Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (7 page)

“Kids these days,” I commented as I clicked the trigger to pump my gas.

“Della’s not my daughter. She’s my baby sister. Well, half sister.”

“And your half sister’s dating your friend?”

“My
best
friend.” He frowned, his round cheeks succumbing to gravity.

I glanced over at the nearby news crew. The cameraman was shooting Daphne on her own, with B-Mart in the background. I turned my back so my face wouldn’t be in the shot.

I could hear Daphne saying, “Oh my gosh, this is such a scandal! The owners of this gas station claim they had no knowledge of the contamination, but word on the street is that the elderly couple is at the heart of a chemical manufacturing scandal, and have ties to the underworld. Wait. Cut that. Start over. What does underworld mean? Is that a cult thing, like with devils?”

I snuck a look over at Dion. “Can you believe this three-ring circus?”

“Unfortunately, yes. This is exactly the sort of thing the whole town gets excited about.” He kept his eyes on the numbers displaying on the gas pump. “Did you ever find that friend you were looking for?”

“She was up a tree. Thanks for asking.” I finished refueling and hung the nozzle back on the pump. “See you around.”

“Don’t forget to use that free drink voucher.”

I promised I would then slid back into my car before Daphne and her news crew could ask me for a word-on-the-street interview.

My friends emerged from the store at the same time as the other couple. By the look of Jessica’s hand motions, she was describing to the other girl how she’d climbed a tree the night before. Della, who looked barely older than a teenager, threw back her head to laugh.

Christopher got back into the passenger seat and Jessica slid into the back.

Breathlessly, Jessica said, “Christopher, did you tell her yet? Did you?”

He answered tersely, “I’ve been in the car a millisecond.”

Jessica grabbed the back of my seat and shook it. “We’re all going up to the same resort! Della says they have a karaoke system in the recreation room. I’m going to pick out some songs right now, and then Della’s going to sing a duet with me tonight. Awesome, right?”

“Is that girl a friend of yours?” I adjusted the rearview mirror and watched as the three of them fought over who was driving and who’d be sitting in which seat.

Jessica answered, “Not a good friend, but Della hosts the karaoke nights at the Fox and Hound, and she’s so good. Stormy, you have to hear her sing. She’s totally commanding when she’s on the stage, and her voice is amazing. You have to hear her.” She shook my seat again for emphasis.

The Beetle pulled up beside us, horn honking, all occupants waving frantically. Della was at the wheel, taking a picture with one hand and steering with the other. She hit the gas and zoomed out of the parking lot, still honking.

“Colorful bunch,” I commented.

Christopher pressed a cold root beer into my hand. “Don’t be cranky. We’ll have so much fun it will feel like two days. Short ones. I bet by the end, you won’t want to leave.”

I stared after the green Beetle. “I thought your cousin’s lodge wasn’t open to the public yet.”

“It’s not,” he said. “Those must be his wife’s friends. Butch and Marie live in Seattle, but she’s originally from Misty Falls. Her maiden name was Schwartz before she became a Fairchild. Do you remember going to school with her?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell, but if she’s in her forties like Butch, we might not have crossed paths.”

Jessica shook my seat again, like an excited kid. “Marie Fairchild! I know who that is. She had a cooking show, Marie’s Cozy Kitchen. Such a shame she got cancelled. Marie just needed one big moment to open up, to demonstrate some emotion, some personality, some…
anything
, but it never happened. I guess she was too shy to be on TV.”

“Speaking of not being on TV…” I hit the gas pedal and got us out of the parking lot before Daphne and the local news crew could descend upon us.

The sun shone brightly overhead, making the weather feel more like spring than late February. The snow I’d predicted, based on the fairy rings around the moon, hadn’t transpired after all. Rain was a possibility, if the weather shifted a few degrees warmer.

We passed a number of signs warning about mudslide hazards. The first part of the route took us over well-maintained roads. We transitioned onto narrower and rougher roads until we turned onto the last stretch, which was little more than a goat trail.

My car had all-season tires and good below-car clearance, but the trio riding in the lime green Volkswagen Beetle weren’t as lucky. They fell behind and waved for us to pass them while negotiating bumpy sections warped by frost heaves.

I worried about them getting stranded, so we kept stopping to wait for them to catch up. I had a bad feeling there would be six of us crammed into my car by the time we reached the resort, but the Beetle managed to keep up. The three of us would cheer when we saw the round green car crest a rise behind us.

At long last, we came upon our destination. The resort jutted from the side of the mountain like a gargoyle. Rather than being made of the rustic logs I’d been expecting, the Flying Squirrel Lodge was all stone and glass, and more than a little intimidating.

“Swanky,” I said. “But nothing like its name.”

Jessica chimed in, “Nothing like a squirrel, flying or otherwise.”

Christopher said, “Use your imagination. See how she sits, sunk into her haunches, as though she’s about to push off and leap through the valley to that other mountain over yonder?”

“You’re right!” Jessica exclaimed.

I shook my head. Christopher was a master salesman, but I’d built up some immunity. There was
no way
that glass and stone box resembled a squirrel.

The snowy parking lot didn’t have any parking spaces delineated, so I pulled up alongside a construction trailer. I clicked the button to pop the trunk, and we all stepped out to stretch our legs.

The drive had taken longer than expected—a full three and a half hours—but now we’d arrived at the top of the world. The lodge wasn’t on the very tip of the mountain, but we were still up high enough to look over a good chunk of eastern Oregon.

There are over fifty named mountain ranges in Oregon, and countless named peaks. We stood on Flying Squirrel peak, which wasn’t even in the state’s top hundred for height, but still impressive enough to make the three of us stand in silent awe, taking in the view.

I said to Christopher, “Your cousin Butch has outdone himself. I hope the Fairchilds are proud.”

“If they get too proud, the family will need a new black sheep.”

“You’ll be the black sheep when they hear you’ve been hanging out with the likes of us.”

I stretched, touched my toes, then glanced around for Jessica. She was kneeling and petting a cat who looked an awful lot like Jeffrey. And by
an awful lot
, I mean
exactly
like him, from the tip of his nose and shiny dark lips, to the swish of his tail. The cat walked over to me and bunted his head against my shin.

“Aren’t you sweet?” I smiled down. “You could be Jeffrey’s twin.”

The cat bunted my shin again, then got so excited about rubbing my leg, he fell on his side, draping over my boot.

The Russian Blue cat was even more appreciative than my little guy had been a week earlier, when he’d gotten himself shut inside the bathroom cabinet for a whole afternoon and had to meow for me to rescue him.

In fact…

I whipped my head around. The trunk of my car was open, and the Blue Enchantment shopping bag I’d used for extra sweaters lay on its side, my packed clothes rumpled in a makeshift nest.

I stuck my hand in the shopping bag. Just as I suspected, the nest of sweaters was warm.

Jeffrey continued to lavish my shins with affection, feeling oh-so-grateful to be out of the trunk after a long, bumpy ride.

“You naughty stowaway,” I said.

Chapter 8
 

With Mr. Jeffrey “Stowaway” Blue
in my arms, we walked into the glamorous mountain resort.

The lobby pulsed with hard-hat-wearing workmen, but underneath the chaos and drop cloths were the bones of an impressive foyer. High overhead, a huge chandelier of multicolored blown glass caught the late afternoon sun’s rays. The sculpture alone, with its candy-colored bulbs and swirls, was worth the drive up. My pulse raced in anticipation of experiencing the rest of the place—assuming the staff didn’t send away people who showed up with their cats in tow.

We wove our way through the busy work site, to the pile of material most resembling a reception desk. Jessica and I waited there while Christopher went off in search of his cousin.

Jessica glanced around. “They’re a
long
way from being open.”

“I tried to warn you. Christopher’s big stories are always ten times grander than the truth.”

“We’ll have fun anyway,” she said with a smile. “You’ll see.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I left you both here, would you? I’ll come back to get you in three days, I swear.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’ve been working too hard, between setting up the new computer system at your store, plus all the stakeout stuff you’ve been doing for Logan. You need this, Stormy. When was the last time you had a vacation?”

I batted my eyelashes. “Why, Jessica, my dear, every day in bucolic Misty Falls
is
a vacation.”

“Bucolic? You make it sound like a dairy farm in England.”

Elsewhere in the large lobby, one of the workmen started up a power tool. The noise made Jeffrey squirm in my arms.

“Oh, so now you have misgivings,” I chided him. “Not when you climbed into the trunk of my car like some…
cat burglar
trying to escape maximum-security prison in a laundry hamper. What were you thinking?”

He blinked up at me innocently. If he could have talked, he would have blamed the whole thing on Officer Peggy Wiggles. She was the one who’d brought over the toys and the tantalizing catnip. When no one was watching he’d ripped open the bag and thrown a herb party to end all parties. High on the fresh supply, he must have found his way into the open trunk of my car when nobody was looking and decided to sleep it off.

On the bright side, he didn’t seem worse for wear, and now I could enjoy a getaway without missing him—assuming they let us stay.

Ten minutes later, Christopher still hadn’t returned, and the workmen continued to ignore us. When we hunted down the construction foreman and asked him nicely about rooms and keys, he said, “Sorry, ladies. As you can see, the lodge isn’t open for business yet. Do you always travel with your cat?”

Jessica looked the man straight in the eyes and said, “What cat? This is our son, Jeffrey. We’re an unconventional family.”

“I’ll say,” he said with a laugh.

After the foreman walked away, I asked Jessica to keep our
son
out of trouble while I called Logan to let him know not to worry.

Logan answered his phone on the first ring, and when I told him about the stowaway situation, he exclaimed, “He did
what
?”

I snickered. “You sound just like a dad. Don’t be mad, though. It was all Peggy’s fault, with her intoxicating catnip.”

“The little stinker! And here I was, looking forward to some quality boys’ time. Now I’m going to be lonely.”

“That settles it. I’m coming home right now. I haven’t seen a single person here who’s on staff, and by the state of the lobby, I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a bed or pillow in the joint.”

“Don’t you dare leave. I’m paying you for six hours of consulting.”

“I thought you said eight.”

“That was before you cat-napped my buddy. I miss him already.” He chuckled. “But seriously, if I’m not needed for cat-sitting duty, I might take off for a few days.”

“If you’re looking for a vacation, I can’t say enough wonderful things about the Flying Squirrel Lodge. Why, it has a roof, and a floor. Who needs rooms or beds? The view is spectacular.”

“Thanks, but I have something else in mind. There’s somebody I have to see one last time, if that’s okay with you.”

“Are you asking me as your landlady? Because as your landlady, I have no problem with you leaving the duplex for a few days, provided you don’t leave water running in your tub.”