Murder in Vail (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Yvette took off her leopard coat, exposing a low-cut leopard cocktail dress that clung to the voluptuous shape of the Playboy centerfold she had been a dozen years and twenty pounds ago. At thirty-nine, Yvette was seven years older than Lance. Never lucky in love and used to rejection, he still couldn’t believe he’d married Miss April, 2004. They had been married for three years, and he cherished her.

Yvette set the dog on the floor and looked at him expectantly. “Duchess needs some water.”

“I’ll get her some and then get the bags. You just relax, honey.” As Yvette settled onto the leather couch, Lance bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She barely seemed to notice as she hunted through her purse for her compact and lipstick.

After he left, a familiar sound from across the room caught Yvette’s attention. Glancing up, she saw Duchess wetting on the hardwood floor. She jumped up and grabbed the dog.

“No, no. Naughty girl,” she scolded. “Helga! Helga!”

A few moments later, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway and noticed the puddle on the floor. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Yvette.

“Helga, Duchess just piddled on the floor. Would you be a dear and clean it up?” Yvette started dabbing powder on her nose and examining her face in the compact. “Oh, and would you bring me a glass of white wine? The trip was exhausting.”

“Goldie and Silver house trained,” Helga said sternly. “You need train your dog too.”

Yvette’s brows furrowed into a frown, but her gaze didn’t leave the mirror. “Be that as it may, you need to clean up Duchess’s accident. You’re the servant, and that’s your job.”

Helga turned her back and left the room—and didn’t return to clean up after the dog.

When Lance came back in with the luggage several minutes later, he noticed immediately that his wife was upset.

“What’s wrong, cupcake?” he asked, using his favorite term of endearment for her.

“Helga was rude to me.” She pouted, crossing her arms in front of her.

Lance frowned. “What did she say?”

“I asked her to clean up Duchess’s piddle, and she wouldn’t do it. She said I needed to train Duchess. And I asked her to bring me a glass of wine. She brought it, but she banged it down on the coffee table so hard, I thought she would break the glass. Then she stormed out.”

Lance stood, pulling up his belt and tucking in his shirt. “I’ll take care of this.”

Lance walked into the kitchen and found Helga with her back to him, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hello, Helga.”

She turned around and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “Helga, did you have a problem with my wife earlier?”

Helga set down the spoon and turned to face him. “Your wife ask me to clean up after her dog. I not do that. She need house train her dog.”

“Well, Helga,” Lance began cautiously, “I don’t think that was an unreasonable request. That sounds like it would fall under your housekeeping responsibilities.”

“I not clean up after Sally’s dogs. They house trained. If dog come in house, it need be house trained.” She turned back around to the stove.

“I would appreciate it, Helga, if you would do this for us. She’s a new dog and—”

“No. I tell you I not do that.” She pointed to the end of the counter. “Paper towels over there. You do.”

At a loss for words, Lance walked over and pulled several paper towels off the roll. He frowned and gave Helga one last look, but then left the kitchen to clean up after the dog. No big deal, he told himself. I do it all the time at home.

When Yvette saw her husband come into the room with the paper towels, she wasn’t surprised. She knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up to Helga.

Chapter Ten

Stephen tried to open the door to his brother’s room, but it was locked.

He tapped lightly. “Rachel, it’s me. Let me in.”

He waited several seconds before knocking again, louder. Finally, the door opened a crack. “Rach, let me in.”

Stephen pushed open the door and stepped into his brother’s room. He glanced around and took in all the shelves of model airplanes and helicopters, the tall pile of comic books wrapped in plastic, the framed baseball cards and autographed baseballs, signed Leroy Neiman prints on the walls, and all the other treasures of Lance’s youth—many of them quite valuable.

“Rachel what are you doing?” he asked his wife. She had changed into her nightgown, an oversized pink T-shirt with the rock star Pink on the front. “We need to move into my old room,” he said matter-of-factly. “Lance is here, and you know how he is about his stuff. He doesn’t want us in his room.”

Rachel sulked across the floor and flopped on the queen-size bed.

“I’m not moving,” she insisted. “I need the balcony so I can smoke when I want to. Your mother won’t let me smoke inside the house, so the least she can do is a give me a room with a balcony so I can smoke outside.”

Stephen sat down next to her on the bed and put his arm around her.

“I know it’s not ideal, Rach, but we really do need to move into my room.”

Rachel pulled away from him and gave him a hard stare.

“Not ideal? Not ideal? You know I hate it here, Stephen. It’s so Goddamned cold, your mother can’t stand me, and I have to deal with your whacked out brother and sister. All I ask is to be able to smoke and do whatever else I need to do to cope, and you won’t even do that for me.”

Stephen began to plead with her.

“Please, Rachel. They’re my family. It’s the only time of the year that I get to see everybody. Mom would be so disappointed if we didn’t come.”

“And God forbid that mama’s boy Stephen would do anything to cross his mommy,” she replied sharply.

Stephen stiffened, offended again by the comment he’d heard too often from his wife.

“That’s not fair, Rachel. I am not a mama’s boy,” he said. “It’s not a sin to care about your mother. Just because you and your mother don’t get along—”

“Don’t you bring my mother into this!” she said, pointing her finger at him. “All your mother has to do is snap her fingers and you come running.”

Stephen rolled his eyes and stood up.

“That’s not true, Rachel, and you know it. My parents have done a lot for us, and you know I want to ask Mom to help us out again. I don’t ask that much of you, Rachel. All I ask is that you come here for a few days a year. When we’re in her house, it’s only right that we should follow her rules.”

She jumped off the bed and got in his face.

“So, you’re not going to smoke weed for these three days?” she spat. “I find that very difficult to believe. In fact, I find that absolutely impossible to believe.”

Stephen looked away from her uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted. “I’ll be discreet about it and go outside. Why can’t you just go outside when you need a cigarette?”

“Maybe you can just pitch me a tent in the front yard,” Rachel hissed.  “Outside of that, I get sick of having to deal with the whole judgmental Braddock clan every time I want a cigarette.”

Part of the problem, Stephen realized, was that Rachel had become a chain smoker. The more she had given up her other addictions, the more she smoked. He felt like he was squeezed between two giant blocks of granite. It was impossible to satisfy both his brother and Rachel at the same time.

He decided to stand firm.

“I’m sorry, Rachel, I really am. But we’re going to have to move into my room. Lance is on the warpath, and I want to keep the peace with Mom. If there was another bedroom with a balcony, we could sleep there. But there isn’t.”

He stepped toward the door and gave her as decisive a look as he could manage.

“Go ahead and pack up your things. I’m going to run down and get my bags. Dinner is in an hour. We need to change.”

Rachel just stared at him and didn’t answer.

“Okay, Rach?”

Instead of answering, she grabbed her cigarettes, yanked open the sliding glass door to the balcony, and slammed it shut behind her.

Chapter Eleven

Stephen left the bedroom door open and ran downstairs to grab his suitcase. He bumped into Lance in the living room, who was kneeling down on the floor with a paper towel, cleaning up after the Yorkie.

“I talked to Rachel. We’re moving into my room. We’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank God,” Lance said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I can’t stand the thought of all my collections being subjected to that smoke. They’re very valuable, you know.”

“Well, it’s not a problem now—” Stephen began.

“I don’t like other people messing around with my things. It’s quite upsetting.”

“I get it, Lance,” Stephen said testily. “I told you she’s moving out. Drop it.”

Stephen picked up the suitcase and climbed the staircase again. When he reached Lance’s room, the door was closed. He tried the knob. It was locked.

“Damn it, Rachel! Open this door. Now!”

No answer.

“I’m not kidding, Rachel. Open the door!”

No answer.

“Goddamn it!” Stephen knew it was no use. She did the same thing at home when she got mad. She wouldn’t come out until she was good and ready.

He left his suitcase in the hallway and started to walk slowly back down the staircase. Loaded down with all of his and his wife’s luggage, Lance was standing at the foot of the stairs. Yvette stood beside him holding her Yorkie and her purse.

Stephen stopped halfway down the staircase when he saw them.

“Uh,” he muttered, not sure what to say.

“What’s wrong,” Lance asked. “Is she out?”

“Well—not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Lance asked, his eyes narrowing.

Stephen looked away. “She’s locked herself in.”

“What!” Lance exploded. “I want that bitch out of my room.”

Stephen’s face flushed. “Don’t you call my wife a bitch.”

“What would you call her? What’s wrong with her?”

Lance dropped the suitcases and raced up the stairs, pushing past Stephen.

He ran down the hall and began pounding on his bedroom door.

“Rachel! Rachel! I need you to vacate my room immediately!”

No answer.

“Rachel! I must insist. I have valuables in my room that must be protected.”

No answer.

“Rachel!”

“What’s going on,” Glen asked, coming out of the bedroom down the hall. Gwen was right on his heels.

Lance stepped over to give each of them a hug. “Glen, Gwen, how are you? I’m sorry we have to meet this way after not seeing each other since last year, but Rachel has locked herself in my room and won’t come out.”

Glen rolled his eyes and made a circular motion with his forefinger next to his temple. “Cuckoo!”

Gwen stepped forward and rapped on the door. “Rachel! Stop acting like a child and come out of there.”

Lance said to his sister, “I don’t want Rachel in there with all of my valuables. She smokes like a chimney and who knows what else she’s on. She could burn the house down!”

Disgusted, Stephen told his brother, “My wife is not going to burn the house down.”

Sally came up the stairs when she heard them and joined the group. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Mom, do you have a key to my room?” Lance asked. “Rachel has locked herself in.”

Sally frowned and shook her head. “No, unfortunately the rooms lock from the inside only. They don’t have keys.”

Lance looked depleted. “Well, where are Yvette and I supposed to stay?”

“Take my room,” Stephen said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“There’s a new pullout couch in the study down the hall,” Sally offered.

“That sounds fine,” Stephen said.

Lance was clearly still upset. “I appreciate your giving up your room, Stephen, but Yvette is not going to be happy. Our winter boots and ski clothes are in there, and we were counting on wearing them.”

Lance gave his brother a hard look. “I want her out by morning.”

Then he knocked on the door again. “Listen up, sweetie!”

For the next five minutes, Lance proceeded to give Rachel a detailed list of objects in the room that she was forbidden to touch or move and implored her repeatedly not to smoke inside the room.

“And make sure all the smoke has been cleared from the balcony before you re-enter the room,” he said finally.

“Lancie.” Yvette’s feminine voice came from the bottom of the staircase. She was sitting on the bottom step. “Duchess is getting tired. She needs a nap.”

“Be right there, darling,” Lance cooed. He announced to all of them before hurrying down the stairs, “Yvette is
not
going to be happy.”

Chapter Twelve

Sally went to the kitchen to check on the progress of dinner. A wonderful aroma floated out from the kitchen—Helga was preparing a huge prime rib in mushroom sauce. She could hear Helga banging pots and pans around in the sink.  The minute Sally opened the door, she knew something was wrong.

“Helga, are you still upset about what Gwen said? I told you how sorry I am about that.”

Helga didn’t look up from the sink.

“Yes, I still angry. Very angry,” she said. “And I not cleaning up after that Playboy lady’s dog.”

Yvette!
Sally thought.
Every time that woman is around, she upsets somebody
.

“Yvette and Lance both try to make me clean up after dog. I not do it.”

“I didn’t know she was bringing their new dog,” Sally told her. “And you certainly don’t have to clean up after it.”

“Dog look like rat,” Helga said. “Why her rat get to stay out and our dogs get put away? Our dogs live here. This their home too.”

“I know, Helga, but the little Yorkie is afraid.”

“Goldie and Silver not hurt that dog. They friendly. Your children treat your dogs like dirt, and they treat me like dirt too.”

Sally didn’t know what to say. She knew there was truth in what Helga was saying.  “Helga, I’m so sorry. I’ll speak to them.”

“It do no good. They always like this. Even after all these years, they still treat me this way.”

Helga dried her hands and turned to look Sally squarely in the eyes.

“I sorry, Sally, but I quit.”

Helga was quick to anger and slow to forgive. But this time seemed different. She had never quit before.

“No, no, Helga. Please don’t quit. They’ll only be here a few days, and then they’ll be gone.”

Helga shook her head stubbornly. “But they always come back. They your family. I not. I sorry, Sally. I finish cooking dinner, but I not serving them.”

“You don’t have to serve them. That’s fine. But please don’t do this, Helga. What would I do without you? You’re my best friend.”

A tear rolled down Helga’s cheek. Sally had never seen her friend cry before. “You my best friend, too, but I can’t be treated like this. I have dignity.”

Sally stepped forward to hug her, but Helga turned away. “I going to pack tonight and leave in morning.”

No matter how much Sally tried to convince her housekeeper to stay, Helga was determined to leave. Sally felt sick.