Читать книгу The Amulet - Joanna Wayne - Страница 9

One month later

Bart Finnegan stood at the window and looked down on the lush foliage that bordered the west lawn of Fernhaven Hotel. The evergreens were dusted with white as was the grass. They’d had heavy snows up higher in the mountains, but all they’d gotten at this altitude was a few flakes.

He’d have preferred a real snow. The dusting reminded him of the powdered sugar his stepmother used to put on cakes in lieu of icing. Cakes without icing were like peanut butter sandwiches without jelly. She’d put those in his lunch tin on several occasions as well.

Odd to be thinking about that now. He hadn’t seen the woman or his father in years. Once he’d joined the Marines at eighteen, he’d pretty much put them and his past life behind him. It had been easier than he’d expected. Enemy bullets had been less scathing than his father’s constant criticism and his stepmother’s nagging.

A young couple rode by on the bike path that bordered one of the several creeks that ran through the property. They were dressed for the activity, in matching red and navy jogging suits and navy ski caps. Her long dark hair flowed behind her, even though she didn’t seem to be pedaling all that fast. The man kept turning his head around as if to make sure she was still behind him.

They were the first people Bart had seen since he’d taken this room in the west wing. Actually, the wing wasn’t even open yet, which was why the room was available. The rest of the hotel was sold out. If you build it, they will come.

The familiar phrase played in Bart’s mind. He’d never have believed that the statement would have been true of a hotel built in a secluded part of the Cascade mountains. But, apparently, the rich and famous could be drawn anywhere that they believed was the in place of the winter season, even if a female guest had been raped and murdered only a month earlier.

But then thanks to the press, most people believed she’d been killed by her husband. They were wrong.

Bart was not one of the rich and famous drawn to the hotel to see and be seen. That’s why the room in the unfinished wing fit him to perfection. The price was right, and the other hotel guests wouldn’t even know he was around unless he chose to mingle with them.

Neither would the sheriff’s department. As far as they were concerned, the gunshot wound had left him out of commission and there was no way they would ever have okayed his searching for the perp.

So he’d slip in and out of his isolated room and investigate on his own, roam the halls, listen in on conversations, nose around where he had no business. The old rules didn’t apply anymore. What the sheriff’s department didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

CARRIE FRANSEN stared at Sheriff Huey Powell, trying desperately to hold her temper, a skill she’d never been good at. “Why Rich McFarland?”

“You can’t work homicide without a partner. It’s a department rule.”

“I’ve heard you say more than once that rules are made to be broken.”

“Not this one.” He raked his fingers through his thin gray hair. “I know how close you were to Bart. That’s why I left you alone for this long, but it’s time to move on. You have to take a partner on this case.”

“Then give me Kirk.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Can’t do that, not after what I received in the mail today.” He took a clear plastic bag from the top of his desk and handed it to her. “I’m sending it out for a fingerprint check, but you can see it for yourself.”

Stop me before I kill again.

There was no signature, but the logo of Fernhaven Hotel was taped to the bottom of the note. The logo looked as if it had been torn from one of the cocktail napkins they used in the lounge.

“It could be a hoax,” she said.

“Could be, and I hope it is,” Powell agreed. “But we can’t ignore it. That’s why I need Rich on this case. Other than me, Rich’s got more years in law experience than anyone else in the department. Not only that, but he worked homicide in Seattle for ten years. We need that expertise on this case.”

“It’s taken weeks to get the people in the area to open up to me. If Rich goes in there with his tough guy, big-city cop routine, they’ll crawl back into their reclusive hideaways and refuse to give us the time of day.”

“You have more than the natives to deal with. You have the hotel staff and the guests that were there that weekend. As far as I know you haven’t ruled out anyone yet.”

“Not officially.”

“Unofficially?”

“Not unofficially, either,” she admitted.

“Then we’re wasting our time here. You’re working with Rich on this case. I’ll let him know this afternoon. Fill him in on what you have and take him up to the hotel and introduce him around.”

So that was it. A new partner—whether she liked it or not. And it would have to be the one guy in the department she’d cross the street in the rain just to avoid having to speak to him. The guy was just too arrogant for words.

Bart would laugh his head off if he were standing here right now. Only if he were here, none of this would be happening.

Sheriff Powell stood and stepped from behind his desk. He put a hand on her back between her shoulder blades. Not a hug. Not a clap like he would have given one of the other deputies. She was his only female deputy, and she was pretty sure the gender difference made him uncomfortable.

She didn’t get it, but the sheriff was pushing seventy, and he saw a lot of things differently than she did.

She could hold her own, and she’d put her shooting skills against Rich McFarland’s any day of the week. Bart had made sure of that. He’d gone with her to the shooting range several times a month, insisted that when it was crunch time, it was cop instinct and shooting accuracy that made the difference between life and death.

And sometimes even that wasn’t enough.

THE NIGHT SPARKLED with tiny white lights that winked and blinked from the tall, stately spruce trees that dotted the grounds in front of the hotel, all part of the Christmas decor.

“Pretty impressive,” Rich said. He slowed before they reached the circular drive where a crew of bellmen waited.

“Is this your first time to the hotel?” Carrie asked.

“I’ve been up here a couple of times since they finished it, but always in the daytime. The place looks different at night.”

“Is that why you wanted to wait until dark to drive up here?”

“Partly. I also had some other business to take care of this afternoon.”

He didn’t explain what else he had to do, and she didn’t ask.

“Hard to believe that a year ago, there was nothing here but woods and a few bricks from the fireplaces of a hotel that burned to the ground over seventy years ago,” she said, once again marveling at the grandeur of the hotel.

Rich nodded. “Harder to believe someone built a hotel in the exact same spot. Obviously they weren’t superstitious, which means they were probably not from around here.”

“No, but the woman who rebuilt it was a descendant of the original builder. She meant it as a monument to her ancestor and the past. That’s why she built almost an exact replica.”

“Kind of like the Titanic Two,” Rich said. “But from the looks of that parking lot it must not matter.”

He slowed as he reached the circular drive.

“I guess we should introduce you to the night security supervisor before we do anything else,” Carrie said.

“I’d like to see the spot where they found the woman’s body,” Rich said, making a U-turn and heading back the way they’d come.

“Tonight?”

“Seems as good a time as any.”

She tried to count to ten silently, but only made it to eight. “They found the body at the bottom of a ravine.”

“So?”

“It’s pitch-dark out there.”

“You scared of the dark, Fransen?”

“Of course not. I just don’t see the point in roaming the woods at night when I’ve thoroughly examined the scene in the daylight and documented all my findings. You have read the reports, haven’t you?”

“I read them, but I like to see things for myself.”

“You can’t see a lot in the dark.”

“I’ll see what the perp saw that night. And what the woman saw before she was raped, branded and murdered.”

“It’s not safe to hike that area in the dark.”

“Must be why they made flashlights.”

Smart-ass, she mouthed, her gaze straight ahead.

“You know if I didn’t know better, Fransen, I’d think those ghost tales had gotten to you and that you’re afraid to go into the woods at night.”

“Nice you know better.” But the comment got her attention. “I haven’t heard any ghost tales.”

“Then you must not be talking to the right people. The locals up here claim this area of the Cascades is inhabited by the undead.”

“The undead?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And exactly what are the undead?”

“You’ll have ask someone who believes that bull for the definitive answer, but according to Maizie Henderson they are referring to people who are no longer living, but not gone from this dimension.”

She didn’t know a Maizie Henderson. “I’ve talked to a number of locals during the course of the investigation. No one mentioned ghosts to me.”

“They’re not big on talking about their superstitions, especially to outsiders.”

“And just how would you know that, Mr. Seattle cop?”

“My grandparents lived just a few miles from here up until my parents moved them to an assisted living facility in Seattle a few months ago. My grandfather was big into mountain lore.”

Great. Now Rich was not only the authority on homicide, he was also the authority on the locals. She wasn’t sure why that irritated her so, but it did.

He slowed to a crawl. “Aren’t we near the spot where Bart stopped that night?”

“Just around the next curve.”

He took the curve, then pulled off the road and killed the engine and the headlights. A blast of cold air hit her in the face when he opened his door. She grabbed her parka from the back seat, and pulled it on as she stepped out of the car. An owl hooted somewhere above her and something rustled the grass a few feet away.

“Ready to hike?” Rich asked, cutting away a wide swath of black with the bright beam of his flashlight.

All of a sudden she had the bizarre but almost overwhelming feeling that someone was watching them. But it couldn’t be. She and Rich were the only living souls around. “I’m ready,” she lied.

He handed her a flashlight. “Want to lead the way?”

“Sure.” Lead the way right past the spot where Bart had been shot. Right to the ravine where Elora Nicholas’s body had been found, her stomach branded with some weird design. She breathed in a huge gulp of cold night air and started walking. She would not be spooked by the dark or ghost tales. Or by the icy tingles climbing her spine.

IT WAS ten past nine when Bart took the service elevator to the first floor, then followed the strains of a waltz to the Glacier Ballroom. According to information in the hotel lobby, the ballroom was the site of fabulous Christmas balls held every Saturday night in December. The soirees were acclaimed as a not-to-be-missed activity, and Bart had no intention of missing this one.

Not that he was into balls, but it was an excellent opportunity to check out the guests, at least sixteen of whom also had been guests the night the woman had been abducted, and he’d been shot. Apparently, people couldn’t get enough of this place. Considering the prices they charged, he found that pretty amazing.

But then the hotel did have an ambiance he hadn’t expected. Elegant, yet the staff was warm and friendly. Breathtaking scenery, rugged yet serene. Remote, but there was a shuttle that made a run a few times a day to the ski trails an hour northwest of here.

He adjusted the jacket of the black suit he’d “borrowed” from the servant supply closet on the first floor. The fit wasn’t great, but it would do for a waiter. For the most part he hoped to go unnoticed amid the party crowd. He was here to observe and overhear, not to be seen.

The ballroom was already crowded when he followed a middle-aged couple through the open double doors. Men in black tuxes and women in elegant dresses that swept the polished wood floor filled the dance floor and sat at white-clothed tables listening to the music and sipping champagne.

Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, and everywhere he looked there were huge bouquets of flowers and tables of food accented with delicately carved ice statues. It was a far cry from his usual Saturday night burger and a couple of beers at Jake’s Bar and Grill.

The band started a new number, this time a tune he recognized, though he didn’t know the name of it. A woman walked past him, close enough that the silky fabric of her gown brushed his fingers and the fragrance of her perfume crawled inside him and evoked a memory he’d thought was dead and buried.

It got to him a lot more than it should have. He took a few steps backward, then stopped, mesmerized by a woman across the room.

Her hair was the color of molten gold, though the strands that caught the glow of the chandeliers took on a reddish tint. It was piled high on top of her head, with curly tendrils falling about her cheeks and forehead.

Her dress was emerald-green, cut low enough to show cleavage. It fit tightly around her tiny waist, then swirled into yards of satin that didn’t stop until they reached the floor. But the jewel of the outfit hung from a silver chain around her neck, a huge emerald surrounded by pale yellow diamonds. He’d never seen anything so spectacular in all his life.

He looked around, half-expecting the rest of the people to be staring at her the way he was. They weren’t. They were dancing, filling crystal flutes with the champagne that bubbled from a fountain or snaring delicacies from the trays of waiters who meandered the ballroom.

Only he seemed to be enchanted by the woman, and not just by her physical appearance and the pendant. She had an ethereal quality about her that made it seem as if she were more dream than reality.

He started toward her. A middle-aged woman in red bumped into him. Her champagne spilled and dripped onto his slacks and the toe of his shoes. He bent to brush it off. When he looked up again the woman in the emerald gown had disappeared.

He hurried across the room, searching the crowds for a glimpse of her. When he didn’t find her, he pushed through the double doors that led to the garden. Still no sign of her.

Yet somehow he knew he’d see her again.