Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (33 page)

Jessica’s cheeks had color again, and she looked relieved at the news. “Case closed,” she said.

“Case closed,” the ranger said. “It’s customary for you to offer the ranger some refreshments after she goes the extra mile to hand-deliver you access to classified photos. Please tell me there’s beer on the premises, and none of that fancy stuff.”

The four of us headed toward the dining room, leaving Butch sleeping on the floor where he’d curled up.

Behind us, the lobby echoed with the sound of banging.

Someone else was at the glass doors, trying to get in.

The person was shrouded in layers of clothes, dirty, and swaying.

“I’ve seen a lot of crazy things, but that’s a new one,” Rory said. “High-heeled hiking boots. Who knew there was such a thing?”

Chapter 35
 

Jessica ran toward
the door. “Della’s back! We’ve got to let her in. Butch, wake up, you old hound dog. At least give me your keys.”

She tried to wake Butch, but to no avail. He slept like the dead. He didn’t stop her from digging through his pockets for his keys.

Della stumbled weakly into the lobby, tottering on hiking boots that really did have stacked heels. “Am I actually here?” She looked at me, Christopher, Jessica, then Rory. “Who’s the Boy Scout?”

Rory stuck out her chest. “Ma’am, I’m a ranger.”

“How’d you get here?” I asked. “Are the roads clear?”

“Not quite.” Della took off a muddy outer jacket and tossed it aside like garbage. “I had to park and hike the rest of the way through the mud, and all the trees, and there were wild animals chasing after me.”

“That can’t be true,” Rory said. “In those boots, if the wild animals on this mountain wanted to eat you, they would have. You probably just spooked yourself.”

Ignoring Rory, Della asked Jessica, “Did you know I was coming?”

“We didn’t know. You could have called your brother. He’s been worried about you. Did you come here to identify Franco? You didn’t need to do that. We’re sure it’s him.”

“My Franco,” Della said softly, then, “I need a shower.” She waited expectantly for one of us to do something about her shower needs.

Jessica jiggled the big ring of keys in her hand. “I’ve got these, so that makes me the innkeeper. What do you say to our most luxurious room, on the top floor? We’ll get some new sheets for the bed, and you’d never guess the mattress lost a battle with a meat cleaver. Follow me.”

After Jessica disappeared, the ranger lost interest in the previously mentioned refreshments and moved toward the door. “I’ll be on my way out,” Rory said. “No need to throw a parade. I can find the door handle.”

“Thank you so much for your efforts,” I said. “The police will be in contact with you directly for the photos.”

“I’m sure they will.” Rory pushed the door open, glanced down at Butch, then told us, “Remember to ration your caviar. The road crews will be back early morning, so lunch time tomorrow is the soonest you could be dug out, but don’t quote me, and don’t tell anyone I gave you an estimate.”

Christopher said, “Out by lunch time? You mean the end is in sight? I could kiss you!”

“No thank you, sir.” She tipped her hat, told us to stay safe, and left.

Christopher and I stood at the glass doors and watched her disappear into the forest.

He said, “She doesn’t even have a flashlight.”

“She might be a shapeshifter,” I said. “Part coyote. Like a skinwalker.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” he said.

“I’m making fun of the situation, not you.”

“Hanging out with your father brings out your
fun
side.”

I smiled, because he was right. “Speaking of fun, should we go see if there’s a grape or two worth of wine left in the dining room? I’ll need to speak to everyone about rationing the caviar.”

“I guess we’ll leave my cousin here, on the floor by the door.”

“He’s not much of a guard dog. When Della showed up, he didn’t even bark once.”

“But he’s a good visual deterrent,” he said.

I chuckled. “Like that horrible ceramic pot-bellied goblin your mother keeps by the front door.”

“That’s a bust of Great-Great Uncle Chester Fairchild.”

“I didn’t know you were descended from goblins.”

One hour and two glasses of chardonnay later, everyone had been caught up on the news of the aerial photos and Della’s arrival. Dion went to comfort his sister in her new room.

The whole group was in agreement that Franco must have wandered out on his own, possibly drunk or on drugs, and passed out before dying of exposure. The melting snow had shifted his body. Case closed.

Now was the time for grieving and healing. The wake continued, with everyone’s spirits raised by the idea of being dug out by noon the next day.

Marie sipped her wine at a steady pace, and Benji seemed almost normal, keeping his comments about imaginary aliens to himself.

Christopher and Jessica laughed over my quirks as a roommate—quirks I didn’t find that quirky. So what if I complained about finding human hairs on the bathroom floor half an hour after vacuuming? Were there other, better roommates who enjoyed seeing hairs on an otherwise clean floor?

We were quibbling over that very important issue when Della made her entrance.

She was dressed to kill in sparkling heels and a shimmering, ruby red dress. She must have had the change of clothes tucked in her purse, a designer bag she had over her shoulder.

“This dining room is too big and open,” Della said. “I vote we move this wake to that cozy room, the recreation room.”

Her brother said, “Only if you sing for us. That is, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Della dramatically swept her elegant long, black bangs to the side of her forehead as though in a music video. Breathily, she said, “I’ll sing Franco’s favorite song. In his honor.”

I was tired, and wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with my cat until the road crews arrived, but Jessica gave me a look that said we couldn’t refuse the wishes of someone who was basically a widow.

We gathered some refreshments and moved as a group through the lobby.

Butch woke from his nap and stretched like a dog on his hands and knees. He was surprised to see Della back at the lodge, and asked his wife if he should go to their room or come along with the group.

Marie told Dion, “You tell Butch he can attend the party, but he’d better be sitting on his hands the whole time.”

We got set up in the recreation room, and Butch turned on the karaoke system.

Della took to the stage, stunning from head to toe, with her long hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders and glittering red dress.

She said, into the microphone, “Before I do something for Franco, does anyone have a request?”

Jessica answered, “Anything you want, Della.”

Della nodded, then reached into her purse and pulled something out. Unfortunately, the object was
not
her own professional-grade microphone.

She had a handgun, a model similar to my father’s service revolver.

“I’m the one with the request,” Della said.

The room went so quiet, I could hear the soft sound of Marie setting down her wine glass.

Dion spoke first. “This isn’t the time! Della, put the gun away. I told you, it was an accident, and we need to let the police deal with everything. Put the gun down.” He started to move toward the stage, but she stomped her foot and pointed the gun at him.

“Stay back,” she said. “Don’t make me hurt you, Dion. Sit your butt in that chair, and let me do what I need to do.”

He tilted his head to the side nonchalantly. “Fine. Play out the drama. Please don’t shoot anyone, okay?”

She growled, “I can’t promise you that.”

With her extended arm trembling, Della turned to Marie and aimed the gun at her. “I said I have a special request, and it’s for you, Mrs. Fairchild, the owner of the lodge. I want you to get up here on stage and take this microphone.”

“You’re being crazy,” Dion warned.

She stomped her foot again. “Don’t make me shoot you, big brother, because I will. I know how to use this gun. I might not hit you with the first shot, because I can barely hit a tree from ten feet away, but I will do damage to something if you don’t SHUT UP AND LET ME FINISH!”

The room got quiet, and Della motioned for Marie to get up on the stage, as requested.

Marie stayed in her seat and crossed her arms. “Della, you beautiful, talented idiot. It’s all wasted on you, isn’t it?”

“Get up here and say that to my face, you washed-up old hag.”

“You pretty, gorgeous moron. The public would love you, and then they would throw you away, because you’re trash.”

While the two of them faced off, calling each other worse and worse names, Christopher caught my eye and whispered, “I can take her. You cause a distraction, and I’ll rush the stage.”

He had a look of determination on his face, and I knew him well enough to know he was going to try it, whether I caused a distraction or not. I used my knees to tip up the edge of my table, until it was angled enough to send a platter of cheese and crackers sliding toward the edge.

As the plate tilted over, time slowed down, and I heard my father’s voice in my head:
Stormy, never have a plan, because plans go wrong.

As predicted by the oh-so-helpful voice in my head, my plan went wrong.

The broken dish did cause a distraction, but only for a second. Della looked at the plate, then me, then turned toward Christopher and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening. In the stone-enclosed room, there was nowhere for the noise to go except directly into our heads.

She had her arm in the air, the gun pointed at the ceiling. Christopher hadn’t been shot, but he fell to his knees with his hands in the air. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear anything but ringing.

I scanned the room and checked that Jessica was also unharmed, and then I looked down at myself, for good measure.

Nobody had been shot, but the bullet had ricocheted off the stone ceiling and shattered a bottle of red wine. The crimson liquid wicked across the white tablecloth. Everything was too much for Jessica, and she fainted against me.

People were yelling, but I couldn’t hear anything over the high-pitched tone ringing in my ears. Nobody dared to rush Della, not even her brother, lest they share the same fate as the wine bottle. I helped ease Jessica gently to the floor. She was better off down there anyway.

My hearing slowly returned, the room’s voices a loud layer on top of the ringing.

Della said into the microphone, “Sorry about that technical adjustment, ladies and gentlemen. It wouldn’t be a real karaoke night if we didn’t have something go wrong. Please stay in your seats, because the best part of the show is just getting started. Marie is going to get up here and tell us why she killed Franco.” She gave Marie a malevolent look and beckoned her with the tip of the gun.

Marie got to her feet as though she were a marionette. She moved awkwardly toward the stage. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she cried.

Della spat into the microphone, her words amplified, “You must have poisoned him. You were the one preparing all our meals, and I know Franco wouldn’t take drugs. We made a pact to each other. And he never drank more than two or three beers, at the most.”

Marie, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to do, reached for the microphone.

“Stop,” Butch yelled. “It was me.”

Heads whipped around to look at Butch. His deep voice was loud enough to be heard over the ringing in my ears.

“Della, my good days are over,” Butch said. “The love of my life won’t even speak to me, so just go ahead and shoot me. Leave Marie out of this.”

Butch unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt and exposed the left side of his chest. He had another tattoo there, a heart, with Marie’s name in a banner.

Della took the microphone off its stand and held it to her mouth. Marie ducked her head and skulked back to her chair.

“Butch, I will shoot you,” Della said. “But first you have to admit it. Did you kill Franco?”

“I brought him to your room, and tucked him into bed next to you. I put a dead man in your bed. I thought better of it and came back a few hours later to move him again. Then you woke up, and I lied. I said I was there for you.”