Murder in the Mountains_A Rocky Mountain Cozy Mystery Read online

  A Novel Way to Die

  A Rocky Mountain Cozy Mystery

  Miles Lancaster

  Fairfield Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Thank You!

  Copyright © 2016 Fairfield Publishing

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

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  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  “You received a great compliment today from one of my guests,” Jennifer Beautell said. She raised the wine glass to her mouth.

  “Oh? Mom dropped by? Didn’t know she was in the area,” Clint Niven said with a smile as he ran his fingers along the piano keys.

  Jennifer chuckled until she almost choked. Her body shook with laughter. “No, it wasn’t your mother. It was a lady named Madeleine Lightsey. Over the past few days we’ve become pals. Lovely woman.”

  “I ride to the Rio where my life I will spend,

  Adios Amigo, Adios, my friend.” Clint sang.

  “I love your singing. You have a fantastic voice.”

  He shook his head. “No, the singing is only fair. To be honest I haven’t done it regularly. Never really had a chance. Never had a nearby piano. Never had a beautiful listener, either.”

  “Ah, thank you.”

  It was six p.m. Light snow was falling across the outside landscape. There was an orange tint to the mountains as the sun settled in for the night. The location was the small room adjacent to the entrance at the Aspen Breeze Lodge. Piano player Clint Niven and his audience of one sat in their regular places. For the past three months, for five or six days a week, Clint would sing in the evening. At times, Jennifer Beautell, owner of the Lodge, would join in and sing with her boyfriend. Neither one of them wanted to break their routine.

  “Don’t leave me in suspense. Who is this Ms. Lightsey and what did she say about me?”

  “You had dropped in for lunch and were on your way out as Maddie was walking into the office. Since I had walked you to the door, she assumed that we were friends. After you left she asked, ‘Just who was that good-looking gentleman? Snazzy dresser, too.'”

  “Maddie, bless her heart, must have eyesight problems. I have never been accused of being a snazzy dresser, much less good looking.”

  “Nonsense.” She stretched out her hand and patted his chest. “That is a very sporty looking blue turtleneck you’re wearing. The black vest fits you well, and you’re even wearing a blue coat. Very snazzy.”

  “The road we have traveled has come to an end.”

  “That covers the clothes. What about the good looking part?”

  She patted his chest again. “That is a very sporty looking blue turtleneck.”

  The music turned discordant as Clint missed a few keys as a light chuckle escaped his lips. “I opened myself up for that one.”

  “Seriously, why are you wearing a coat and tie? You don’t usually. Have a late meeting today?”

  “Nope, but the vice president of the company was dropping by. The company has about a half dozen small newspapers in the region. So occasionally Jim Norton walks in to say hello and check up on things. We’re having a week without snow, or only light snow, so this was a good time to make the tour. It was a pleasant visit. He was rather complimentary about the paper.”

  “As he should be. The Tribune has improved significantly since you’ve taken the helm as editor.” She raised her finger and pointed at him. “And your hair was combed very nicely when he came in.”

  “That’s because you combed it when I came by at noon. You said, 'Clint, your hair’s out of place again’ and grabbed a comb. I appreciate it.”

  Jennifer rapped the black piano wood. “Wow, you had two compliments today. One from your boss and one from Maddie. You’re on a roll. And, of course, I always think you’re wonderful, so that makes three.”

  “I’m humbled.”

  She pointed her finger again. “I wanted to ask you something. You’re a published novelist. Do you do critiques? Or rather, would you do a critique for someone?”

  “Depends. But to be truthful, calling me a novelist might be stretching things a bit. As a child I became a science fiction fan and read hundreds of sci-fi books. I’ve written one novel and gotten it published, and am writing another one. But it would be just as truthful to say I’m a second-rate hack writer who was published by a small company that happened to be looking for sci-fi novels.”

  “You’re not second-rate in anything, my dear.”

  “Oh, no? You haven’t seen my golf swing—or my golf score—for that matter. But as to your question, I’ve looked over one or two books from acquaintances and given my opinion, for what it was worth. I did a critique for a friend’s mystery novel. He got it published and asked me for another critique when he finished his second novel. So maybe he thought my opinion was worthwhile.”

  Jennifer tapped the piano again. “Just what I wanted to hear. Maddie needs a critique. She is close to finishing her first novel and wants an independent opinion. That’s why she came to the Lodge, to have privacy until she finishes it. Aspen Breeze is a great place for romantic get-aways, but it also provides privacy and a great location if you need to work.”

  “So the novel's not yet finished?”

  “Almost. Putting the last literary touches to it.”

  “What’s the genre?”

  “Mystery. A nice small town is shaken by a murder. Maddie lives over in Glennville, which is the proverbial small town, and only about fifty miles from here. From what she’s told me I’m guessing some of the folks in her novel are based on individuals she knows there. Not sure how happy they will be about her story but…”

  “Sometimes when writing novels you can’t go home again, as Thomas Wolfe found out.”

  “Who was he?”

  “About seventy years ago he penned 'Look Homeward, Angel.' My memory is vague, but I think the novel was based on his hometown in North Carolina, and some of the residents recognized themselves. I guess the writing wasn’t flattering to them. After the novel was published, Wolfe didn’t make many return trips to his hometown. Then again, he wasn’t writing mysteries, so…” He played a few more notes, and then ended the song. “In his day Wolfe was considered a great writer. Now he’s forgotten. Maybe the moral here is to write mysteries. Raymond Chandler is still remembered.”

  Jennifer, elbow on the piano, leaned her face in her hand. “You know, dear, once in a while you go off on a tangent all on your own. Actually, it’s more than once in a while. But you’re still a dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anyway, Maddie wanted to know if you could take a look at it. She’s in her sixties, but this is the first book she’s written. She said she’s always had an interest in writing, and has penned some short stories, but never a novel before. I really like the lady. So between running the newspaper, writing your own novel, and singing to me, can you critique her book?”

  “Anything for you, my dear,” Clint said with a wink and smile.

  Chapter 2

  In the editor’s office of the Tribune, Sports Editor Matt Hardy was making what Clint thought was a
very strong case for increased sports coverage. Hardy wanted the paper to hire a few more stringers and provide intensive reporting for the local sports teams. Hardy was a young man, only twenty-nine, and although a fair athlete in high school, he now had fleshly inches spreading around his waist. A blue-eyed man with a ready smile, his curly hair seemed to go in all directions at once. Hardy always seemed to be in motion. He couldn’t sit still. As he talked he gyrated in the chair, moving back and forth, forth and back. Clint raised his hands and rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache just watching him. But he appreciated the younger man’s passion for local sports. Hardy genuinely liked the student athletes he wrote about.

  “I realize the company wants to down-size this paper," he told Clint, "but we should keep it in a broadsheet. Give me a few stringers and I can give you sports stories galore. The previous editor didn’t care much about sports. Or much else, for that matter. He was also ready for retirement long before he officially quit. Clint, parents like reading about their children, and we have a lot of students playing on teams at Oak Meadow High School. I’m guessing a lot of those parents aren’t buying the paper. But they will if they keep seeing their sons and daughters in these pages.”

  Clint picked up a black and silver Papermate pen. He kept it with him almost all the time. He tapped it on the desk. “You make a very persuasive case, Matt. Of course it would be a slam dunk if these were good times for newspapers. But right now the whole industry is in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Newspapers are barely surviving. Too many people are turning to the Internet.”

  Hardy practically bounced in his chair. “Then let’s give them a reason to read newspapers. Oak Meadow has about three hundred and fifty students. Almost half of them are on the sports teams. A few stringers and we can not only cover football and baseball games, but tennis, golf, soccer, and everything else. Parents still cut out pictures and stories about their kids."

  “Yes, but these days newspapers seem to be a diminishing memory for most people.”

  “We can change that. Why not just give it a try? Six months. Three more stringers. If the circulation goes up we keep them. If it stays the same or goes down, we ditch them.”

  Clint tapped his pen again. Then he smiled. “Matt, fortunately for you, I like sports. Baseball, football, golf. Still iffy about soccer. However, I do have a bit of flexibility within our budget. I can be flexible with just enough money to fund your stringers. You need three?”

  Hardy’s face lit up. For several seconds he was so shocked he didn’t move. Up until then, Clint had thought it impossible for his sports editor to be still.

  “Yes, three will do it.”

  “You know who you might hire?”

  “I have two people in mind. I will have to search for the third. But I’m sure I can find one.”

  “Okay, you have the go-ahead. Let’s see what the next six months brings.”

  “Great! Thanks, boss.”

  As Hardy walked out, Clint spotted Jennifer in the corridor. She waved and he waved back, gesturing for her to come in. Walking in with her was a slender woman with gray hair flowing beneath her shoulders. She had a pleasant face, with round sparkling eyes and a high-beam smile. Her slender frame looked barely able to maintain some inner gaiety.

  “Clint, this is Madeleine Lightsey. Maddie, this is Clint Niven, editor of this fine newspaper and a great writer.”

  Clint stood up to shake hands. “Jennifer is very generous with her compliments. I have one novel to my credit, but don’t think I’m a great writer. Please sit down.”

  "Thank you," she said as they sat down.

  Jennifer turned to Maddie. “I’ve told Clint that you are a budding novelist, too, and would like a critique. And he said he’d be very happy to look over your book.”

  Clint didn’t think Lightsey’s smile could get any bigger, but it seemed to after Jennifer’s words.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Niven. I’ve gotten a late start in the writing business, and I’m a little unsure about my efforts. I would very much like to get a second opinion from another writer.”

  “As Jennifer noted, I should be able to do that. Can you give me a basic summary? It doesn’t have to be in any great detail, but I like a generic breakdown of the plot before I start critiquing. You have a printed manuscript or an email copy?”

  “Just email, but I can print it out if you like.”

  “No, email is fine.”

  “My novel is called A Cold, Ornate Tombstone. It’s the typical small town murder mystery and takes place in a town very much like Glennville, which is my home town.”

  “I’ve traveled through it. It’s a very nice little town.”

  “Yes, it is. And it’s a town with very few murders. But in my novel a retired funeral director is found dead. At first it’s thought to be a natural death because he was elderly. But then police discover he’s been poisoned, and the investigation is on. Being a funeral director he had prepared for his own demise down to the last detail, including a very ornate tombstone.”

  “That’s a nice touch. Tell you what, just send it over this afternoon and I should be able to start on it tonight. Generally, I’m a fast reader, so it shouldn’t take me too long to finish.”

  “Thank you. I am so excited. I’ve made inquiries to some agencies and two have requested I send the first three chapters to them. So I do want a second opinion. I want those chapters to be as good as possible.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll send it as soon as I get back to my computer.”

  “Are you staying in Oak Meadow for long?” Clint asked.

  “Just one more day, but you can reach me through email. I was staying at Jennifer’s Lodge to finish the book, but today I will be in town visiting my old friend Gladys Nelson. We’ve known each other for thirty years. She lives near Woodbridge Park. I may be hiking a few trails this afternoon. It will be good for me after being cooped up in a room for most of the last four days. Then I go back to Glennville tomorrow.”

  “I’ll send the critique as soon as I’m done.”

  Jennifer stood up. “Well, we won’t keep you, Clint. You must be busy.”

  Clint walked them to the door and extended his hand to Maddie. “It was nice to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your stay here.”

  “I will,” Maddie said with a smile. “And thanks again for helping me. It makes me feel better knowing such a young, bright man like yourself is helping me.”

  With Maddie out the door Clint leaned over to Jennifer. “Looks like you might have a little competition.”

  Jennifer laughed a little too hard for his liking and patted him on the back. “Just remember that you’re all mine.”

  Around noon the next day Clint hummed as he glanced over the budget for the next issue. He had always had a wary view of individuals who were relentlessly cheery, but he realized he had been rather chipper the past few weeks. Well, why not? The job was going well. The new novel was going well. He had found a beautiful girlfriend. He was very grateful for those three things, especially the last. Still, he was uneasy.

  What was that line from “Tender Mercies?” Robert Duvall did a magnificent acting job in the movie as a rundown country music singer/songwriter who finds redemption. What was his line? “Don’t trust happiness. Never did.”

  Yet if memory serves, Clint thought, Duval finds happiness at the end of the film. Before his recent job Clint had a string of what some people might call bad luck. Perhaps life was going to change.

  He grabbed his cell phone when it played the rousing version of “Tumbling Tumbleweeds,” Jennifer was calling.

  “Hello, beautiful. How’s everything?”

  “Everything is terrible, Clint! Maddie is dead! She was found in Woodbridge Park. I’m at the park. The police think she may have been murdered.”

  Woodbridge Park was located about three miles from the newspaper office. Clint drove the winding road until he saw the wooden Visitors Center sign. He parked and got out o
f the car. Several paths trailed into the woods from the building. A few twisted around and connected to other paths before circling back to the Visitors Center. The evergreens stood defiant against the snow, which was now fading. Two police cars, blue lights flashing silently, were parked on the pavement. An ambulance was also parked nearby. In the distance, through an opening between the trees, he thought he spied two EMTs. A stiff breeze blew the snow around on the ground. Jennifer opened the doors of the Center and walked out, wiping the tears away as she stumbled toward him. She hugged him and sighed.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I was here when two women came running out from the forest yelling that there was a dead body in the park. It was Maddie.”

  “Anyone know what happened?” he asked.

  Jennifer shook her head. “I went over to her friend Gladys's house to say goodbye to Maddie before she left to go back to Glennville. Gladys said that Maddie had gone to the park to walk for exercise, and that Maddie told her she might be meeting someone over here. Gladys didn’t go because she has a knee problem. I had this weird feeling that I just couldn’t shake so I came on over. I took the Piedmont trails because that’s the one most people use.”

  The three trails from the Center were named Piedmont, Mountain, and Ridge. The first was the longest and wound around the length of the park. Along the way were picnic tables, restroom facilities, several scenic views, and any number of places where hikers could glide into the forests for more in-depth observations.

  “I wasn’t far, maybe just about a half a mile, when the two women came running back and told me there was a dead body on the trail. I asked where and they gave me some rough directions. I ran toward the location and found Maddie on the ground. She wasn’t breathing. No marks or anything like that. She wasn’t attacked or hit. She was just lying on the ground. I was so shocked.”