Читать книгу Murder at Eagle Summit - Virginia Smith - Страница 12

Despite the late hour when she finally fell asleep, Liz’s body refused to conform to the two-hour time difference between Kentucky and Utah. Her eyes popped open at six o’clock in the morning.

“Nooo!” She turned over in the bed and covered her head with a pillow to block the sight of the despicable red numbers glaring at her from the alarm clock. Four hours’ sleep was definitely not enough, not with the busy day in store for her.

But a return to sleep proved impossible. Her body told her it was after eight, high time to be up and about. With a resigned sigh, she heaved herself out of bed and stumbled, bleary-eyed, to the bathroom for a shower.

Thirty minutes later, dressed and as ready to face the day as she would ever be, Liz headed for the kitchen of the two-bedroom condo Cousin Debbie reserved for them. The place wasn’t fancy, but diehard skiers typically didn’t care, as long as they had a bed and someplace to dry out their ski clothes at night. The furnishings in the sitting area, an attractive sofa and love seat combo, were clean enough to satisfy even the fastidious Jazzy. The coffee table boasted a few small dings and dents, but the dust-free surface gleamed, and the lemony scent of polish lingering in the air spoke well of the housekeeper’s attention to detail.

The door to the second bedroom was closed. Jazzy and Caitlin were apparently still sleeping.

At least some of us will be rested today, the lucky dogs.

Liz searched the cabinets in the compact kitchen. A set of dishes—two sizes of plates, cereal bowls, mugs with saucers—lay neatly stacked in one, and an assortment of glasses in another. The rest of the cabinets were empty. A coffeemaker sat on the counter, taunting her with its empty carafe.

Wish I’d remembered to pack some coffee. We’re going to the grocery today no matter what.

Liz grabbed her purse and headed for the lobby.

Though the town of Park City boasted many timeshares, condos and hotels, the lodge at Eagle Summit was situated adjacent to the main chairlift of the small, privately-owned ski resort. Out-of-town skiers loved being able to walk a mere hundred feet from their condos to the lift. And a city bus stopped right in front of the lodge, if guests chose to ski at the bigger and more famous area resorts, Deer Valley and Park City Mountain Resort.

Liz preferred Eagle Summit. During her years in college, she’d skied here fairly often. Eagle Summit had fewer chairlifts and not as much in the way of vertical terrain as the more well-known resorts, but Liz had always enjoyed the wide, tree-lined slopes that management kept meticulously groomed. And the lower price college kids paid for a day pass counted for a lot.

Liz remembered one time when she and Tim were skiing—

She skidded to a halt on the stone-tiled floor as she entered the lobby area. No! I will not take a stroll down Memory Lane!

Being back in Utah, and especially up in Park City where Liz had spent so much time with Tim, would trigger a lot of memories if she allowed her mind to wander in that direction. Which she did not intend to do.

In the lobby a dark-haired woman sat behind the front desk, a highly polished counter to the right of the main entryway. She looked up when Liz entered, nodded, and went back to whatever she was doing. Liz scanned the lobby. Wouldn’t you think they’d have coffee set up for the guests who don’t want to fix their own up in their rooms? She couldn’t see any, though.

Beyond the front desk was a coffee shop with no sign of movement in the darkened interior. A copy of today’s edition of USA TODAY rested on the floor in front of the glass door. She spotted a small sign that said they’d open at seven. A wave of irritation tightened her lips, but she forced herself to relax. She’d been up for almost an hour already without coffee; another ten minutes wouldn’t hurt her.

She wandered in the direction of a huge stone fireplace in a cozy sitting area that took up one corner of the lobby. Overstuffed chairs and a big, comfy-looking sofa were clustered around a furry bearskin rug, while a giant moose head stared mournfully at her from above a rough wooden mantle. Though dead animals wouldn’t be Liz’s first choice of room décor, in a lodge-type setting, with thick cedar beams crisscrossing the high ceiling, it worked. She crossed to stand in front of the hearth, enjoying the heat still emanating from a few ash-covered embers in the grate. To the left of the fireplace, three floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the deserted slopes. The morning sun was starting to lighten the sky but had not yet managed to climb above the mountain peaks. Deep shadows covered the snow-packed ski area.

A jingle behind her made her turn. A fiftyish man dressed in a dark gray suit strode across the lobby fingering a huge set of keys and mumbling to himself. He approached the coffee shop, picked up the newspaper and fitted a key into the lock, his lips moving as he muttered.

Finally. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would chase the heavy tiredness out of her limbs. Liz followed the man through the door.

“Oh.” He turned a startled look her way, which he immediately replaced with a professional smile. “Good morning. I’ll bet you’re looking for a cup of coffee.”

Well, duh. That’s why I’m in a coffee shop. But Liz returned his smile and managed a pleasant, “I sure am.”

“It’ll take me a minute to get it started. The girl who was supposed to open this morning just called in sick, so I’ve got to…” He disappeared into a room behind the serving counter. The drone of his voice continued, though Liz couldn’t make out the words. The overhead lights flickered on, brightening the room considerably. A second later he reappeared, a foil packet in each hand. “But at least you know it’ll be fresh.” He held the packets up for her inspection. “Regular or decaf?”

Liz didn’t hesitate. “Definitely regular.”

“Coming right up.” He whirled around to a metal commercial coffee machine on the back counter and pulled an oversize filter off a stack on a shelf above it. “I haven’t seen you before. Have you been at Eagle Summit all week?”

Liz paced to the far end of the counter to peek into a glass display case. Parchment-covered trays lined two shelves, empty except for a couple of bran muffins. Her stomach threatened to rumble, but there was no telling how long those muffins had been there.

“No, my friends and I arrived last night.”

He slid the basket of coffee grounds into place and pressed a button. The high-pitched sound of water running through pipes began as he turned toward her and extended a hand across the counter. “I didn’t think I’d seen you before. I’m Greg Harrison. My wife and I own the place.”

Surprised, Liz shook his hand. “You own the lodge?”

He waved toward the back wall, beyond which lay the ski area base. “And the resort. Well, us and the bank, of course. We bought it a couple of years ago.” He glanced at the muffins in the case. “Oh, don’t even think about eating those. The bakery should be here with their daily delivery any minute.”

Liz slid into one of the tall wooden chairs as he pulled the old muffins out and wadded up the crumb-covered parchment paper. Eagle Summit must be a smaller business than she thought, if the owner had to step in when a coffee shop worker called in sick.

He chatted as he wiped the trays down and lined them with fresh paper. “My wife oversees the ski resort, and since my background is in the hospitality industry, I take care of the lodge.”

“You both must stay pretty busy.”

“You know it.” He flashed a grin in her direction as he slid an empty tray back into the case. “But at least we love what we’re doing.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers in the air. “You’re with the Carmichael wedding party!”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

He grimaced. “I wish I could say we have so many reservations that it’s hard to keep track of all the guests, but that wouldn’t be true. We’ve been looking forward to this wedding for months. Besides, you look like you’re related to the bride.”

“She’s my cousin.”

His smile brightened. “Ah, then you’re the musician from Tennessee.”

“Kentucky, but yes.”

“I’m eager to hear what you think of our new reception room. I hope the acoustics are okay. Your cousin’s is the first wedding we’ve held in it since we remodeled.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

He flashed an absent smile in her direction and went into the back room again. The odor of fresh coffee permeated the air and Liz watched the carafe fill with the dark liquid.

Mr. Harrison returned with a pitcher of cream and a container full of sweetener packets just as the stream of coffee slowed to a drip.

“There you go.” He set an oversize mug on the counter in front of her. “Those fresh muffins should be here any minute.”

Liz sipped her coffee black from the mug. Ah!

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m meeting the bride for breakfast at eight.” She lifted the mug in a mock salute. “This is perfect until then.”

She picked up her mug with one hand and retrieved the newspaper from where he’d tossed it on the counter, then selected one of the six tables lining the wall. The chairs were spindly and narrow, a fifties diner–type look with red vinyl seat cushions. Liz indulged in a broad smile as she imagined Grandma’s reaction to their insufficient width when she arrived in…she glanced at her watch…about forty minutes.

The bedroom walls were closing in on Tim. For the millionth time he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Six minutes since the last time he checked. Twenty-seven minutes since the time before. And one hundred eighty-four minutes since he first woke at 3:07 a.m. with his brain whirling around the thought he could not banish. Liz was here, at Eagle Summit Resort just a few minutes away. He would see her today.

Lord, does she ever think about me?

Dread and anticipation churned together in his gut. How would she react when she saw him?

With a jerk, he threw off the blanket and rolled out of bed. His mind had become his enemy, this room his prison. He had to get up, get moving. A hot shower would do him a world of good, clear his head.

He flipped the wall switch and light flooded his sparsely furnished bedroom. Two steps took him to his dresser, where he gathered his clothes. As he slid the drawer shut, his gaze fell on a small black box nestled amid the odds and ends on the surface of his dresser. What perverse sense of self-punishment stopped him from getting rid of the thing three years ago, like he should have? He’d started to a dozen times. As long as he kept it where he could take it out and look at it every so often, moving on was impossible. But something always held him back.

Swallowing hard, he picked up the box and hesitantly opened the lid. The diamond caught the light and winked at him from its bed of black velvet.

Maybe this weekend he could finally get some closure, put the past behind him.

Tim snapped the box closed and held it for a moment in his hand. Then he set it back on the dresser.

Two refills later, when she had read every interesting article in the paper and had just started on the sports section out of desperation, a familiar figure finally stepped through the doorway.

“Liz! I’m so glad to see you!”

Liz stood as Debbie raced across the room to gather her in a hug. Liz returned the embrace with as much enthusiasm as the bride-to-be. It had been far too long since she’d seen Debbie. Though they’d been in constant touch through e-mail, she realized with a sudden rush of emotion just how much she’d missed her cousin and college roommate—far more than she had allowed herself to realize.

Her hands lingered on Debbie’s arms after their fierce embrace ended, and she looked her cousin over. Debbie was largely unchanged. If anything, she was prettier than ever, with her thick, dark hair falling well past her shoulders, and bangs accenting her round eyes.

“You look fantastic,” Debbie said at the same time Liz gushed, “You’re going to be a beautiful bride!”

Their laughter mingled, and three years melted away.

“Ahem!”

An indignant voice cut into their reunion. Liz, her back to the new arrival, took a deep breath and rolled her eyes at Debbie, who bit back a giggle. Steeling her expression, Liz turned to face the third-most-dreaded encounter of the weekend.

“Grandma, you look wonderful.” She knew her voice gushed, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You haven’t aged a day.”

Actually, she hadn’t. Her grandmother looked exactly the same as she had three years ago. Finger curls of steel-gray hair still clung tightly to her scalp. The same knowing, brown gaze pierced Liz like a laser beam. And the floral-print dress she wore, not to mention the support hose and sturdy black shoes, were as familiar as Liz’s own wardrobe. Only a lot older.

“Elizabeth. I’m glad you decided to show up. I half-expected you wouldn’t.”

Yeah. Same Grandma.

The old lady accepted a kiss of greeting, then pulled out a chair and examined the small cushion with a jaundiced eye. Liz hid a smile as Grandma pushed the chair back under the table and turned toward Mr. Harrison, who hovered behind the counter, watching their reunion.

“I believe we’ll take our coffee out on the sofa in the lobby. Can you send someone to build up the fire?”

“Of course, Mrs. Carmichael. I’ll bring a tray out immediately.” His tone was deferential. Apparently Mr. Harrison had encountered Grandma before this morning.

Debbie linked arms with Liz as they followed Grandma to the lobby. “How was your flight? Everything okay with your room?”

“The flight was uneventful,” Liz told her, “and the room is great.”

She’d barely settled in a square, overstuffed chair catty-corner to the couch that Grandma claimed when Mr. Harrison arrived with a tray full of coffee and Danish. He set it on the rough-hewn sofa table and filled two mugs from the carafe, then refilled Liz’s, as well. With a slight bow toward Grandma and a grin in Liz’s direction, he disappeared silently.

Grandma stirred three sugar packets into her coffee, raised her mug to her lips and caught Liz’s gaze over the rim. “Elizabeth, I hope you’ve brought it.”

There was no need to wonder what Grandma referred to. Liz gulped a fortifying sip of scalding coffee.

“There you are!”

She turned gratefully toward the timely interruption. Jazzy and Caitlin strode across the lobby, looking much brighter and more alert than Liz felt. Liz inspected her friends with fresh eyes, aware that Grandma was examining them through her usual critical lens.

Liz performed the introductions. “Grandma and Debbie, these are my friends from Kentucky. Jazzy plays the violin, and Caitlin the flute.”

Astute about the niceties with elderly relatives, they each shook hands with Grandma first, and then the bride. Petite Jazzy turned on her elfin grin. “Mrs. Carmichael, I’m so pleased to meet you. Liz has spoken of you.”

Grandma sent a suspicious glance at Liz. “Has she now?”

Jazzy nodded and settled into the chair opposite Liz as Caitlin eyed the tray. “I’m going to go grab some coffee. Want some, Jazz?”

“Please.”

“Would you see if they have any butter for these rolls, dear?” Grandma gave Caitlin a brief smile. “Not that I expect them to have real butter, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Caitlin headed toward the coffee shop, Grandma turned a hard stare toward Liz. “As I was saying, Elizabeth. Have you brought it?”

A cold shaft shot through Liz. She felt like a kid again, pinned under Grandma’s glare. She nodded.

Grandma’s eyebrows arched. “Well?”

Aware of Jazzy’s curious stare and Debbie’s cringe, Liz reached for her purse, which she’d placed on the floor beside the chair. Under the watchful gaze of Grandma, she fished in the depths of the leather bag until her fingers encountered a familiar silken box. She pulled it out and, cradling the box in her hand, flipped the lid open.

Inside, a golden, jeweled brooch, shaped like a dragonfly, nestled against a red velvet background. Delicate pearls and glittering emeralds, undoubtedly fake but still beautiful, caught the dull lobby lights and tossed rainbow glints toward her. She took a long, last look at the pin, bidding it a mental farewell, then snapped the lid closed and held it toward Grandma.

“Here you are.”

Grandma drew both hands up to her chest and reared backward, her expression horrified. “I can’t take it back! It has passed on, however inappropriately. Give it to her.”

She nodded toward Debbie.

Liz extended the box toward her cousin. Debbie’s eyes widened, creases wrinkling her smooth brow. Her hands remained clasped in her lap.

“I don’t know, Grandma,” she said, her gaze on the box. “Seems to me like it should wait until after the wedding. Don’t you think?”

“Not after the wedding, dear.” Grandma’s lipsticked mouth pursed. “But it’s true that my mother gave it to me on my wedding day, not before.” Her glare caught Liz’s gaze and held it. “Perhaps it is safer to wait until the day of the wedding. We don’t want to repeat the dreadful mistakes of the past.”

A rush of heat ran from the top of Liz’s head through her core. No, of course she didn’t want a repeat performance of what had happened to her and Tim. Still, if a mistake had been made, it could only be attributed to Grandma, the person who had jumped the gun in passing down the heirloom brooch. But Liz certainly wasn’t going to point that out.

“Liz?” Jazzy leaned forward in her chair, her face full of questions. “You’re giving away your pin? But you love that pin.”

Caitlin arrived in time to hear Jazzy’s question, and turned an inquiring gaze on Liz as she handed Jazzy a full coffee mug.

“Love it or not,” Grandma said, her voice unyielding, “it is not hers to keep. It belongs to Deborah now.”

“Not yet,” Debbie rushed to say. “Not until I’m married.” The smile she turned toward Liz held a touch of desperation. “It’s yours for another three days.”

Liz drew her hand back to her lap and curled her fingers protectively around the box. The silk felt cool and smooth to her touch.

“I don’t understand.” Caitlin dropped onto the third sofa cushion, on the other side of Grandma. “I thought that pin was an heirloom that’s been in your family for a long time.”

“Oh, it has.” Grandma sipped from her coffee before returning the mug to the sofa table. She settled back. “I have an oil painting of my grandmother wearing the brooch in 1885, when she first immigrated to this country from England. That would be Elizabeth and Deborah’s great-great-grandmother.”

“Wow.” Jazzy eyed the box in Liz’s hand. “So Liz got to keep it for a while, and now it goes to Debbie?”

Liz gritted her teeth. Here it came. She had been friends with these girls for three years, since she moved to Kentucky and joined the Lexington Community Church young adult group, but she’d never told them—or anyone else in Kentucky—about the shameful part of her past.

Grandma turned a highbrowed glare her way. “It would have stayed with Elizabeth if she had married that nice young man she was engaged to, like she was supposed to.”