Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (20 page)

While we were talking, Marie emerged from the front door and ran toward us, her red rubbery clogs splashing through the mud.

“Now what’s the matter?” Marie demanded. Her words were slurred, and her eyes unfocused.

“She wants to leave,” I explained. “I’m going to move my car so she can go.”

Marie slapped the keys out of my hand, into the mud.

She snarled at Della, “What’s wrong with you? Are you pouting because you’re not getting enough attention from all the men? Why even wear a dress at all? Why not prance around here naked?”

Della turned to me and whipped off her sunglasses so she could glare directly into my eyes. “You told her about me and Butch.”

I tried to signal Della to calm down, to let her know that I’d done no such thing, but we could all barely keep our eyes open with the stinging sleet.

Marie jumped in with a drunken, “Stormy’s the best detective around, and she’s my friend. She tells me everything.”

Della wiped a layer of rain from her face and squared up to Marie. “I know about you and your crush on my man. You think I don’t check his phone? Maybe if you weren’t so busy sending Franco messages about some TV chef you’re jealous of, you could be taking better care of
your
man.” She leaned forward, getting her face right in Marie’s. “If you kept a tighter leash on Butch, he wouldn’t be sneaking into
my
bed.”

Marie recoiled, drew back her right arm, and tried to punch Della. Luckily for Della, she missed. Unluckily for me, she punched me right in the solar plexus. I’d been on guard for blows from Della, not Marie. I sank down into the mud.

On the plus side, I found my keys.

What happened next sounded like a dozen tomcats fighting in an alley, and ended with Marie falling on top of me. In my struggle to get up, she mistook my movements for aggression, and started wrestling me. She had the upper hand, and shoved me face-down into the mud, one arm twisted behind my back.

From that position, I watched Della rev her car and drive it right into my bumper. She backed her Beetle up, then rammed my car repeatedly until it rolled forward enough for her to squeeze by.

I flung Marie off my back and got to my feet just in time to watch Della’s taillights disappear around the bend.

Chapter 22
 

I returned to
the room caked in mud, looking like some wild forest creature in search of a human victim.

Jessica took one look at me and said, “New spa treatment?”

“Hah! We’ll see how funny you are when I’m eating your brains.”

“What happened? Did you fall down the side of the mountain?”

I groaned and rubbed my ribs. “More like the mountain fell down on me,” I said. “Actually, it was Marie. She might look harmless, but she gets
mean
when she’s drinking.”

Jessica helped me into the tub so I could get undressed without messing up the room. I told her about my day so far. She already knew about the smashed patio door and extra-marital activity between Butch and Della. I filled her in on Marie’s suspicions regarding Butch’s calls to the insurance company about liability for accidental deaths on the premises, and the existence of security footage from the hallway outside our room.

She held her hand to her mouth. “You’ll see me kissing Dion if you watch that footage.”

“I’ll fast-forward the mushy stuff,” I promised, then I told her about finding Butch in the empty float tank, and how he swore his body contact with Della had been minimal. By contrast, Della had painted a much more shocking image when she’d gotten into the catfight with Marie. I didn’t know who to believe.

Jessica asked, “Why would Della even feel threatened by Marie? So what if she and Franco were sending messages about cooking shows. You and I do that sort of thing all the time. It’s what friends do.”

“But a friend doesn’t lure a friend up to the honeymoon suite on the top floor, then whip off her gray dress to reveal some very complicated underwear.”

Jessica’s bright blue eyes widened. “Marie did that?”

“Last night. I was outside chasing Jeffrey up a tree when I saw them in the upstairs room and heard everything.”

She blinked. “Everything?”

“Franco left before things got X-rated, but he promised he would meet her up there again tonight.”

She took my clothes as I passed them to her and rinsed them in the sink while I started the shower.

After a few minutes, she said, “I think everything around here has gotten weird enough to justify going home early.”

“We can stay if you want. You and Dion are looking cute together, and I wouldn’t want to pull you apart.”

“He is sweet, which is a good reason to try that whole hard-to-get thing. If he wants to take me out, he can do it back in Misty Falls.”

“We’re going?”

“We’re going. I’ll talk to Christopher. I can tell him everything, right?”

“Sure, but before you do, there’s one more thing.” I peered around the shower curtain at her. “Christopher made a move on me.”

“Of course he did.”

She didn’t look at all surprised.

She left the washroom to go talk to him and get our things packed.

I took my time washing the mud out of my hair.

Christopher wanted me back. He’d been sweet and fun, hardly irritating at all, during the whole trip. And now his face was connected to the body of a swimsuit calendar model.

Yes, things had gotten very weird, indeed.

Christopher and Jessica were both packed when I emerged from the washroom in clean clothes. Even Jeffrey was ready to go, sitting on my closed suitcase, grooming his ears.

I grabbed him in my arms. We all left the room, walking fast. We didn’t see anyone in the hallway. We found Marie in the lobby. She was sitting on a pile of construction materials, and still caked in mud. If it hadn’t been for the glass of wine moving to her lips, she could have been a sculpture.

“You can’t leave now,” she said.

We set our room keys on the reception desk, thanked her for the hospitality, and apologized for ducking out early.

“You’ll be sorry,” she said. “The roads are probably in ruins, just like my marriage.”

Christopher said, “If you cared so much about your marriage, why were you trying to sleep with your buddy Franco?”

She gasped and sloshed the wine from her glass at him. She’d worn herself out wrestling with me in the mud, though, so the white wine fell six feet short of us.

Jessica chided Christopher for opening his mouth about the attempted tryst. “That was for your information only,” she said as she whacked him on the upper arm. “How does anyone trust you with corporate secrets if you can’t keep something under your hat for ten minutes?”

“Butch is family,” he said.

“That’s right,” Marie slurred. “Family.”

“We should be going,” I said.

Marie refilled her glass and held it up. “To the Fairchild family.” She paused dramatically. “You all suck.”

As far as toasts went, it wasn’t the most artful one I’d heard, but what it lacked in poetry, it made up for in emotion.

On that note, we left.

The roads were muddy and difficult to see in the sleet.

Our pace was barely faster than walking, but I felt better with each mile between the resort and us. After every tight corner, I expected to see Della’s green Beetle stalled on the edge of the road, but there was still no sign of her when the sun set.

Conversation in the car revolved around neutral topics, such as how much pizza we were going to order when we got home. We’d missed lunch, partly because the chef had been too intoxicated to make it, and we’d missed dinner as well.

Christopher sat in the back seat with Jeffrey, who was on his best car behavior—yowling only every seven and a half minutes.

We had just divided up the Junior Mints from my purse when I heard a familiar digging sound behind me.

Christopher groaned. “Your cat needs to use the bathroom.”

“That’s what the box is for,” I said.

“Oh no,” he groaned.

Jessica said, “Don’t make eye contact with him.”

Christopher clamped his hand over his eyes. “Is it happening?”

Jessica leaned over the seat. “Hang in there, Christopher. It’s nearly over. He just has to bury it.”

“The smell,” Christopher said. “I’m gagging. Pull over. I’ll walk home. Let me out.”

I pulled the car to the side of the road. The rain was still coming down, but it had eased to a light sprinkle. I suggested he remove the problem from the litter pan rather than give up on the car entirely.

He hopped out with the plastic bin and set it on the road, in the glow of the headlights, then stared down at it.

Jessica said, “He’s never had a cat, has he?”

“No, but he is really smart. He’ll figure it out.”

“What’s he doing now? Oh, he’s harvesting something from that tree. A pine cone? What’s he going to do with that?”

“Not much,” I said after a moment. “Look, now he’s thinking. He’s getting himself a branch. That’ll work.”

“It’s a shame he didn’t get a forked sort of branch, like from that pine tree. That’s just a long, straight stick. What’s he doing?”

“He’s using it like a skewer.”

“No, he wouldn’t!”

“Jessica, take a picture. Yes, he is. And look, now he’s holding it up for us, like a prize. Doesn’t he look proud?”

She took a photo with her phone, then I lowered my window to tell him to speed it along. The sound of thunder rolling through the mountains obliterated my words.

Christopher took one look over his shoulder, then waved his free arm wildly as he ran back to the car and threw himself in.

“Hit the gas!” he yelled over the endless thunder.

Small pebbles pelted my car’s roof, followed by medium-sized pebbles.

Jessica yelled, “Mudslide!”

Christopher yelled, “Drive!”

Jeffrey just yelled.

I threw the car in reverse and hit the gas. The road was even more challenging in reverse, with everyone screaming, but I kept us on the narrow path until we were beyond the mudslide warning sign we’d passed when the sand-digging had begun.

I stopped the car and we waited until the rumbling ceased. The night became quiet. Everyone had stopped yelling. The rain hit the roof with a pleasant pitter-patter.

We drove forward again, but didn’t make it far before we encountered a muddy pile of destruction. The road was impassable, covered in dirt, rocks, and old-growth fir trees, snapped and split like kindling.

Without a word, I did a multi-point turn and headed back to the lodge.

Everyone was quiet, even the cat.

Maybe the mudslide wouldn’t have killed us, or maybe if our timing had been different, we would have been well past the danger zone. But none of us were ready to admit that a stinky cat poop had just saved our lives.

Chapter 23