupid map up your secret passageway.”

  “I’m not lying. There really is another system connected to this one, and I’m going to take you there.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why? What other surprises do you have in store? Are we going to stumble upon a bottle of champagne, candles, and a picnic blanket?”

  He frowned. “Were you always this paranoid?”

  I took a step back, bumping into the cavern wall. The narrow passageway was feeling smaller by the minute. The pressure made me feel like screaming, but I held back.