Murder in the Mountains_A Rocky Mountain Cozy Mystery Page 2

  Jennifer was sobbing as Clint pulled her close and held her for a moment. Then he grabbed his reporter’s notebook from his jacket pocket.

  “I’m going to go and see if I can get some more information.”

  “I’ll show you where she is,” Jennifer said.

  They had walked about a half-mile on the Piedmont trail when two EMTs rolling a stretcher appeared around a clump of bushes. The couple moved to the side and allowed the EMTs to pass. Jennifer touched Clint’s arm and pointed.

  “Around that curve,” she said.

  Clint estimated it was another two tenths of a mile before the covered stone table came into view. Surrounding it were several policemen and Oak Meadow Police Chief Roger Sanding

  The chief had his back to them and was looking at the down. Rain from the day before had left the dark ground slightly muddy. When the chief turned around he was startled by the two. He grumbled and didn’t look happy.

  “Clint, you always seem to pop up when I don’t need you. You, too, Miss Beautell.”

  Clint tried to make his voice sound pleasant. “I’m an editor. Whenever news happens I’m obligated to be there. It’s an annoyance to me, too, Chief, but what can I do?”

  “You always bring your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t leave the office without her.”

  For a second the chief’s face remained as solid as the distant mountains. Then a crinkle of a smile came to his lips, which he immediately tried to force away.

  “A few months ago you did get in the way, but you also uncovered a few clues for me, so I’ll grant you an indulgence this time.”

  “We appreciate it. Can you tell us what happened? The victim was a friend of Jennifer’s. I met her yesterday and talked with her.”

  “She wanted Clint to critique her book,” Jennifer said.

  “A book review? You’re branching out?”

  Clint smiled. “Not really. Mrs. Lightsey recently retired. She had always been interested in writing and had penned a novel. She asked me to look it over. I said I would.”

  The chief put his hands on his hips. “How did our victim know our distinguished editor of our local newspaper was also a novelist? No offense, Clint, but your novel didn’t exactly climb the charts of the best seller lists.”

  “I know. It’s sad. No one appreciates good literature anymore.”

  “Chief," Jennifer explained, "Maddie had booked into the Lodge this week for a few days. She wanted privacy and scenic surroundings to finish her book and do some editing. I met her there and we became friends. I told her Clint was also a novelist. So she asked if he would do a brief review.”

  The chief scratched his jaw as he looked at Clint. “I’m guessing you do whatever your girlfriend asks you to.”

  Clint nodded. “That’s generally about the way it works. I told Maddie to email me the book. I really haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. Chief, could her death be accidental, or do you think it's something else?”

  “I can’t tell yet, but there are a few things that are questionable, and that’s off the record for now. The deceased was apparently in good health, and it does cause suspicion when a healthy lady simply falls down dead. But it could happen. I’ve seen victims of aneurysms, and that’s very sudden and leaves no marks on the body. But there will be an autopsy.” He looked down at the ground. “Also, the ground isn’t firm. I have to have an expert come over, but I’m wondering if there was someone with her for a while. If so, that would be suspicious.”

  “Chief, she was visiting with a friend today and told her that she might be meeting someone at the park.”

  The chief turned slowly and looked at Jennifer. Slowly he eased his cap back on his head. “Who was this friend she was visiting?

  “Gladys Nelson. She lives close nearby. I can get her address for you if you like.”

  “I do like, Miss Beautell. Did Mrs. Nelson say who the deceased was meeting?”

  “No. Maddie hadn't mentioned a name as far as I know.”

  “Even so, I’m beginning to think I made the right decision by giving you two an indulgence. You have anything else you’d like to tell me about this case?

  “Nothing that I can think of, Chief,” Clint said. “But I will need a statement for the paper.”

  “Your paper is a weekly, so I’m guessing your deadline is still a couple of days away; that means I don’t have to rush. But I’ll get one to you, and when the autopsy comes back you will be one of the first to know. Miss Beautell, did you say our would-be novelist was from Glennville?”

  “Yes. She lived most of her life there.”

  “Then I need to notify the Glennville police. Now, I think we’re done here, so please excuse me.”

  The chief ambled over to his car. Jennifer grabbed Clint’s arm. “Let’s go talk to Gladys,” she said pulling on his arm.

  Clint put his hand over hers. “Wait a minute. I may regret this later… but why should we go talk to Gladys?”

  “Because I want to know who killed my friend! I won’t let him or her get away.”

  “Honey, I know you’re upset that Maddie died…or was killed, but we do have police forces and sheriff’s departments for this type of thing. And the reputation of both are pretty good in this county. The Oak Meadow Police Department and the Laredo County Sheriff’s Department are very skilled and highly rated when it comes to criminal investigations. So don’t you think we should let them handle it?”

  Jennifer’s blue eyes narrowed and visually she grabbed him by the throat. He choked.

  “I’m going over to see Gladys. Are you coming with me?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply turned and headed toward the car.

  “Yes, dear,” Clint said, a grin on his face. “Been saying that a lot in this new relationship.”

  This made him think of an old friend and he chuckled to himself. Rollin Chambers had been the senior reporter at the Ridgeway News when Clint began covering education. Chambers had been married forty-eight years to his wife Carrie. He told fellow reporters that the secret to a long and happy marriage was two words. Always say, “Yes, dear.” The last Clint had heard, Chambers had retired but was still saying "Yes, dear" because he was still married.

  “Well,” he said to himself as he trotted towards Jennifer’s car, “if it worked for him…”

  Chapter 3

  Gladys Nelson was a gray haired woman with a friendly face, who walked with a limp. The injury was caused by a slip on the snow the previous winter. Clint had spent five years in the South during his career. After moving to Colorado he was prone to such slips and falls too. He had suffered a nasty bruise on more than one occasion. That was one plus about Florida. You never slipped on ice – you had to watch out for alligators on a few golf courses, but besides that…

  Gladys was stunned to hear about her friend’s death. Jennifer offered her condolences then explained the details in a calm, straight-forward manner. The words flowed smoothly and with a residue of kindness. For Clint, such a conversation would have been awkward, but Jennifer provided all the details along with a dose of comfort. A rare ability, Clint thought.

  Jennifer gave the older woman a moment to collect herself, and then continued. “Gladys, when I visited with you earlier you mentioned that Maddie was going to meet someone at the park. Did she say who that was?”

  “No. It was almost said in passing. An acquaintance was coming to talk to her. She said that she was glad someone wanted to discuss the book in a friendly manner. From what she said, a lot of people were upset about it.”

  Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “Really? Why would the book upset them?”

  “Maddie admitted to me that many of her characters in the novel were based on real people in Glennville. When those people found out they were in the book they were angry. I guess I can understand that. How would you like to show up in a book?”

  “I guess it would depend on how my character was written,” Jennifer answered.

  Clint smiled at her. “You’d be written as an incredibly beautiful lady with a sweet smile and penetrating blue eyes that would make an Archbishop kick out a stained glass window.”

  Jennifer smiled and yanked her thumb toward Clint. “That’s one of the reasons I keep him around.”

  Gladys smiled briefly. “Seems like a good decision,” she said.

  “I must admit the last few words are a paraphrase from Raymond Chandler," Clint said, "But oh so true.”

  Jennifer turned back to their host. “But how did people know what was in the book?”

  “Maddie told me she had let a few friends read portions of it, and I guess they spread the word. Knowing people, I’m guessing some of what they said wasn’t accurate. Stories do get changed and modified as they go from one person to another. If one of her friends who actually read the book told someone else about a scene or a person, and he or she told someone else who told…well, you get the picture.”

  “Yes, those tales could become twisted…which could have been a concern to someone.” She glanced at Clint. “Could an author be sued for something like that?”

  “In rare cases, yes. If you create a character based on, say, Adam Smith in Oak Meadow, and if the readers who know the real Adam Smith can easily discern your fictional character is based on him, you can be sued if the character is portrayed as dishonest or a thief or something like that. If he’s portrayed as an admirable guy, then obviously you can’t sue. There’s no damage to his reputation.”

  “Did Maddie mention any names of people who objected to her novel?”

  “Only one that I know of," Gladys told them. "There’s a character in the book who gambles online on the horses. The guy has lost a great deal of money. A man in Glennville named Todd Palmer was really upset and confronted Maddie, saying the character was based on him and that he resented it. He said if the book were published he’d sue her. Maddie was always easy going until you pushed her, and Todd pushed her. She smiled sweetly and replied, ‘I guess you could stand to pick up some quick cash because of your losses, Todd, but you’d never win a case against me. I don’t think you have the money to fund a suit, and no lawyer is going to work for you pro bono.’ Todd cussed her out and walked away.”

  Jennifer looked at Clint. “Perhaps we should read her book. Can you send me a copy?

  “Sure.”

  “But I can’t believe, even in the short time I’ve known her, that Maddie would write about anyone in a malicious way. She wouldn’t have lied about anyone.”

  “Maybe she didn’t lie,” Clint said. “Maybe she told the truth.”

  “Sometimes that can cause a lot of trouble, too, can't it?” Jennifer said. “Gladys, do you know if Maddie had any enemies? Was there anyone who didn’t like her before she began writing her novel?”

  “I can’t think of anyone.”

  “No problems with wills or inheritances or anything like that?”

  “No. Maddie had a little saved, but not nearly as much as she needed. She mentioned that to me. Told me she had read somewhere that a person should have a half million saved for retirement, but she didn’t have anything close to that. She was doing a bit better than living paycheck to paycheck, but not much. I didn’t ask the amount of her savings, but I doubted it would have lasted more than a couple of months. So there wasn’t any inheritance to fight over, and her kids didn’t need any. Her son always liked wide-open spaces and is a foreman up on a ranch in Wyoming and makes pretty good money. Her daughter is a teacher in Oregon. Maddie owned her house, but that was the extent of her assets. Before the book she was one of those people who had no enemies, and not many people who even disliked her.”

  “I’m not like that. A lot of people dislike me,” Clint said.

  “As hard as that is to believe,” Jennifer said with a wink.

  “Especially a few former bosses.”

  “You resolved that problem. You are the boss now.”

  “One more question, please," Jennifer said. "Do you know if Maddie had a best friend in Glennville, someone she might confide in?”

  “Abbi Norstrom. I think Abbi has been Maddie’s best friend for thirty years. She's going to be devastated when she hears what happened. They practically raised their children together. I think almost every day Abbi would go to Maddie’s house or Maddie would go to hers and have a glass of wine around five.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your time.”

  “I hope you find whoever killed her. I want to see him in prison.”

  “I want to see that, too. Clint and I do have a pretty good track record.”

  “Actually, we’re only one for one.”

  “That’s one hundred percent. That’s a good track record,” Jennifer insisted.

  As they climbed in the car, Jennifer told him they had work to do. Clint pushed the lever into reverse. He backed out and then headed toward his office.

  “Okay, just a shot in the dark," he said, "and a million to one chance, but you haven’t changed your mind about letting the police handle this, have you? Things like this are actually their day job. We have day jobs. I run a newspaper. You own a motel. It’s difficult investigating a murder in your spare time. It really needs to be a full-time job. Plus, the chief has things like forensics, all that scientific stuff, spare personnel, things like that.”

  Jennifer chewed on the end of her pen. She stared into space and looked distracted.

  “Didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  “Not a syllable.”

  He smiled. “Yes, dear.”

  “Why don’t you email me the book? I’ll be able to start reading it tonight. The woman had no enemies, and there was no reason to kill her before she wrote this novel. I’m thinking the book must be the cause of her murder. There’s something in there the killer didn’t want known.”

  “Wait a minute. You might be right. But then we don’t even know for sure that she was murdered. It’s still an open question.”

  “I’m betting she was,” Jennifer said. “But even if she wasn’t, it does us no harm to read the book. So should we go over to Glennville tomorrow and see Abbi Norstrom? We really shouldn’t waste time.”

  “How fast of a reader are you?”

  “Pretty fast.”

  “I think we should read the book first and write down all the characters. When we talk to Ms. Norstrom maybe she can tell us which character in the book corresponds to which Glennville resident.”

  “Yes, good idea.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Boy, you’re smart.”

  “Which is another great reason to keep me around.”

  “How true. Not that I needed any more reasons. Okay, let's meet tomorrow night at the Lodge and go over the novel. I’ll make an appointment to talk to Abbi Norstrom. We can proceed from there.”

  “Okay.”

  She grabbed his jaw and planted a big kiss on his cheek. “I know, Sweetie, that you have more reservations about this than I do, but thank you for going along with me. I know I didn't know her for long, but I want to find Maddie’s killer. But I don’t think I would try it without you. To show my appreciation I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night. How’s that?”

  “Honey, not to be overly truthful, but you’re a lousy cook.”

  “Then you can cook dinner tomorrow. I’ll supply the wine.”

  “Okay.”

  She smiled. “I've found a boyfriend who not only sings, but cooks, too. I've hit the jackpot. How did I get so fortunate?”

  “Well, having that great smile helps.”

  “Thanks.”

  She patted his cheek. “But, Clint, if we are successful, we’ll not only find Maddie’s killer, but you will also have a great story for the paper. You’ll get awards galore. You can hang up all those silver plaques in your office. They’ll look so impressive. Then the next time the vice president comes down, he’ll offer you a promotion.”

  “Which I will decline. I like it here. With you.”

  “Oh, that is so sweet...”

  Chapter 4

  The afternoon, at least at the Aspen Breeze, was quiet. Most of the twenty guests in the lodge were out seeing the sights of Colorado or relaxing in the hot tubs in their rooms. Two elk, with good-sized racks had moseyed onto the grounds and munched on the grass. Several iron swings had been installed outside the lodges, and two guests, a man and a wife, watched in astonishment as the elk leisurely moved closer to the swings while eating their late lunch. Some animals are skittish when seeing humans, but elk usually are not. They just go about their business and pay little attention to the spectators who are snapping photos with their cell phones and flashing other devices at the cumbersome animals.

  Since she had a minimum of disruptions, Jennifer had a chance to begin reading A Cold Ornate Tombstone. She didn’t bring any expectations to the manuscript, but she found herself impressed by Maddie’s smooth-flowing prose. She had read Clint’s first novel, but while he was a decent writer, his book was a throwback to the pulp science fiction of the fifties. It was almost an homage to the genre. Rocket ships, lasers, interplanetary warfare, truly dastardly villains, genuinely heroic good guys and plenty of action. Jennifer thought it was an exciting read. She was mildly surprised that Clint’s main character could not carry a tune. With Clint’s musical ability, she thought the lead character should have sung a few lines of some popular song, but that didn’t happen. Probably because the guy was too busy blasting away the bad guys.

  Maddie’s book was very different. Both Clint and Maddie definitely had a way with words, but Maddie’s world was a fictional rendition of the town of Glennville. No action, no fights, no disintegrator rays. It was the story of a nice small town and the people in it.

  Of course, there was one murderer in the bunch. The victim was a retired elderly funeral director named Cephas Tarrant, who had run the Tarrant-Holden Funeral Home in Mt. Lebanon, Colorado, for almost fifty years before his retirement. Mt. Lebanon was the fictional name for Glennville in Maddie’s book. Now in his early eighties, Tarrant could still get around but needed help with cooking and getting his house cleaned. Two ladies, both in their seventies, came by almost every day to fix him breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and to clean the house, have a cocktail with him around four in the afternoon, and do any other odd duties that were needed.