Fire Angel (4 page)

“Welcome to Paradise. Everything is ready; if I could just have your credit card?” He had an incredible smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners involving his whole face in the gesture of warmth and welcome. Why was it that a man's wrinkles were sexy, character building, while a woman's just made her look old and frumpy?
Crow's feet — isn't that what they're called? Another example of the inequality of the sexes,
she thought.
They never advertise wrinkle cream for men!

Alexis handed over her agency credit card, signed the paper authorizing the expense, and pocketed the large brass key he had given her.

“Generally, we can't use the electronic locks on the cabin doors at this time of year; there's too much moisture from the ice and snow.”

“That's okay.” She smiled. “I don't know how long I'll be here, and if the weather changes … ”

He offered to help with her luggage, but she thanked him, and said she could manage. She usually traveled light; besides, she didn't plan on taking everything out of the car tonight. Her duffel bag, camera, and computer would do; the rest she'd unload in the morning.

She inquired about the hours for the restaurant attached to the motor inn.

“We stop serving dinner at nine, but snacks are available until eleven,” he said. “We open for breakfast at six.”

She nodded, thanked him again, and went out to the car. Having that piece of eye candy around to admire and drool over might help her deal with the stress that she was sure would surface while she was here; in fact, just seeing him made her feel better. The headache she had anticipated thanks to the horrendous drive seemed to have disappeared, and she felt more relaxed than she had all day.
Who says candy isn't good for you?
Maybe once she had dinner, she might look up her so-called partner.

She pulled the key out of her pocket and checked the number.

“Great,” she sighed. As luck would have it, her assigned cabin was the one furthest from the motor inn itself. It looked ominous outlined as it was against the trees, with the low fog hovering above the stone walkway — a setting straight out of a gothic novel.

The only light visible was the multicolored glow from the neon sign. Swallowing a mouthful of discomfort, she got into the car and drove across the parking lot until she was as close as she could get to her door. She grabbed her stuff from the back seat, and locked the vehicle. The headlights would stay on for sixty seconds, giving her ample time to get the key in the lock, open the door, and turn on the light.

She walked up the fieldstone sidewalk to the cabin door. She wasn't sure whether the iron grillwork over the cabin's windows made her feel safe or imprisoned. The vision of being trapped in a burning cabin came vividly to mind. She couldn't help but wonder if they were trying to keep someone in or something out.

Alexis unlocked the door, pushed it open with her hip, flipped the two switches, and smiled. Now this was more like it! A soothing yellow glow bathed the exterior of the cabin and soft white light revealed a beautiful interior. Unlike most generic hotel rooms, the cabin was quaint, rustic, but not lacking in modern conveniences, and smelled of spring breezes rather than disinfectant. The small efficiency kitchenette had a fridge, microwave oven, and coffee maker with several coffee and sugar packets beside it. Someone had kindly stocked the fridge with a variety of beverages including a selection of premium beer. She grabbed one, twisted the cap, and took a deep swallow.

The living room had a desk and chair on a half wall that revealed part of the bedroom, a sofa and recliner facing a forty inch flat screen television, below which was a natural gas fireplace, the only source of heat in the cabin. She raised the thermostat, flipped the switch, turning on the blower, and rubbed her cold hands together.

On the coffee table, someone had placed a gift basket heaped with fresh fruit. The tag said: “Compliments of the Paradise Motor Inn.” She helped herself to a banana. Bananas and beer — an odd combination, but after the day she'd had, anything worked.

She took her duffel bag into the bedroom and tossed it onto the queen-size bed. She turned on the table lamp beside it. Close inspection of the window showed that the grillwork could be released from the inside by flipping a latch. She tested it to ensure that it worked and then relocked the window.

The bathroom contained a Jacuzzi tub as well as a separate shower, and a white cuddly spa robe she would have expected to find in a fancy city hotel. Top quality toiletry samples and a hair dryer sat on the vanity next to the toilet.

The cabin was decorated in beiges and rusts, muted earth tones that seemed perfectly suited to its log walls and pine floors covered here and there by braided scatter rugs. Pictures on the wall were reproductions of Canadian Shield landscapes by the Group of Seven. All in all, this would be a comfortable, restful place from which to launch her investigation. Her days might be hectic, but her evenings and nights would recharge her, and if she could hook up for coffee with that yummy clerk, that would be a bonus. She thought longingly of the Jacuzzi, but her rumbling stomach had a different agenda.

Alexis checked the time on the clock beside the bed. The restaurant would stop serving dinner in less than an hour. Since she hadn't eaten since leaving the airport in Toronto, her grumbling stomach warned her that, despite the banana she had inhaled, it would require more nourishment before morning.

She fluffed her hair, added mascara to the lashes of her blue-green eyes, and redid her lipstick. She decided against changing her clothes, and grabbed her jacket, an umbrella, and a flashlight from her bag. She left the lights on in the bedroom, and living room, turned off the fan and lowered the thermostat slightly on the fireplace. She left the outside light on, and locked the door behind her.

The late November evening was cool; no doubt there would be snow sooner rather than later this year. She seemed to remember that there was usually snow by now. She thought back to the winters that she had spent here before her parents had died. The ugliness of those last few years with Uncle Nick had not destroyed the memories of the beauty and majesty of the snow-covered hills and trees.

By the time she reached the restaurant on the far side of the inn, her ears and fingers were numb. The cabins had been somewhat sheltered by the white pine trees that grew around them, but the parking lot was open to the brisk north wind. She would have to get a hat and some gloves.

She pulled open the foyer door and crossed the lobby to the restaurant, disappointed that the hunky clerk was no longer working the desk. On the walk over, she had fantasized about flirting with him, maybe making a date to have coffee together when his shift was over.

The interior of the restaurant was designed in such a way that its uncovered sliding doors and windows overlooked the wraparound veranda. A gas fireplace in the far corner provided much appreciated heat. Tables of various shapes and sizes, covered by black and white printed cloths, dotted the room.

“Hi! Table for one?”

“Yes, please. I just checked in; I didn't think you'd be so busy.”

“Neither did we,” chuckled the girl. “I'm Cyndi; I'll be your server. It's funny how bad weather brings in more customers.”

Alexis looked around the room. Paradise, population 15,000 in summer when the cottagers were in residence, just over 12,000 the rest of the year, would not have too many inns and restaurants open this time of the year. Although the inn was located about thirty minutes from town, it appeared to be a popular dining destination.

The girl handed her a menu. “I'm afraid we're out of prime rib, but we have some steaks going for the same price. What can I get you to drink?”

“A glass of white wine would be nice,” Alexis answered.

“Sauterne or Chablis?”

“Chablis, please.” The waitress left to fill the order.

Alexis perused the menu and opted for pasta primavera, Caesar salad, and garlic bread. She continued to study her fellow diners as she sipped her wine, enjoying the crisp palate.

Most of the people were in couples or groups of four. There was a solitary diner finishing his meal and reading his electronic notebook, oblivious to his surroundings. She noticed four men of various ages sitting together at a table overlooking the gorge, probably one of the best tables in the house during the summer. They had turned as one and given her the look when she had entered the room.
Great, I've caught the eye of the local Romeos,
she thought.
Wonderful!

She ignored their leers and finished her perusal of the room. She didn't mean to be snobbish, but she'd learned the hard way that any kind of response would no doubt bring one of them running, and their attention was the last thing she needed. A young family with two toddlers sat near the windows; the parents looked frazzled, but the kiddies seemed raring to go. The darkened surfaces reflected the interior of the restaurant and Alexis was grateful that the Lotharios and the windows were not in her direct field of vision. Tonight, her fertile imagination would conjure up all kinds of nastiness in the blackness outside.

She saw the desk clerk come into the restaurant and smiled at him. He nodded, returned her smile, and walked over to sit at the bar. On anyone else, the plaid shirt and dark jeans might make him look unkempt, but he wore them as if he were posing for the cover of GQ.

I should have asked him to join me,
she thought taking another sip of wine.
Yeah, right! Who am I kidding? A great looking guy like that is probably married anyway — like Bob, the creep.

She was thirty with a loudly ticking biological clock. The problem was that she wanted the kidlets, but at this point in her life, the hubby was an option she didn't need. Lots of women were single mothers these days. After all, if she got that promotion, she'd travel less. What she needed was the sperm, not the whole package. Given her last romantic debacle, and that had been two years ago, she was not marrying material. Most of the men she met felt threatened by her independent streak, her dedication to her job, and the trust issues she had — a holdover from her younger days.

She looked over at the bar and watched the desk clerk chat up the bartender. Now, for him, she might be willing to change her mind. He would make a beautiful baby that was for sure. She let her thoughts ramble along those impossible lines as she began her meal.

She had just finished her salad when an elderly man approached her.

“Excuse me,” he said, sitting across from her, putting an end to her pleasant musings.

“I don't want to disturb your dinner, but we're almost ready to go, and I wanted to speak to you before we did.” He pointed to the woman at a table across the room from hers. The woman waved. “You are Alexis Pruett, aren't you? You look just like your mother.”

Alexis blanched.

“Michaels, it's Michaels now,” she said, somewhat disconcerted that she had been recognized so quickly; she had forgotten about the possibility of a family resemblance. She had been ten when her parents had died; she did not remember them well.

“I'm sorry; you have me at a disadvantage,” she continued.

“I'm Allan Sinclair. I'm not surprised; it's been at least sixteen years. Are you here for a visit or have you come back to stay? I'm sure Nick will be thrilled either way,” he said.

“No, I'm here for work, Mr. Sinclair,” she replied.
And I have absolutely no intention of staying, let alone spending any time beyond what is absolutely necessary with my uncle,
she thought.

“I'm sure that Nick will be happy to have you here for as long as you can stay. Well, if you decide to stick around, give us a call; Mildred and I would love to have you come by for dinner.” He handed her a card.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Alexis noted that Mr. Sinclair worked for a real estate company.

“If I decide to stay, I'll be sure to let you know.” She thanked him. He smiled at her, moved away, and resumed his own seat.

She finished the rest of the pasta, surprised that she had eaten it all. The meal had been delicious. She pushed her plate away and swallowed the last mouthful of wine. She leaned back in her chair, letting her thoughts drift.

She barely remembered her parents; their indistinct images were shadows on the edge of her mind. They had died in a bush plane crash shortly after her tenth birthday. No one had been able to determine why the small plane had plummeted into Lake Huron, but if she had been the investigator, she would have figured it out. It was one of the forces that had propelled her into this line of work. She solved puzzles; everyone deserved answers.

She opened the vault to the other memories that she had kept locked away all these years — memories of a sadistic, alcoholic uncle, her father's brother. She was not really surprised to learn that Uncle Nick was still alive.
How did that go? Only the good die young; that monster will probably live forever.

“Excuse me, Ms. Michaels?” asked one of the bus boys.

“Yes?” she answered.

“This is for you.” He handed her an envelope.

“Thank you.” She fished a two-dollar coin out of her pants' pocket and handed it to him. She tore open the envelope and slipped out the sheet of paper, expecting it to be a message from her profiler-partner. Instead, she found a threatening note.

Alexis,

You'll live a lot longer if you get back in that rental car of yours and leave like you did before. Forget about this case; it's none of your concern; otherwise, that moose will be the least of your worries. You got lucky tonight; if you get in my way, you won't.

Fire Angel

Alexis stared at the note and shivered. Someone who knew her was behind this? Someone who had been out there on the highway with her? Her stomach clenched and roiled. Suddenly, she worried that she might lose that delectable meal.