Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (15 page)

“Sad for her, because Franco didn’t even want her hanging around back when we were kids. She got into the group because her parents owned the lumber yard, and we got free wood to build the treehouse.” He paused, then his voice shifted to a happier tone. “That old treehouse is looking rough these days, according to the photos the guys took on the weekend, but you should have seen it twenty-five years ago. We loved to sit up there and read books and talk about the future, and how great it would be. I thought the future would have solutions to all my problems, and drug manufacturers would have pills to make me more like…”

Just then, Franco came into the kitchen, and Benji stopped talking.

Franco glanced around the kitchen. “I’m looking for Dion. Did he come through here? He wants me to go float in those tanks with him and the redhead chick. I think he’s into her.”

“I haven’t seen him since I left the karaoke show. Your girlfriend is really beautiful, by the way.”

Franco sneered. “Beautiful and high maintenance.” He pointed a finger at Benji while backing out through the swinging doors. “We’re going to talk about that thing, with the money. I help you, you help me, and we all help ourselves.”

Benji nodded slowly. “You can have everything. I don’t need it.”

“Remember, you brought this on yourself,” Franco said, and then he was gone.

I checked the door to make sure Franco wasn’t standing outside listening.

“Benji, I work with a lawyer in Misty Falls. He might be able to help you in ways your corporate lawyers can’t.”

Benji finally found the cola and opened a can. He took a long drink, then set the can down slowly. Solemnly, he said, “Your lawyer friend won’t be necessary. I have a solution. Everything is going to be all right.”

“What does Franco have on you? Is it worse than what’s going to happen with your company? At dinner, you said you were worth five million, and it’s gone down to zero.”

“Franco’s got nothing,” Benji said. “He’s chasing a ghost.”

Back in my room, I played with Jeffrey, tossing some makeshift toys around the room while I worked on composing a message to send Logan.

If I wanted to tell him about my first day at the lodge, where would I even start? I didn’t want to say how Christopher had tricked me into exploring the caves with him, then tried to kiss me. I started to describe the food Marie had been making, but deleted it for being so boring in text format, especially compared to the juicy gossip about her trying to seduce Franco, and drugging her husband. I couldn’t send that sort of information by text. Also, I didn’t want Logan to think the trip was some wild swingers’ convention.

Would he be interested in hearing that the owner of Biggs Foods was up at the lodge? Possibly. How about Benji’s prank, pretending he had an imaginary drug from the Planet Toadonx? How would I even start relaying that anecdote?

My day had been so interesting, it literally defied description.

After a dozen false starts, I finally typed:
We’re having a good time. Wish you were here.

I sent the text to Logan, then read through my other messages and got ready for bed.

Undressing, I noticed some grime on my shirt from the tree-climbing adventure. To prevent the stain from setting, I hand-washed it in the bathroom sink. Although the lodge wasn’t officially open for business, the washroom was stocked with complimentary supplies, including the cutest miniature box of lavender-scented powdered laundry soap.

Jeffrey sat on the bathroom counter, supervising.

I asked him, “Should we wait up for Jessica, or hit the hay?”

He ignored me, fascinated with the laundry soap bubbles popping in the sink.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I’m starting to worry. If she doesn’t show up soon, we’ll have to form a search party.”

Jeffrey swiped at the bubbles, licked some off his paw, then sneezed.

Chapter 16
 

I woke up
to a bright room full of spring sunshine. My bedroom window seemed bigger than usual, the size of an entire wall. After a few seconds of disorientation, I remembered I was at the Flying Squirrel Lodge.

Jessica had returned the night before around midnight, so I hadn’t needed to assemble a search party after all.

We got showered and dressed, talking about how quickly the weather had turned beautiful. Summer was coming early, and it looked as though the melt was underway.

By the time we returned home, the waterfall that Misty Falls was named for would be roaring with the mountain run-off. Unlike some of Oregon’s other spectacular falls, ours didn’t dry up in the summer, due to being fed in part by an underground spring. The falls were breathtaking year-round, but at their thunderous, roaring best in the spring.

Jessica was telling me about local cliff-diving sites when we stepped out into the hallway.

She stopped talking about cliffs and asked me, “Do you smell something?”

I sniffed the air. “Something fermented. Beer?”

“Franco,” she said. “What a jerk. The lodge isn’t even open yet, and he already stunk up the hallway.”

“Marie did want to put the lodge through a test run. Now she can test the carpet cleaning supplies.”

We entered the sunny dining room and stopped in reverence of the snow-dusted mountains beyond the picture windows.

I reached for the back of a chair to steady myself. After a lifetime of looking up at mountains in the distance, looking out at them at eye level gave me the sense of being a bird in flight, soaring over the landscape.

The scent of food brought me back to reality.

Marie stood at one end of a buffet table, serving golden crepes straight from circular flat griddles. The guests were to walk their plates along a vast range of sweet and savory fillings, from poached peach slices and slivered almonds to pale yellow clouds of scrambled eggs and rounds of crispy back bacon.

I was drizzling maple syrup over my banana-chocolate creation when Dion bumped into my elbow on purpose and gave me a knowing look.

With a rich, baritone voice, he said, “Someone’s been making up for lost time.”

“Are you teasing me about my two crepes?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem fair, considering you have four.”

“I’m talking about you and your ex, Christopher, making up for lost time. I heard
everything
.”

“You must be mistaken. All I did last night was sleep.”

Dion waggled his eyebrows. “Not at five o’clock this morning,” he said, then he left the buffet with his crepes.

Christopher came over and asked, “What was that all about? Is he hitting on you? I heard he liked Jessica.”

“He said you and I hooked up last night, and that he heard everything.”

Christopher scratched his head. “We hooked up? You’d think I’d remember something like that.”

“If you need a hint, apparently it was at five o’clock this morning.”

Christopher said, “Five? This morning? Wasn’t me.”

“Dion’s room is between yours and Franco’s, so it must have been Franco and Della.”

Just as I said her name, Della entered the dining room. She wore a short dress that was barely appropriate for daywear. Her gleaming black hair was pulled back in an artfully messy bun, and an oversized pair of dark sunglasses covered her eyes.

She yawned, in the manner of someone who might have been awake since five o’clock.

Christopher leaned in and said, “Case closed, Detective Day.”

Butch came around to the crepe station and asked Marie if she needed anything, then he asked me if I was finding my favorite crepe toppings. He seemed nervous, his eyes flitting around while he rubbed his hands and told Christopher, “You name a topping, I will make sure you get it. How about pineapple? The Fairchild men all love pineapple. Try the pineapple-cherry sauce, with a little ham, on one of Marie’s savory crepes. You’ll think you’re in heaven.”

Della slipped up behind Butch and put her manicured hand on his tattooed arm. “In heaven? Tell me more.”

Butch made a gurgling noise, yanked his arm away from her, and fled as though he was on fire.

Della laughed. “Silly Butch. Such a big, tough guy on the outside.” She pushed down her sunglasses and watched him run into the kitchen. “Such a cute little butt on him, too. Lucky Marie.” She gave me a knowing smile, then pushed her sunglasses back up and walked over to the coffee station, her hips swinging, thanks to her very high heels.

Christopher stared after her, transfixed. I playfully pushed his jaw up and told him to stop drooling, then I walked over to join Jessica at her table.

Unlike the previous evening, when we’d dined at a central round table, the dining room had been arranged to encourage smaller groupings.

I walked past Benji Biggs, who sat alone, gazing out of the window, lost in thoughts—unpleasant ones, by the expression on his face.

I sat next to Jessica, who was watching Benji at the next table. She shook her head. “That poor guy has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wish we could cheer him up.”

“You’re not angry at him, Jess? His company, Biggs Foods, did poison you. And we still don’t know how it happened.”

“True, but I’m not like you, Stormy. I don’t get worked up over stuff, and I don’t obsess. Maybe it was the way I was raised.”

“You think I’m obsessive? I’d argue with you, but that would just
prove
I’m obsessive.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Jessica said. “You were raised by a cop, and you have a very strong sense of justice. When you obsess, it’s for the right reason. I really admire that about you. But while your family was talking about crime scenes at the dinner table, my mother was teaching us about finding peace and letting go.”

“Didn’t your mother go off to be a monk or a nun for a while?”

“She went on some retreats, but she always came back.” Jessica smiled at the memory as she dug into her fully-loaded crepe. “My mother was singing the merits of
letting it go
long before the Disney song came out and made it seem like a new concept.”

“Thanks,” I said with a huff. “Now I’ve got that song in my head.”

She stuck out her tongue. “You’re welcome.”

We both dug into our food. I considered telling her about seeing Marie trying to seduce Franco, but then Christopher joined us, and I didn’t want word to get back to his cousin, Butch.

I scanned the dining room to see if Marie was behaving strangely toward Franco, but he wasn’t there. Della sat with her brother, Dion, while Benji sat alone. Marie stayed at her buffet station, making ten times as many crepes as the group could eat.

The three of us were debating a second trip to the buffet when Dion came over, turned around the chair next to Jessica, and straddled it.

“Hey, Red.” He waggled his eyebrows, the movement causing his densely-curled hair to roll forward and back.

“My name’s still Jessica,” she said, a trace of amusement on her lips.

He picked a crumb of food from her plate and put it in his mouth. “Did Butch say anything to you about the float tanks? I bumped into him this morning, and he said he was shutting them down to do maintenance.”

She batted her eyelashes. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

His voice deep and throaty, he replied, “I hope they get fixed right away, because I can only think of one thing more relaxing than floating in those tanks with you.”