Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (22 page)

“Are you okay now?” I stepped into the room and hugged her. “I’m sorry we left you.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I got on the bed and Jeffrey walked on my back. It made me feel a lot better.”

Christopher was still on the patio, in the rain. “You two stay here and hold down the home base,” he said. “I’ll check the generator and be right back.”

I started to argue with him, to insist on going, but the look on Jessica’s face convinced me to stay. At least the room was far less wet than the dark forest. It wasn’t much warmer, due to the heat being off, but it was dry and came with a cat who could barely wait for me to sit down before climbing into my lap.

While we waited for Christopher’s return, Jessica filled me in on home base operations. The local ranger, Rory, had been very helpful. The torrential downpour had caused not just one mudslide, but three of them in the area. Rory had surveyed the damages with a fly-over.

“The ranger has a helicopter?” I clapped my hands. “When are we getting rescued?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s one of those remote-control things.”

“A drone? Darn. A drone might be able to airlift Jeffrey, but that’s all. And he wouldn’t even appreciate it.”

Jessica nodded knowingly. “He thinks riding in the car is bad. He would lose his mind over flying.”

“But it would be adorable. Imagine him in a little rescue sling.”

Jeffrey looked up from where he was curled on the bed and gave us suspicious eyes. He always knew when we were devising new ways to embarrass him.

Someone tapped on the patio door glass. Christopher had returned, and he had Dion with him.

“Look who I found,” Christopher said. “The generator’s fueled up and running fine, from what we can tell.”

Dion ran his hand over his curly black hair and gave us a sheepish look. “We didn’t know you three were coming back.”

They stepped inside, and I was so happy to see another guest, I hugged Dion.

He backed away from me, looking confused. “Why are you being so nice? You should hate me right now, because of what my sister did to your car. Marie told us everything.”

“You’re not to blame for what Della did.” I glanced over at Christopher, who was busy taking off his rain gear, then asked Dion, “Speaking of Della, have you heard from her? There were some mudslides on the road, and we’re all worried about her getting home safely.”

“Christopher told me,” he said. “Della didn’t even know about the mudslides. They must have happened behind her. She sent me a message about punishing Franco for making her worry about him.”

“He’s back in Misty Falls? She picked him up hitch-hiking after all?”

“Sounds like it.” He leaned over the bed and gave Jeffrey a head pat. “Here’s the fellow I’ve been hearing about. He is a cute one.” Jeffrey twisted onto his back, inviting Dion to touch his tummy. Dion knew better than to fall into the trap, and stuck to the face.

“What about Benji?” I asked.

“He’s probably asleep already,” Dion said. “I saw him in his room about an hour ago, right after the power went off. He said he was a dead man walking. I think he meant he was tired. Benji always was an odd duck. When we were kids, he asked his parents to give him a curfew, so he could blame them when he left parties early.”

He patted Jeffrey’s head one more time, then walked to the door leading to the hallway. “I suppose I’ll hit the hay as well, unless I could interest anyone in a nightcap, something special I brought up for celebrating.” He grinned at Jessica. “You can always trust the owner of a bar to have a bottle of something good.”

“Sure,” she said. “If you have enough to share with all of us.”

He said he did, and he wasn’t kidding about it being good. When Dion returned with a bottle of vintage port, even Christopher was impressed.

Dion poured the dark red liquid into four tiny glasses and handed them out. I inhaled the scent deeply in preparation for tasting.

“Declared vintage,” Christopher said as he inspected the bottle’s label. “You must really like us.”

Dion smiled proudly and explained to Jessica, “Only the finest blends from the winery’s three estates are declared. They age beautifully. This one is thirty-three. A very good age. Seasoned and also young.”

Jessica smiled at his not-so-subtle flirtations.

As for the vintage port, it was heavenly, and just sweet enough to be satisfying. To really understand the flavors, though, I would need a second glass.

The four of us loosened up with each sip, our faces lit by warm candle glow, and our hearts warmed by sharing funny stories about growing up in Misty Falls.

We all got drowsy and comfortable. Both of us women reclined on one bed, Christopher lay on the other, and Dion stretched out on the floor with some pillows and a cat who insisted that nobody else
ever
paid him any attention.

We fell asleep in those positions, in our clothes, and didn’t wake up until first light, to the sound of a rooster crowing.

A rooster crowing?

Jessica groaned and pulled her pillow over her face. “Not funny,” she said. “Who’s making rooster noises?”

“Too early,” grumbled Dion, still stretched out on the floor.

Christopher was already awake, doing yoga poses in front of the window.

The rooster crowed again, louder.

“Somebody hit the snooze button on that rooster,” Jessica said.

“That’s not a rooster,” Christopher said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“It’s your wild turkey family, come to call you back to your nesting grounds.”

“Nice one,” he said. “Get out of bed and come see for yourself.”

Chapter 25
 

We joined Christopher
at the open door just in time to see Benji run across our patio, jump on top of a boulder, and cry, “COCK-A-DOODLE DOO! I’m alive!”

He struck a comical pose with one hand on his head in the shape of a rooster’s comb. His form was dark, silhouetted against a light blue sky. The storm clouds had rained themselves out overnight, and now countless birds chirped about the glory of spring.

“COCK-A-DOODLE DOO!”

Dion stepped out to talk to his friend. “Benji, dude, have you lost your mind?”

Benji shot us a wild-eyed look, grinning as if he’d just broken out of a cell. His brown hair frizzed in a messy halo, his glasses were askew, and he wore mismatched shoes under his too-short trousers.

He answered, “I lost my mind, and I feel great! Come with me, man. Let’s watch the sun rise.”

“The sun’s already up.” Dion turned to us. “He’s snapped like this at least once before. He’ll come around, but I should probably go have a chat with him.”

“Go ahead,” Christopher said. “We’ll see you at breakfast, assuming there is one.”

“Power’s back on,” Jessica reported. She flicked the room lights on and off. “That means we have hot water. Stormy, do you want the first shower?”

I told her to go ahead, and pulled out my laptop. Christopher returned to his room to get ready.

After a quick trip to the electrical room for the security company’s phone number, I gave them a call.

The night’s power outage was the perfect cover to get the information I needed. I knew the system ran on a battery backup, but pretended I didn’t. The guy on the support line explained the backup system to me, then walked me through how to access the video feeds.

As I expected, the password was the same one Marie had given me for the network.

I thanked the guy—but not sweetly enough to rouse his suspicion—then got down to watching the footage I’d been interested in since the previous afternoon, when Marie had mentioned it.

The lodge had only three zones set up so far. One camera covered the gym, another the front lobby, and the third was the lower floor hallway—the one just outside my door.

I scrolled the feed back by sixty hours, to Sunday night, when we’d first arrived. Using the variable speed replay, I raced through footage until I got to midnight, when Dion had walked Jessica back to the room and kissed her.

After that, the hallway was empty for hours, until Butch and Franco showed up. I smiled at the appearance of Franco’s novelty T-shirt on the video. With the lighting and resolution, it looked as though he wore a real tuxedo.

Franco looked drunk, his arm around Butch’s shoulders as he leaned on him for support. His other arm swung wildly, beer spilling from the bottle in his hand. That explained the beer smell we’d detected in the hallway Monday morning.

Butch helped Franco into his room and was back out again within minutes, by himself. That happened at three o’clock in the morning. I backed up the footage to be sure.

I fast-forwarded to five o’clock, the time when Dion claimed he’d heard the sounds of a couple carrying on. Minutes after five, Butch appeared again at the end of the hall. He walked slowly down the hallway.

Was he sleepwalking? I was no expert, but he was moving unusually, taking small steps and rocking from side to side. He got to Franco and Della’s door, and entered the room. Three minutes later he stumbled out—with Della. True to his description, she was wrapped around him, her legs around his waist and her body barely covered in a short nightgown.

They kissed for two minutes, then went back inside the room. He was out again within seconds, seemingly stunned, standing still. He slowly turned his head and looked directly at the camera.

I paused the video and studied his face. He looked miserable, and he also looked wide awake. I leaned in, the screen inches from my face, and replayed the footage.

Just then, someone banged on the patio door.

I slammed my laptop shut guiltily.

At the glass door stood the man I’d just been watching on my screen, only now his smooth head looked anything but shiny. His head was smeared with mud. His face was equally grimy, and so were his clothes.

I opened the door. “Butch, what’s with the new look? Is that a mineral mask you’re trying out for the spa?”

“Cold, cold, cold.” He took small steps, barely able to lift his boots over the ridge of the door frame.

I grabbed his hand and helped him to the chair. “What happened?”

He mumbled that he didn’t know what happened. His words jumbled together over his chattering teeth. He kept mentioning a rooster, how he’d woken up to a rooster and followed the sound.

“Butch, we need to get you warmed up. I’ll get you into the tub, into hot water.”

“No water,” he said through chattering teeth. “Hell, no.”

“You must be related to Jeffrey,” I said. “That’s exactly what he says about baths.”

At the mention of his name, my curious boy jumped up onto the arm of the chair and sniffed the mud caked across Butch’s brow.

I cranked up the room’s thermostat. Butch was shivering and in rough shape, showing signs of mild hypothermia, but his breathing was strong and he didn’t seem confused when I asked him where he was.

I started getting him out of his soaked and muddy clothes. His cuffs and collar were soaked, but the water-resistant outer shell of his jacket had kept his upper body dry. His jeans hadn’t been so lucky.

Jessica finished her shower and came out of the bathroom to find me on my knees, tugging off Butch’s jeans by the cuffs.

“Holy snickerdoodles,” Jessica said. “Butch, you dirty old hound dog. You need to sign yourself up for a three-day workshop about keeping it in your pants. Keep waggling it around and you’re going to get it confiscated.”

Butch yelped and covered the front of his boxers with both hands.

“Jessica,” I wheezed over my laughter. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“That’s what they all say.” She grabbed the nearest thing—my colorful bathrobe—and pulled it on over her towel. “Why are you covered in mud?”

I grabbed the blankets from the beds and wrapped them around Butch while I explained to her what I knew, which wasn’t much.

She got Butch a glass of water and apologized. “You can see why I jumped to conclusions,” she said. “It’s because of your misbehaving that this vacation has gone off the rails.”

“I deserve everything bad that happens to me,” he said glumly while flicking the drying mud off his head. “I should be dead of exposure. I should be dead right now, after spending the whole night outside.”