Death Knell In The Alps

(The tolling of a bell to mark someone’s death)

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Volume 6

by

Peggy A. Edelheit

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Death Knell In The Alps, A Samantha Jamison Mystery, Volume 6

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright © 2013 Peggy A. Edelheit. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Cover Designed by Telemachus Press, LLC

Cover Art:

Copyright © 20309834/bephotographers

Edited by Winslow Eliot

http://www.winsloweliot.com

Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

http://www.telemachuspress.com

Visit the author website:

http://www.samanthajamison.com

ISBN: 978-1-939927-22-4 (eBook)

Version 2014.01.18

Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit

The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series

The Puzzle (Volume 1)

Without Any Warning (Volume 2)

86 Avenue du Goulet (Volume 3)

A Lethal Time (Volume 4)

Mouth Of The Rat (Volume 5)

A Samantha Jamison Detour

The Riviera is Burning (Volume 5.5)

Chase your Dreams

& Remember,

Every Day is a Blessing

This book is dedicated to the memory of

Our dearly loved 14 yr. old Miniature Schnauzer

Samantha I

With love to my husband

My biggest supporter and confidant

& my three sons

Acknowledgment

& Special Thanks To

My Editor

Winslow Eliot

My Publisher

Telemachus Press

Steven & Terri Himes

Steven & Claudia Jackson

Death Knell In The Alps

Volume 6

Chapter 1

Think This Is Random?

I swear, this was worse than stealing my manuscript.

I stood back, surveying the scattered mess strewn across my hotel bed. “Okay, who took my Spanx?”

“What are Spanx?” asked Martha, my partner in crime.

“A girl’s best friend: a bodyshaper that hides unsightly bulges. I buy it one size too small, hence my size 2/4. Of course, sometimes it’s hard to breathe, but I try to time it, you know, like how long you can wear certain shoes: one, two, three hours or, if you’re lucky, the whole evening.”

“But you’re in your thirties and already thin,” she said.

I scanned her spiky white hair, seventyish attitude and skinny frame. Hmm… She could’ve taken it just for spite.

Then I eyed our two librarianish (my editor will have a field day with that one) friends, also in their seventies, who initially fooled you (including yours truly) by their proper, old-fashioned behavior. They perfectly counterbalanced the impulsive and in-your-face Martha. Bottom line: they were all adept at sleuthing and I trusted them implicitly.

Betty smoothed back some gray strands of her upswept bun. “Now, do I look like a candidate for your Spanx?”

I stared at Betty’s tall, reedy body then at plump, height-challenged and curly, gray-haired Hazel, who laughed.

“I couldn’t get that over my pinky. I’d strangle myself.”

I shook my head. “We left here right after checking in to grab a quick lunch downstairs and came right back.”

Betty rushed for the bathroom. “I had too much tea.” In seconds she rushed right back in, gasping, “I found it!”

“Found what?” I asked, startled by her outburst.

“The one thing you can’t live without,” she said.

“Now, why would you bring up Clay?” chided Martha. “I was enjoying this lively repartee we had going on here.”

“What does Clay have to do with any of this?” I asked.

I’ve heard some authors have trouble with dialogue. Not me. All I had to do was talk to these three and it flowed.

Betty pulled me along with her, as the others followed.

Barely hanging onto the showerhead was my missing Spanx, sliced and shredded to pieces. A knife? A razor?

Hazel stepped back, shocked. “Who’d do such a thing?”

Martha frowned. “Maybe it’s some kind of message.”

I touched the ruined softness. “…A message?”

“Think this is random?” Betty asked. “Better call Clay.”

“If this is connected to Clay,” said Martha, “he would know. He’s the one that invited all of us over here.”

My anger rose. “But why…?” Mystified, I stared at the mutilated spectacle before me. Was she right: a message?

“Well?” said Martha. “Are you calling Clay or am I?”

“Call the concierge first and order a replacement.”

Martha picked up the phone. “For you or the Spanx?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we? Call that concierge. I’ll deal with Clay personally when I see him after he arrives.”

This sure looked intentional, but why?

Chapter 2

Well… That Almost Explains Everything

Annoyed, I sat there glaring at the phone. I had just hung up from talking to Clay, who’d be arriving four days late. Not because of his bookshop, The Bookworm, back in Highlands, North Carolina, but from his PI sideline.

That gumshoe owed me a nice dinner for all this stress.

Was that mutilation somehow connected to Clay? Was I over-reading it? Initially, Clay alleged he needed my help, but with what? “All expenses paid,” he’d said. “Bring along the girls.”

That last part should have made me skeptical. But after all we’ve been through in the past, including my husband’s suspicious death, and afterward our extremely personal on-and-off relationship, I agreed. Now after seeing that visual in my shower, I was having second thoughts about this trip.

I recalled our shared history and being involved in and eventually solving a few mysteries since we met. If you’d asked me about my trust factor back when I first met Clay, I would’ve said you’re crazy.

Was Clay testing that trust again?

First off, why did Clay invite me to the Swiss Alps? He said, “Bring your skis.” I didn’t own any. Oh, I’ve skied many times before, but never took it seriously. I couldn’t even throw snowballs straight. The one thing I could do was ride a sled, but even then the odds weren’t always in my favor. I was usually one curve away from disaster.

While questions lingered about Clay’s unusual invite to Switzerland, my curiosity kicked in too. By this point, I was becoming more intrigued than outraged by this creepy in-your-face message hanging in my shower. Like many times before, it was usually the why that drew me in. Plus, Clay stressed ‘do not’ report the Spanx episode because he said I must keep a low profile. He’d explain later. Hmm…

Instead, I might want to take some professional ski lessons to improve my skills so I wouldn’t get bored while waiting for his late arrival. Clay’s friend, Peter, who sidelined as a ski instructor, would tutor me. Besides, these slopes were not only scenic, but might prove more challenging than I was used to. I should take advantage of Peter’s expertise.

I asked him what was Peter’s main job? Was it similar to Clay’s: a private investigator? With Clay absent, and my body armor sliced and diced, I felt exposed and was now on the lookout for some nut with an aversion to bodyshapers.

As usual, Clay glossed right over that question claiming that the ladies were accomplished skiers and I wasn’t. What would I do while they were all out having a great time?

Clay finally won me over by conveniently bribing, I mean offering, to FedEx a Spanx replacement and a spare. That man knew just how to get on my good side. Plus, he had killer good looks, soft lips, and those hands of his…

I smiled. …If I added this delay to his accumulating payback tab, why he’d be reimbursing me forever.

Clay signed off with the fact that he’d booked his own room, which surprised me, but then didn’t. I already knew my suite had been registered in my name. So I figured my rooming arrangements with the ladies would be explained later and the real reason why all of us were there. I was flexible. I could just switch rooms when he arrived. In the meantime, skiing was the perfect distraction. I could do the vacation thing until then. Clay would be there soon enough.

Besides, what else could possibly happen in four days?

Chapter 3

Sidestepping & Slipping

After grabbing and slipping the offensive evidence back into the bottom of my suitcase, I felt somewhat better. Nothing would be said to the hotel staff about that vicious act to my personal undergarment, which still annoyed me. Would I ever find out who got into our room and went berserk in the shower? I sighed. Who knew? If Clay was involved, I got most of, but not quite, the whole truth. With all his sidestepping, he could have been a dance instructor.

“I could go talk to housekeeping,” offered Martha.

“It can’t hurt,” I said. “Just be careful what you say.”

“Hazel and I are going downstairs,” Betty added, “to see if our missing skis have arrived yet.”

Hazel shook her head in amazement. “It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? Our luggage arrived, but not our skis. Now, who would take a bunch of beat-up, old skis?”

“I can tell you,” snapped Martha. “There’s going to be hell to pay if that airline lost my skis. They’re collectible.”

Hazel chuckled. “You mean they are as old as you?”

Betty stepped between them. “Don’t start, you two.”

I flopped down on the bed, thinking out loud.

“Why would someone go through my luggage?”

Martha sat by me. “Hey, it could’ve been random.”

“Possible,” said Betty, sitting down on a nearby chair.

“But what kind of sicko would cut it up?” asked Hazel.

“Well, I…” My peripheral vision caught movement.

The door handle jiggled, moving back and forth.

Betty caught it too. Her hand flew to her lips.

Hazel was about to speak, but stopped herself.

Martha stepped over to the door and gently placed her hand on the handle. She looked over at me and I nodded. She then took the handle in both hands, quickly turned it and pulled the door open. She poked her head out into the hallway and looked both ways. “Nobody.”

By that time, the rest of us were leaning out too. There wasn’t a soul either way. …No movement. …Nothing.

“I’m not crazy,” I said. “I saw that handle move.”

“So did I,” said Betty, “after catching Sam staring at it.”

“Who do you suppose it was?” asked Hazel.

Martha shrugged her shoulders. “Wrong room?”

I thought about my Spanx and wasn’t so sure. “Could be they thought the room was vacant and came back…”

Hazel shivered. “…For what?”

“Not my underwear,” warned Martha.

Betty got her purse. “Hazel, let’s go to the lobby.”

Martha grabbed hers. “I’m leaving too.”

I headed for the phone. “I’m calling Peter. Clay’s right. It’s time I became more proficient at skiing.”

“Knowing your nonexistent athletic skills,” said Martha, “we’d be grateful and the world would be a safer place.”

I was already dialing by the time they shut the door.

I’d show them all. I had to be good at some sport.

Chapter 4

Waking Up & Walking Out

Someone grabbed my shoulders and was shaking me. I blinked my eyes open and Martha slowly came into view.

“I must have fallen asleep waiting for you guys.”

Must be jetlag.

“That is the absolute worst possible thing you could do right now!” said Betty shaking her head.

I was still foggy-headed. “…What?”

“Fall asleep,” said Hazel, peering at me.

“So, what did Peter say?” asked Martha sitting down.

I shook my head. “You first, Martha.”

“I spoke to the front desk. Apparently, the cleaning staff assigned to our suite is an older Italian couple, a husband and wife team, who have been working for the hotel for a while. They were both busy, so I couldn’t speak to them. Maybe we can catch them when they come to turn down the beds one evening. Perhaps they saw someone or heard something out of the ordinary.”

I turned to the other two. “Any luck on your skis?”

“Oh, we have great news,” said Betty, excitedly.

“They’ve arrived,” said Hazel. Then she gave Martha a side-glance. “Even your relics.”

Martha jumped up. “Hot dog! Let’s hit the slopes.”

“Hey, you guys,” I said. “Remember my call to Peter?”

Martha turned back to me. “And…?”

“I’m meeting him at the ski shop to get outfitted.”

“Good,” said Betty. “Now we can go ski guilt-free.”

“Peter said he’d teach me to be more skilled and…”

Martha was already rooting through her bags.

Betty and Hazel left for their adjoining room to unpack.

“Don’t you want to hear what else he said?” I asked.

Martha looked up at me. “You can tell us later.”

Betty poked her head in our room. “Sounds like a plan.”

I jumped off my bed. I couldn’t blame them. What good was hanging out in a hotel room when there were great ski slopes to go skiing on? A few minutes later, I shut the door to our room and locked it. Alone in the hallway, I looked both ways. Was someone really trying our door handle by mistake or was it a return visit? Had they decided against it when they heard us all talking inside? Why my suitcase?

I shook off further questions. I’d save my paranoid thinking for a fictional book I hoped to write someday right after my crazy life stopped being book worthy.

As it is, my fans think my books are fictional now.

My editor and agent don’t mince words and would most likely agree. My agent, Sandra, was bottom-line oriented.

“How could you top what happens to you in real life?”

Ditto for my editor’s sidebar comment in bold red.

“Are you joking? You expect readers to believe this?”

They were right. My life read like fiction.

Hey, maybe I’d test the waters with a brief memoir!

Chapter 5

Finding The Store & My Way

I dodged shoppers and skiers, who were deftly balancing their ski equipment on their shoulders as I walked through the village, catching snippets of German, French, Italian, Japanese and several other languages being spoken. It was sunny, but cold. I tucked my bright-red scarf around my neck tighter, passing by sparkling snow banks along the sidewalk. I glanced upward. I’d read that the spectacular snow-covered mountain peaks in the background included a well-known glacier. This was a skier’s paradise.

A popular multi-cultural ski hub, the Swiss village of Grindelwald was not only known for its skiing, but was a picture-postcard village with a private train. As if on cue, snowflakes fluttered to the ground. This venture of mine was looking up. The skiers I’d passed so far were laughing.

And not a cast or crutch was in sight.

I scanned across the street, and then turned, spotting the ski store behind me and hustled over.

I glanced about the busy shop. Well-dressed customers circulated among skiers. Where exactly was my instructor? I’d forgotten to get a description of what he looked like.

I couldn’t just yell out the name Peter, could I?

He mentioned he’d be wearing a red ski jacket. Sadly, so were several other men in the store. I was just about to approach one of them and ask if he was Peter when a finger tapped me on my back. I swung around.

“Samantha?” asked a red-jacketed hunk with blond hair, baby blue eyes, about six foot two and built like an Adonis.

My heart went aflutter as I fought for speech.

“…I…I think so,” I stammered.

He laughed. “I’m Peter. Your lost look gave you away.”

Thank you, Lord! I loved skiing here already.

We shook hands and I grinned. “…Nice to meet you.”

“Since you have no equipment, I’ll get you started.”

Hey, my engine was already running.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Just then someone interrupted us. “Good try, Olaf.”

I turned. I was staring directly at a middle-aged guy wearing a red ski jacket, about my height, on the lean side, with brown eyes and thinning hair. He offered his hand.

“I see you met my business partner, Olaf. I’m Peter.”

I turned back to Olaf, who winked. I frowned. “…Oh.”

“Sorry,” said Olaf. “I was hoping to whisk you off to the slopes before Peter got here. He is such a bore.”

“She’s my trainee,” said Peter. “You, my friend, take too many risks. I promised Clay I’d take good care of her.”

Olaf leaned in within a whisper’s breath. “I could too.”

I smirked at his suggestive inference.

Oh, momma! I bet he could!

“This way,” the real Peter gestured sternly. “Let’s get you outfitted…”

Chapter 6

Dressed To The Nines

“Here I am, dressed to the nines!” said Martha, posing.

In Martha-speak, that means very, very dressed up.

Betty, Hazel and I gaped at her. At a total loss for words, each of us waited for the other to say something. What stood before us was almost indescribable.

I gave it a shot. “…Well, that sure is some outfit.”

It was silver, glittering and metallic, with a long slit up the side. I had to admit, her shoes matched it perfectly. I was sorely tempted to shield my eyes, but smiled instead.

Always diplomatic, Betty said, “It’s quite dramatic.”

Martha grinned. “I thought I’d add rhinestone earrings.”

We all reflexively said, “No!”

Martha eyed us warily. “And why not?”

I smiled. “…You might come off as too …alluring.”

Martha relaxed, grinning. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

Hazel snickered. “You look like an oversized icicle.”

Martha slowly gave Hazel’s simple black evening gown the once-over. “And what funeral are you going to?”

After looking at her own similar, long black dress, Betty interceded. “You know we’re not as audacious as you.”

Martha nodded. “You both offset me nicely, though.”

“That was our intent,” mollified Betty.

Hazel looked over at Betty. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

“Well then, quit inciting,” replied Betty. “I’m hungry.”

I stared at my watch. Because of skiing, we opted for the second seating for our first formal dinner. “Me too,” I said as the others gathered their purses and left.

I paused at the door and looked back. It was an older, elegant hotel decorated in eighteenth century antiques. Our suite was on the fourth floor: a top corner unit with two connected rooms with their own baths. The room Martha and I shared overlooked on one side, a skating rink with a view of the town’s main street, stores, and restaurants, and the other side bordered the front of the hotel. Hazel and Betty’s room faced the front with the elevator on the other side of them. There was another suite across the hallway.

I did another visual inspection. I wanted to memorize where I’d left my things to see if they were touched while we were at dinner. The hotel was crawling with guests and housekeeping staff, coming and going. This was my first step in trying to pinpoint a lapse in security.

I hustled down the hallway to catch up with the others. But then I thought I heard a door open and close softly behind me. I stopped and quickly turned back to look.

Nothing. No one.

I waited a beat, heard nothing more, turned back and caught up to the others, making a mental note to pay closer attention to who might occupy that suite across the hall.

Martha was still holding the private elevator door open.

“For someone so young, you sure walk slow.”

After tomorrow’s workout, I’d probably be crawling.

Chapter 7

Decent Into Hell

The creaking, tiny, European elevator descended slowly.

Hazel’s eyes anxiously darted about the cramped space. Irritated, Martha finally said to her, “What’s up with you?”

“It’s just such a tiny space,” she mumbled.

I saw beads of sweat appear on her and remembered that she suffered from claustrophobia. “Hey, don’t worry.”

Betty nudged me. “I don’t think she’ll freak out.”

Martha frowned. “What’s this …you …don’t …think?”

The elevator paused dramatically, screeched, but then rumbled on.

Hazel placed a hand against one wall. “Oh, my!”

I checked my watch. It was only four floors. Come on!

Betty nervously played with her pendant. “Hmm…”

Now Martha turned to her. “What, is with you two?”

“I wouldn’t want an all-out panic attack,” said Betty, eyeing her friend with concern.

Martha then cast a wary eye on Hazel, who looked ill.

I tried to distract Hazel, but suddenly there was a shift in momentum.

We’d stopped.

I turned to the panel of buttons. None were lit. “Damn.”

“What floor are we at?” asked Martha, alarmed.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Martha shoved me aside. “What do you mean you…?”

Vice-gripping Martha’s arm, Hazel asked, “What?”

“We can’t tell what floor we’re on. No buttons are lit.”

Hazel pulled at the metal cage gate.

It wouldn’t budge.

Then she closed her eyes. “One, two, three, four…”

Betty patted Hazel’s arm. “Now, easy does it, Hazel.”

“…Why is she counting?” I asked uneasily.

Betty gave a weak smile. “She’s trying not to scream.”

Martha slapped her own head. “That’s all we need.”

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

I gripped Hazel by the shoulders. “Hazel! Look at me!”

She opened her eyes. “I think I’m in a meltdown.”

“Martha’s going to call on the elevator phone,” I said.

“No I’m not,” Martha replied matter-of-factly.

I whipped around to her, now annoyed. “And why not?”

“Because there isn’t one,” she said.

I heard an intake of breath. But this time it was Betty’s.

“Oh, Lord!” cried Hazel.

“This isn’t the time for prayer, Hazel,” said Betty.

“This is the time for a mechanic,” countered Martha.

“Of which I am not,” I said, feeling the walls close in.

“Hold on,” said Martha looking upward.

We all looked up too. There was an access hatch.

“Hazel get on your hands and knees,” ordered Martha.

“Whatever for?” Hazel asked. “Are you crazy?”

Martha pointed up. “I need a stepstool! The ceiling…”

“Over my dead body!” said Hazel indignantly.

“Don’t tempt me, you fruitcake!” retorted Martha.

I tried for calmness. “I…”

But then the lights went out.

Then I heard a loud banging. “What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s me!” shouted Martha. “Help! Get us out! Help!”

In no time at all we had formed a quartet.

“Help…!”

Chapter 8

In The Nick Of Time

Suddenly we heard a voice from up above. “Ladies?”

“Oh, my God!” said Hazel. “Is that who I think it is?”

Betty grabbed me. “I’ve heard crazy stories like this.”

“There’s a snag,” said Martha. “We were going down.”

Like an idiot I smelled for smoke. “Hey, look up!”

A white light was now blinding all of us.

“Oh, no!” said a frantic Hazel. “I see a white light!”

We all tried to back up, but couldn’t. We were already pressed up against all four sides of the small elevator.

Again we heard, “Ladies?”

“Yes,” said Hazel, shakily.

“I’ma here to helpa you,” the voice said.

Shocked, Hazel gasped, “…He…has an accent?”

Martha turned to me somewhat perplexed. “The Bible never mentioned he was from Italy. When did this Italian thing come into play?”

“I smell a rat,” said Betty becoming suspicious.

“And I smell garlic,” I said sniffing.

Martha shielded her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’ma Nick, from hotel maintenance.”

In seconds he jumped in between the four of us. It was a tight fit, but if you ignored the garlic breath and this pun, it was a gift from heaven. After introductions were politely made, he told us the lights would turn on shortly. They did.

Nick maneuvered a few wires from inside the wall box.

“There, thatta should do it!”

When the elevator started to move again, Hazel, slightly embarrassed by her behavior, breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. “Look girls, about how I reacted…”

I touched her arm. “Hazel, forget it. We understand.”

By this time the lobby appeared before us as the door opened. Nick stepped back allowing us to step out before him. A small crowd had gathered and ringed the doors. Apparently our screams had drawn some attention. Seeing we were okay and smiling, they quickly dispersed.

A pale-looking man remained standing there. He was around five foot six: my height, dark wavy hair, wearing a black suit. Nick nodded to him and discreetly backed away.

The man bent forward in a slight bow. “I’m Herr Miller, the manager. On behalf of the hotel, and the owner, Herr Kraus, we wish to apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced. I wish to escort you to our very best table for this evening’s dinner, which will be compliments of the hotel. Is that satisfactory, ladies?”

We nodded, glanced at each other, grinned, and then gracefully followed Herr Miller as he led the way.

“I wonder if that elevator breaks a lot,” whispered Betty.

Martha laughed. “This could be lucrative for Clay.”

“I’m taking the stairs next time,” said Hazel still shaken.

Martha sized plump Hazel up and down and smiled.

“They are wider…”

Chapter 9

Getting Acclimated, Getting Reacquainted

Several waiters rushed around us the minute we reached our table. Our chairs were swept back with a flourish. Then our linen napkins were retrieved, shaken out, and ever so gently placed in our laps.

“Oh, my!” said a flustered Hazel. “This is lovely.”

“Why, thank you,” said Betty acknowledging her waiter.

Eyeing her waiter, Martha said, “Sure beats fast-food.”

I looked about. The tall elegant windows were framed by pale yellow drapes that puddled to the floor, while flickering candles and baby’s-breath sat on the white linen tablecloths. It was a spacious, yet intimate dining room.

We were told the table next to the dance floor was now ours for our entire hotel stay. A small band would be playing, but they weren’t out yet, only their instruments. I noted many guests were already seated and sipping wine.

Herr Miller reappeared at tableside, looked up, snapped his fingers, and then turned back to us smiling.

“It would give Herr Kraus great pleasure if you ladies would accept one of our best bottles of champagne.”

In seconds a waiter arrived with an ice-filled wine stand, while another popped the cork on a large bottle and poured.

As Herr Miller backed away from the table I proposed a toast. “Remember, always expect the unexpected.”

Betty gave me a strange look. “Why that toast?”

“It’s our reminder to be open to surprises,” said Hazel.

Martha paused mid-sip. “Here comes one right now.”

We all turned in the direction Martha was gaping at and gave a collective gasp as surprise number two, dressed in a navy blue dress, approached from across the dance floor.

Betty recovered first. “I thought we left her in Boca.”

I hugged our surprise: Mona, my old college friend.

“This certainly is unexpected,” Hazel greeted, smiling.

The ever-suspicious Martha said, “Hey, this hotel is completely booked. Where are you going to sleep, Missy?”

Mona winked at Martha. “Why your suite, of course. They’re already setting up a portable bed in there now.”

As the waiters discreetly set out another place setting, Martha said sarcastically, “How exciting. A slumber party.”

I considered Mona’s surprise reappearance that was sprung upon us cold turkey. My unpredictable college buddy, who disappeared and reappeared unexpectedly, either wreaking havoc or begging for my help, had me curious and suspicious.

Why now? Why here?

I leaned in. “What’s the deal this time?”

Everyone focused on Mona, waiting.

“I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun,” she said.

I eyed her, waiting.

She began fidgeting. “…Well, he felt I should be here.”

“Who’s he?” I asked, but knew it had to be Clay. I was irritated, almost said something I might regret, but backed off from that. “…I don’t need a babysitter,” I finally said.

“She’s already got three now,” quipped Martha.

Martha then honed in on her favorite target: tall, dark-haired, ample Mona, and smirked. “Ever hear of Spanx?”

Chapter 10

A Little Libation, Then Lullaby

Dinner went fairly smoothly, with the exception of the predictable and baiting comments thrown back and forth between Martha and Mona. And as the wine flowed, their virulent verbosity kicked in overtime to our amusement.

In other words, they took no prisoners.

“You know, Martha, being so old, I bet your ski poles could double as walking canes…”

“I just love your dress, Mona, but all that fabric they had to use must have cost a pretty penny…”

You get the idea.

Those two considered conversation a competitive sport for antagonistic rhetoric aimed specifically at each other. I had to admit, they kept it interesting. And as long they didn’t physically duke it out, as Martha liked to say, it made me forget about the unfortunate events of the day.

Later that night I still wasn’t buying exactly why Mona was there. As usual, she was rather vague, explaining she always wanted to see the Swiss Alps. Clay had apparently called her with the same invite, once again, telling her, “all expenses paid,” so she jumped at the chance like we did.

But what was really in it for her?

Mona always had a soft spot for trouble and lucrative ventures and this one, she’d said felt like it had ‘potential.’ Of course not knowing that ‘potential’ and why any of us were there was, according to Mona, merely a small snag as far as she was concerned. So the three of us, now settled in our own beds, were trying to figure out what was going on.

Hazel and Betty had retired to their room that adjoined ours. I left a dim light on, but their door was long ago shut because of all our chatter. They said they needed their rest.

“The way I see it,” continued Martha, “It’s a win-win.”

“How so?” I asked.

“We get to ski for several days and it’s all paid for.”

I nodded. “And I get free ski lessons from Peter.”

“Who’s Peter?” asked Mona.

“Not the one who she was hoping he was,” said Martha.

Mona turned toward Martha. “You know, as usual that almost made sense, but you lost me after the word not.”

So I started out at the beginning explaining everything, including the ugly Spanx episode, the moving doorknob, Olaf and Peter, the elevator incident, and ended with hearing a door open and close as I walked to the elevator.

“You never said anything about any door,” said Martha.

“It was probably nothing,” I said, downplaying it.

Mona raised her head and stared at the two of us.

“And all this happened within a few hours of arriving?”

“Give or take an hour,” said Martha casually, like it was par for the course for us.

…Come to think of it, it was.

Chapter 11

Taking My Lumps & Not Liking It

I was having second thoughts standing there, watching Hazel, Betty, Martha and Mona wave as they rose further up the mountain on the lifts, excited about skiing.

You figured right. Mona was a good skier too. Damn.

I finally turned around and gave Peter a feeble smile.

“Don’t worry. We’re not going higher, yet,” he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief, but then narrowed my eyes.

“Exactly where are we going?” I asked looking around.

“First I want to reteach you the basics, and then how to stop properly. Then, you see that area right over there?”

I looked at where he was pointing: an area with multiple bumpy-looking mounds of snow on a downward slope.

“First I’ll show you the proper way to push off, stop and several safety tips, then after lunch we’ll do a freestyle type of skiing on that area. Those uneven bumps are small moguls caused by other skiers pushing off, turning and stopping, then continuing on.”

“But I was hoping for a flat surface to start off with.”

Peter laughed. “That is for the small kinder ski class.”

I gave him a confused look. “The what?”

“Kinder, in German, means children.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry. My method will teach you how to make short turns and have strong pole placement.”

I was already white-knuckle gripping my poles. They looked more like lethal weapons than something that would save me. Of course in my hands one never knew.

Peter patted my shoulder. “We only have a few days.”

Wearing my bulky ski jacket and pants, scarf, padded gloves and knit hat, I gave a reluctant, “…Okay.”

“Many people think it is safer on a groomed course and skiing those moguls is unsafe. But once you learn and understand a few simple techniques, it is easy and safe. Today you will learn control, balance and technique.”

Technique? Me? “But we’re high up and I’ve never…”

“I know,” said Peter. “I can see the fear written on your face. Relax. You won’t need fast reflexes with this.”

I frowned. “What else did Clay tell you about me?”

“He said you have an excellent sense of humor.”

A smile finally tugged at my mouth. “Depends.”

“On what?” Peter asked.

“I’m allergic to pain. I also have this height thing…”

He arched his brow. “And you want to ski the Alps?”

“Who said anything about wanting to? I have a point to prove to a small select group of people and you’re going to help me do it in four days, right?”

He nodded and smiled. “We will work on both, okay?”

“My life is in your hands, Peter. Lead the way…”

I could do this. No, I swear, I really mean it this time.

Chapter 12

A Pain In The Neck, Literally

We met up at our suite. I was incapable of changing out of my ski clothes for lunch downstairs. I was stiff and sore, but single-minded in seeing this through. Martha signed the receipt for room service and turned back to me.

“After France, I’ve got this exchange thing down pat. Besides it’s not my money so I gave him a generous tip.”

After four hours of ski lessons, I was aching all over.

“Serves Clay right for suggesting I practice skiing.”

Chairs were arranged around a linen-topped table on wheels, laden with soup, breads and fruit. The girls were kind enough to set it up right next to my bed. All I had to do was painfully swing my legs over and under it to eat.

Betty was concerned. “Don’t overdo it, Sam.”

Hazel patted my arm. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Hey,” laughed Mona. “It could be worse.”

“I don’t see how?” I asked after popping some Advil.

“You could’ve broken something already,” she said.

“Ah, words of encouragement. Just what I needed.”

Martha grinned. “Someday you’ll be skilled like me.”

“At what? Clipping people as you race by?” said Mona.

“Hey, I gave him fair warning with a loud whistle.”

Betty shook her head. “Maybe he was hard of hearing.”

“Poor man looked to be in his late eighties,” said Hazel.

“Then he should’ve had a special vest on,” said Martha.

“You mean the kind with a bull’s-eye on it?” said Mona.

I began laughing. Their banter worked faster than pills.

“Feeling better, Sam?” asked Hazel.

“A little. Is this normal, all this pain I’m feeling?”

“Cramming all that skiing into four days is a bit much. I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Betty.

“Since when does Sam limit herself?” Mona asked.

“Obviously, not since she met you,” quipped Martha.

“Listen old lady. I know black belt,” warned Mona.

Martha eyed Mona. “Aren’t belts off-limits with you?”

“Don’t venture into my weight issues. I’m big and tall.”

After lunch and much laughter, I was feeling better. I checked the clock. “I’d better hit the trail for more torture.”

Betty and Hazel exchanged glances.

“We almost forgot to tell you, Sam.”

I paused in place. “What?”

“Hazel and I saw Peter and Nick exchange something.”

“Where?”

“In the lobby,” said Betty. “Think that’s unusual?”

“The locals must know everyone here,” said Mona.

“We tried to get closer to see and hear,” added Hazel.

“But new people checking in prevented us,” said Betty.

“I wouldn’t be concerned,” I said.

“No?” said Martha. “When should we be starting to?”

“Always question who, then the why,” warned Hazel.

Martha cracked, “Must’ve been a ski lesson schedule.”

“Very funny,” I said. “I still wouldn’t be concerned.”

Chapter 13

Ready, Set…Wait!

I leaned forward staring down that hill. Although Peter was right next to me, I felt queasy. I glanced at the tips of my skis hovering slightly over the edge just waiting for me to push them off on a run. This could be painful and lethal.

I was aiming for calm and collected, but didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off. Uncertainty was rearing its ugly head. I tried to suppress it by giving myself a mental pep talk.

It can’t be that bad. Peter is here. Snow is soft, right?

Then I smiled at Peter. “Maybe this is too soon for me.”

All he said was “Give me those two.”

I stared at him, confused. “What two?”

He looked down at my hands. “Your two poles.”

I laughed at the thought. “You’re kidding, right?”

He held out his hand, waiting. “No, I am not.”

I stared down that hill. …When hell freezes over.

He stood with his hand outstretched. He wasn’t kidding.

Neither was I. “I definitely should practice some more.”

“Samantha, we’re taking this first run without poles.”

Was he trying to kill me?

Now that was a novel thought. “Uh-uh,” I said.

His hand never wavered. He just smiled. “Trust me.”

I did and I didn’t. Reluctantly, I handed over my poles.

He immediately skied over to a sign and stuck them into some packed snow. Then he did the same with his. He then grabbed a long stick he had leaning against a post, then skied back right next to me. He held it sideways in front of both of us. “Grab onto the other end like I’m doing.”

It was like holding onto the safety bar of an amusement park ride with Peter right next to me. Unfortunately, the bar wasn’t attached…to anything.

He smiled at me saying, “Remember all that I taught you this morning. You will do perfectly fine. Just trust your instincts about which way to lean and turn. I will help you and be right beside you the whole way. Are you ready?”

I stared down at all those moguls. “Nooo…!”

I guess he didn’t hear me because he pushed us off.

“We’ll go slow so you can learn how it feels.”

I was so frightened, I was sorely tempted to just shut my eyes and wasn’t the least bit interested in what we were probably going to hit that would most likely strike me dead. But something made me keep them open.

“Relax, Samantha. Feel the terrain and go with it.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Before I realized it we were about a third of the way down the hill. I was still in the upright position, but now I was smiling instead of grimacing and gritting my teeth.

“What do you think, Sam?”

“This is great. I feel it! I feel it!”

“Good. Now let’s go a little faster.”

“Hey, wait a minute! Nooo…!”

I swear, I didn’t even have time for my life to flash by.

Chapter 14

Returning To The Crime Scene

When we finally reached the bottom I was so surprised I patted myself down to make sure all of me had made it. Then I looked back up the hill, amazed I was still alive.

“I can’t believe I…I mean, we… did that!”

“You have a natural talent and feel for the slope, Sam.”

Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Me? Talent?

“Why thank you, Peter. I did have my doubts, but…”

“Now, are you ready to go back up?”

Uh-uh. My writing deadlines were torture enough.

“…What do you mean, back up? Whatever for?”

“To go for a different run this time.”

I took a steady breath. “…Different run?”

“I thought you might like to see some Swiss chalets and ski through the forest to practice the skills you learned.”

“…I don’t know.”

“Trust me. Would I let you go if I thought you couldn’t handle it? Besides, I will be with you the whole way.”

I stared back toward the village. I could go shopping…

“Do you want to become proficient?”

“…Well, yes and no.”

Peter laughed. “Didn’t you want to prove something?”

I smiled then. “I guess I could take more Advil later.”

Peter laughed again. “I’m positive you can do this.”

I had to suck it up, bite the bullet, and all the rest.

“You’re right. If you think I can do this, let’s go!”

“We will ride back up like we did before,” he said.

We arrived where I had waved goodbye to Martha and the others. Peter retrieved our poles and handed me mine.

I glanced around, relaxing. “Okay, where to?”

“We get on the next lift to go higher.”

I barely managed, “…We’re going higher up than this?”

“To see the magnificent views and glacier first,” Peter explained, “above the tree line then ski through the forest.”

I cast a wary eye at the lift, and then looked downward.

…Higher?

I heard children laughing and turned. They were eagerly climbing onto the lift.

…I did have insurance.

I squared my shoulders, skied over and jumped on, with Peter getting on beside me. “Let’s do this,” I said.

I came to get a job done and would do it.

I stared down as we ascended, watching people on the ground getting smaller …and smaller. I was grabbing the bull by the horns, not pussyfooting around, I was…

Oh my God! I was thinking in Martha’s clichés!

This was a mistake. I was an author, not a professional skier. I was supposed to kill my antagonists not myself!

“What is it, Sam?” Peter asked as I gripped his arm.

“Does this thing go in reverse?”

All he did was laugh all the rest of the way up.

Ski instructors sure have a strange sense of humor.

Chapter 15

Over The Hills & Through The Woods

When we arrived at the top, Peter saw my reluctance and gave me a gentle shove. I quickly landed on my feet and wobbled to a stop a few feet from the lift. He slid in beside me. “See?”

I conceded the point by smiling. “I guess I’ll live.”

“Sam, look around. Isn’t this beautiful up here?”

I had to admit it was spectacular. I looked off in the distance at the glacier and other mountain ranges. “Yes!”

“You have the skills for this run. Plus, I’ll stay close.”

Who was I, the student, to second-guess him? “Okay.”

“I will lead, but keep a constant visual on you.”

“Good. I wouldn’t know which way to go anyway.”

“Exactly. Plus I don’t want you veering off track.”

I had no interest in sightseeing the local hospital either.

“This easy run I chose is gradual, but heavily forested. If we get separated for a bit, just follow the ski tracks. It’s popular with the locals because there aren’t many tourists. It’ll be safe to practice on. I know the way, so follow me.”

I smiled, encouraged by his words. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Peter nodded and took off. I followed right behind him observing his body language, while remembering all he’d taught me. I leaned into the turns and paralleled my skis to slow down, and pivoted to skirt all the trees laden with fresh snow. It was a gorgeous, brisk and sunny afternoon.

Every once in a while someone would either whistle or give a type of yodel to let me know they were skiing past me at a faster speed. I held steady as Peter instructed and was gaining confidence negotiating my turns and digging my poles in every once in a while for balance and speed.

Now I knew the exhilaration and thrill Martha and the others always talked about. Between the concentration, physical exertion, the thrill of the ride, and the stunning beauty of my surroundings, fear never entered the equation.

I caught my breath as a deer darted off to the left. A clump of snow cascaded off an evergreen branch to the ground on my right as I swooshed by. I felt like I was skiing through one of the numerous postcards I’d seen in the hotel shop. Growing ever more self-assured, I let the gap between us slowly lengthen.

Every once in a while I’d catch Peter turn and raise his pole slightly, waving it in the air. Knowing he was keeping an eye out for my progress, I relaxed. And the further we skied, the more confident I felt. Coming up on the right was a Swiss chalet surrounded by snow-covered evergreens and with stacked firewood and a corral. It took my breath away as I sped by. Then I turned away and skirted some trees…

What the…? Peter was gone!

I followed the well-worn ski trail, rounding more trees, but he was nowhere in sight. I stopped. There was nothing but more trees. I looked down. Tracks veered off all over.

…Hey, wait a minute! Which ones were his?

Chapter 16

Getting My Bearings

Panting from exertion and uncertainty, I peered up. The sun was angled. It was getting late, but how late? Other than giving me the time, carrying a cell phone would’ve been useless so I had left it at the hotel. A lot of good it would have done anyway. With all these mountains, getting a signal was futile. I checked all around me on the forested ski trail. Not a sole. It was eerily quiet.

Where was Peter?

He must’ve realized I wasn’t behind him by now, right? Could Peter ski back uphill to get me? I stared at the trail as it sloped downward, feeling disoriented. I knew the village was down below, but how far, and which way? All the trees surrounding me now obscured any distant views.

I couldn’t stand there and wait any longer. I had to get moving and take my chances before the sun set. Skiing in the dark was not exactly a specialty of mine. Come to think of it, skiing in daylight wasn’t either. I adjusted my goggles, dug my poles in, and…bam. I was struck hard.

The wind knocked out of me, I collapsed to the ground.

I lay in the snow on my back, too stunned to move from the hit and the sudden pain, trying to catch my breath. After a minute, I finally opened my eyes expecting to see a skier standing over me, apologizing to see if I was all right.

But no one stood there.

I raised my head a little and glanced around. Zip. Then I slowly sat up. I still had my skis on, which were positioned awkwardly in the air. Somehow I managed to get them flat on the ground, grabbed my pole, and stood up, then bent to grab the other. Then I took stock of my surroundings and a much-needed calming deep breath.

I couldn’t believe someone would hit me and not stop to see if I was okay. Of course, I was in the middle of the trail. Perhaps with all the trees obscuring long distance views, the skier hadn’t seen me until the last minute.

But still, it didn’t excuse their actions. Would someone else come along? I hadn’t seen anyone for a while: which was a good and a bad thing. The good thing: I wouldn’t get another surprise hit. The bad thing: there would be no one to direct me back to town. I had to get out of there, after having visions of me wandering aimlessly and spending the night slowly freezing to death or, maybe in just hours.

Then my crazy mind kicked in. Did I have identification on me? I frantically searched and came up with my wallet. Good. At least if they found me in a frozen lump they could identify the body. I stood there visualizing that.

Uh-uh. Not in my book. I’d ski downhill in the dark first, rather than freeze to death. There’s no way…

Then an idea hit. That chalet I’d passed. I could go back there for help. I turned around. It wasn’t that far and the trail looked almost flat.

It’d be like cross-country skiing…

Chapter 17

What Was I Thinking?

I half skied, slid, limped and finally dragged myself to the clearing where the picturesque chalet stood. Now I felt like I was in the postcard from hell. I was panting heavily, making a mental note to never, and I mean never, go cross-country skiing. I was born to drive not ski. Scratch sports.

I was panting and dripping with perspiration: so much for freezing to death. I’d probably have a heart attack first. That would have been preferable at that point. I could barely stand. My thighs were screaming bloody murder.

If Clay suddenly appeared I would have committed one.

I tried to focus on my mission: ask for directions. I stuck my poles in the snow and unsnapped my skis, propped them against the fence of the chalet and tore off my scarf. Then I unlatched the gate and approached the front door.

I found a pull chain attached to a bell and rang it.

Nothing.

I started knocking on the door. Then I pounded.

Nothing.

I stepped back from the door and surveyed the whole chalet. It was shuttered tight. No one was there. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Then I started walking the perimeter. It was the same everywhere: locked up tight. My eyes drifted over to a horse in an enclosed corral. He was leaning over the fence post and just staring at me.

Okay, I was desperate.

I walked over and called out, “Hey, fella.”

He sniffed my outstretched hand.

“Sorry, buddy. No snacks. Not for you or me. Here I am stuck in the middle of nowhere, tired, cold, and with no one to talk to.” I looked around. “It’s so damn quiet back here it gives me the creeps. Plus it’s going to get dark soon. If I could break into that house I would, but all the windows are closed and shuttered. I’m also getting hungry.”

I looked over at his feed bin in his covered shed. It was overflowing with oats. Did a neighbor feed him?

My stomach growled. “If I was a horse I’d eat that.”

He looked me directly in the eye, snorted, turned around and walked over to his comfortable shed and his damn oats.

“…Hey, was it something I said?” I turned away and plodded back through the snow over to a shuttered window and pulled hard. It wouldn’t budge.

So sue me. I had to try.

I looked back to the horse. His ass was facing me as he munched on his oats. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was making a personal statement. Shrugging, I turned.

Skis, here I come.

I was headed toward the front of the chalet when I heard a voice from behind me. I turned back to see who it was.

“I wondered who those skis out front belonged to.”

An older man dressed for skiing approached me.

I grinned. I was looking at my ski ticket out.

Chapter 18

Talk About An Escort Service

He took off his sunglasses. “Can I help you, Miss?”

Was that a slight accent?

He was tall and elegant-looking with gray hair and mustache and perfectly attired: black jacket, gloves, pants and ski boots.

But where were his poles and skis?

“I seem to have gotten separated from my ski instructor, then remembered passing this chalet and hiked back to ask for directions. I wasn’t sure how to get back to the village.”

“If you had followed the main ski tracks,” he said, “you would have ended up at the edge of Grindelwald.”

“But the tracks started to veer in different directions and I had visions of ending up wandering after dark.”

He looked out to the woods, and then turned back.

“Yes. Unfamiliar territory can be intimidating.”

I stuck out my hand. “By the way, I’m Samantha.”

He nodded and shook my hand. “And I am Hans.”

Wait a minute! All the shutters were locked.

“Are you a neighbor?”

“…No.”

Then what was he doing here?

As though reading my thoughts, Hans said, “Your skis stood out since this house has been vacant for a long time.”

Then why was the horse here? This didn’t wash.

“The trail is ideal: secluded and no tourists,” he said.

Yeah, especially behind this chalet, I thought.

My eyes darted about, taking in my surroundings. What was I thinking standing there in the middle of nowhere talking to him? I took another step. “I’d better get going.”

“Wait,” he said, latching onto my arm.

Surprised by his strength, my breath caught. He let go.

“Don’t wander too far. You might get hurt.”

I stepped back. What kind of warning was that?

“When the ski tracks veer right, take them. You will end up skiing right into the village by the pastry shop.”

That was across from my hotel. Did he know that too?

“I should escort you to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Uh-uh. Then my hotel would definitely be confirmed.

We both turned when someone called out my name.

Perfect! “Peter must have hiked back and found me.”

Smiling, I quickly hustled toward the front, relieved to be seeing Peter for a safe escort back. But as I rounded the front of the chalet, I found it wasn’t Peter at all, but that handsome stud from the ski shop: Olaf.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“At lunch Peter bragged how skilled you were. I knew the trail he’d take and figured I would catch up to see for myself. I recognized your scarf hanging from the skis.”

“Oh, that red one. Your timing’s impeccable.” I turned half expecting to see Hans coming after me, but he hadn’t.

Olaf followed my gaze. “What? Is Peter back there?”

“No, just that man I was talking to.”

“What man?” Olaf asked, following me to the back.

But once there I saw only tracks in the snow. No Hans.

“I had lost Peter, then was hit quite hard…”

After I explained, Olaf said, “I’ll ski down with you.”

“But what about Peter?” I said, now upset.

Chapter 19

Escorts & Retorts

“Peter is an accomplished skier,” Olaf reassured me. “Don’t worry, he can take care of himself.”

“That’s not my point. What if something had happened to me? I’m not worried about him. I’m upset. He should have come back to check on me! It’s going to be dusk soon. Why would he leave me trailing behind like that and not come back to get me?”

“I did,” said a voice from behind us.

The wind had picked up, rustling the evergreens, so we hadn’t heard anyone’s approach. Startled, we both turned.

Peter was standing there, perspiring heavily.

From exertion or nervousness?

Had he heard my outburst?

“It was uphill, but I made it back. Are you okay, Sam?”

Okay? Okay?

I was furious and wanted to choke him, and somewhat suspicious. What kind of ski instructor abandons you on an isolated mountainside near dusk? Plus Clay set him up as my instructor. I had a few choice words for him too.

Olaf cut in. “Hey, remember who showed up first.”

“Yes, but for what?” accused Peter. “…A ski lesson?”

“I was testing the waters, that is all,” he said innocently.

As we walked back out to the front, I said, “We should get back to town before it gets dark, don’t you think? Now, which one of you gentlemen will lead the way?”

“Let’s show her how we ski backwards,” said Olaf.

“Then I can’t lose sight of her, right?” Peter cracked.

“Hey, maybe I should go first,” I said worried about sunset, while snapping my skis on and grabbing my poles.

They both gave a firm, “No!”

“And why not?” I asked, frowning.

Peter shook his head. “It would be safer if I led the way until you are more experienced.”

“But I thought you were bragging about me at lunch.”

“Yes, you are good, but I wasn’t bragging.”

“But Olaf said…” I glanced at Olaf, who shrugged.

Peter shook his head again, this time at Olaf. “…You!”

“You can’t blame me for trying. You have her all day.”

“I have a better idea,” said Peter.

Olaf stared suspiciously at him. “And what is that?”

“You start off first, then Samantha. I will ski last. Then I can keep an eye on both of you.”

I was flattered by Olaf’s attention and felt better about Peter’s concern for my safety.

“And I thought testosterone was high in the US,” I said.

“I hear it has something to do with altitude,” said Olaf.

“Remind me not to go skiing in Colorado or Utah.”

Olaf glanced at me uncertainly. “…Sarcasm, yes?”

“Yes, it’s one of her many assets,” laughed Peter

“And the one thing that’s predictable about me,” I said.

“Clay did mention that,” added Peter.

“Did he also mention I prefer not to be told what to do?”

“He did confide you were sensitive on the subject.”

I just stood there. “Good. Soooo…?”

“Would you mind skiing between us?” Peter asked.

I grinned. “Of course not. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Shaking his head, Olaf took off. I was about to follow, but Peter put a hand on my shoulder and I turned. “What?”

“How about a quick drink at your hotel to talk…alone?”

“…Sure.” Then I took off speculating…

Why?

Chapter 20

The Why Of It & More

After I dropped off my skis and poles in the ski room, I went straight to the ladies’ restroom off the lobby. I didn’t dare head back to my suite, already knowing I would have to dance around the subject of why I was going back out to meet Peter downstairs. Intrigued, my partners in crime would insist on joining me just to see what I was up to.

That move had disaster written all over it.

After washing my face and finger combing my hair, I headed for the bar area. I was planning on a handful of snacks and an Advil chaser as soon as possible. I spotted Peter sitting at a secluded corner table off to the side and waved, walked over and sat down, carefully.

He laughed. “Sore?”

“Was it that obvious?” I said, pulling out my Advil.

“Here is some water for you and a bowl of snacks.”

After gobbling up a handful and washing down the pills, I sat back and sighed. “So, why did you want to see me?”

Having already ordered his drink, Peter took a quick sip.

“First, I wanted to caution you about getting too friendly with Olaf. He’s a lady-killer: loves them and leaves them.”

“Don’t worry. I already have one of my own.”

He gave a slight grin. “I assume you mean Clay.”

“The one and only.”

He chuckled. “Did Clay tell you when he was arriving?”

I smirked. “As if you didn’t know.”

“Clay did mention your wit…and your past.”

He knew. “One helps me deal with the other.”

“It must have been a shock how your husband died.”

“Yes, it was a complex puzzle that I finally solved.”

“I wanted to be up front in my knowing about your dead husband, Stephen.”

“I appreciate that. Then you should understand why I have an extremely suspicious nature and still have trust issues, which also includes the always elusive Clay.”

Peter laughed. “Smart. You will be safer that way.”

I grabbed a cracker. “What’s this meet-up really about?”

“I spoke to Olaf. Tell me what happened on the slope.”

I explained about the anonymous hit after I lost him on the trail and the elderly gentleman, Hans, behind the chalet.

“What did he look like?” he asked.

I gave Peter precise details: exactly as I remembered.

“Good observations,” said Peter. “Anything else?”

“I didn’t like how he appeared out of nowhere. Peter, what’s going on? You’re working with Clay, aren’t you?”

“…Yes. Clay needs you to mix, mingle and observe.”

“I didn’t think I was here for the ski lessons.”

“Keep your eyes open. Clay trusts your instincts.”

“My instincts are telling me there’s more, much more.”

He hesitated. “…I’m sure Clay wouldn’t mind me at least confiding we’re here as bodyguards to Herr Kraus.”

Chapter 21

Whatever For?

“About time someone told me.” Why hadn’t Clay?

“Herr Kraus hired Clay then he hired me. Clay figured with you and the ladies here, you would be able to mingle with guests to note any suspicious activity or conversations without drawing too much attention to yourselves.”

I grabbed a pretzel. “Well it might be a little too late.”

“Why is that?”

I explained about my Spanx.

“Could be something, could be random.”

“…But in this hotel? Why me? Why protect Kraus?”

“Why you? I don’t know. The other? I can’t tell you.”

I didn’t buy any of it.

“And Clay telling me to take ski lessons until he arrived? That sounded a little suspicious the way he dismissed the whole Spanx incident.”

He hesitated. “…So I could protect you during the day.”

“Eventually that’s what I figured was going on.”

“Still, it sounds unlikely that someone would target you so soon after you arrived. Your room is in your own name.”

“I think I’ve been linked to Clay,” I said. “But it doesn’t explain who would know Clay was involved with anything related to the owner of this exclusive hotel. Could someone have overheard Herr Kraus talking on the phone to Clay?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then I arrive and am given a not-so-subtle message.”

Peter carefully checked out the other bar patrons then said, “If Kraus was somehow overheard at some point…”

“I could also be way off-base on this,” I countered.

“Until we’re sure, take in what you see and hear.”

I was about to ask Peter about him being seen with Nick, but caution stepped in and I said nothing. I’d mention it to Clay when I caught up with him. Until then, I’d run today’s incidents by my crew for their take.

I looked at my watch and stood up. “I have to shower and get ready for dinner.”

Peter stood also. “I would appreciate you keeping this to yourself and not telling your friends.”

“And why not? Clay requested they be here too.”

“I’m concerned about your safety after that hit.”

That doesn’t make sense. Me not tell them? Not likely.

I gave a reassuring smile. “Then my lips are sealed.”

“Oh, Clay is working undercover. So don’t call him.”

Might be true. So I would hold off calling Clay for now.

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll touch base with you.”

But not right away. Like I said, I have trust issues.

Peter nodded then said, “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“…Tomorrow?”

He grinned. “Ski lessons start at 8 am.”

Now, I ask you. Do I look like a glutton for punishment?

I grinned right back. “…I can’t wait.”

Chapter 22

Intimating & Ruminating

You’d think my crew hadn’t seen each other in months. After several attempts at dinner that evening, I was able to jump into their animated banter to get their complete attention. I described my adventure then finished with how Peter had warned me not to tell them about what had happened, I sat back and waited for their take.

“Aha,” laughed Hazel. “Our vacation turns mysterious!”

Betty leaned in. “I wonder who that gentleman was?”

Mona snickered. “Did you get his number for Martha?”

“My mind wasn’t thinking in that direction at the time.”

Mona gave Martha a suggestive look. “Hers always is.”

Martha waved off Mona’s snide comment. “I now check any potential merchandise for expiration dates and might even require a lie-detector test. I’ve gotten so burned lately I’ve become cautious and now suffer from call-reluctance.”

I began laughing. “Plus, he was good-looking.”

“If I meet him I’ll check out his shelf life,” she said.

“As long as he’s breathing, right?” asked Hazel.

Martha shot back, “Are you implying I’m desperate?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m merely intimating…”

“Hey!” I said. “I need constructive input here, ladies.”

“The question is,” said Mona. “Was the hit intentional?”

“Well, I was standing in the middle of the ski trail.”

“Okay,” she said. “So it could play both ways.”

“Intentional and accidental,” offered Hazel.

“Right,” said Mona. “Let’s talk circumstances.”

“I was stopped because I was lost,” I said.

“So,” Martha speculated, “if you were being followed, they could have made it seem unintentional, but then…”

“…If it was this Hans fellow,” said Betty excitedly. “He could’ve backtracked to the chalet and…”

“…Acted like he accidentally found me there,” I added.

“Which might mean…what?” Martha asked.

“…So the next time I see him, I’ll recognize him?”

Mona shook her head. “Uh-uh. For what purpose?”

“That’s a sticking point, isn’t it?” said Betty.

“We might be over-reading this whole thing,” I said.

“Sounds like it,” said a disappointed Hazel.

Betty perked up. “Could it be a warning?”

“A warning for what?” asked Martha.

“Now why would someone be warning me?” I asked.

“…Maybe they aren’t warning you,” offered Mona.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but then understood.

Martha got it too. “You mean they’re warning Clay.”

Hazel nodded toward me. “You’re his weak spot.”

“Through me they get their message across,” I said.

“Back off or we get the love interest,” added Betty.

“That’s too simple,” I said. “There must be more to it.”

Martha tapped her finger. “It’s the why that’s iffy.”

“Yeah, the why of it,” I said. “…Why call off Clay?”

Why were Clay and Peter protecting Herr Kraus?

Chapter 23

Rising To The Occasion

So far, our collective brainstorming wasn’t exactly what I’d call successful. Nothing was accomplished other than we all agreed to disagree. No one could decide if my direct hit on the trail was accidental or really a warning. If it was a warning then who was warning me and why? Needing a break, I excused myself and left for the ladies room.

I was in a stall when someone else entered and washed their hands. Whoever it was passed by me then left. When finished I pushed the lever on my stall door, but it wouldn’t open. I gave a little shove. Still a no go. I pushed harder…

I was trapped inside.

Was it another warning?

Was it to let me know they could get me anywhere?

Or was I becoming paranoid?

I looked down at my formal and expensive long skirt I was wearing then stared at the spotless floor tiles and cringed. Crawl? To my relief, the door was too low to the floor to climb under. I tried the lever again, throwing my shoulder into the shove. Uh-uh.

I hollered twice, but no one heard me over the band playing. Hmm… I surveyed my predicament. I could handle this. I looked up, smiling. I could climb over the stall door.

I had to do something. Determined to get out, I hiked up my skirt and stepped onto the wobbly toilet seat, which was a feat in itself. My foot started to slip a little. I looked down into the toilet water and gripped the side of the stall for stability with my other hand: a delicate balancing act.

I paused there for a second. Now what? I needed both hands to grab the door of the stall to heft myself up and over, but one of them was holding up my long skirt from falling into the toilet. With both feet straddling the edges of the seat, I let go of the one wall and lifted up my skirt as high as it would go and tried to wrap it around my neck and tuck the rest of it into the front opening of my blouse.

Having accomplished that, I grabbed the side of the stall and door, then placed my foot on the toilet tissue holder for higher leverage and began pushing myself upward. I heard a creak: the tissue holder was coming loose. I wasn’t about to fall in the toilet water and gave a final push. …Splash.

My hotel key! My phone was at the table. No SOS calls.

Then the tissue holder gave way, clanking to the floor. There was no going back at that point, so I threw my one leg over the top of the door. I was halfway there! I twisted myself sideways. I was now straddling the door with both hands clinging to it: one leg was on one side and the other leg was on the other side. It was a painful straddle.

I heard the jiggle of the ladies room door. No, no…

I was too high up to leap and a quick glance back told me there was no going back. I clung to the wall and door, and swung my leg over. I could slide down and jump to the floor. But my skirt came loose and caught on the hinge and my dangling, exposed derrière now hung freeform.

I was swinging like a side of beef in designer high heels.

I heard a chuckle and reluctantly turned to look.

“I see you finally got your new Spanx,” said Martha.

Chapter 24

An Uncanny Situation

“Please get me down,” I said as dignified as I could.

“How did you get yourself caught up there like that?” she asked. “No, don’t bother explaining. What did you tell us? We should expect the unexpected, right?”

I was gripping the door to take the weight off my pricy skirt so it wouldn’t rip. “Very funny. Now help me down.”

“I think I’ll need some extra help,” she said, rushing out.

Within a minute Mona, Hazel and Betty rushed in.

“I thought she was joking,” said Mona stifling a laugh.

“It’s not a very ladylike position, Sam,” chided Hazel.

Betty was trying not to giggle. “It looks painful too.”

“For who?” asked Mona, now laughing out loud. “For her, or for us for being forced to stare at her ass.”

I was losing my patience. “Okay, you’ve all had your fun. Now please get me down. My hands are going numb.”

“Should we call for a ladder at the front desk?”

“No!” I shouted. “That would be too humiliating.”

“For who?” asked Mona. “The hotel or you?”

“Hey, wait! I got it!” said Martha. “The garbage can!”

“Brilliant!” said Betty. “She’ll be able to step on it.”

Hazel and Betty dragged it over, then Mona and Martha centered it so I could try and balance on the curved top.

“Okay,” said Martha. “Let’s get it a little closer.”

Hazel, closely studying the lock to my stuck stall door, said, “There’s a clip wedged in here. Let me pull it out.”

Suddenly the door swung open and me with it. My skirt broke free. Caught off guard, I lost my grip on the door. The garbage pail teetered, the top came off and I fell inside with a thud with my feet and arms sticking up in the air.

No one said a word. No one dared.

Finally Martha said, “Now, don’t that take the cake.”

Betty and Hazel politely turned away. Probably so I wouldn’t see them holding back their laughter. Mona had no qualms about breaking up right there in front of me.

Next thing I heard was a click. I turned as Martha took another shot with her iPhone. “No!” I yelled, mortified.

She laughed. “It’s for posterity. Someday you’ll look back on this episode and laugh all about it.”

“I doubt it. Now get me out of here!”

Everyone, including me, started arguing about the safest way to get me out of the can when there was a loud knock at the restroom door then it swung open. We all turned.

“The staff heard yelling and became concerned and…”

There stood the very Germanic Herr Miller staring at our group. Then his eyes lasered in on me. “Ms. Jamison? What are you doing in our ladies room trashcan?”

“This incident can be explained,” said Betty chuckling.

“Quite amusing when you think about it,” choked Hazel.

“It’s a doozy,” said Martha, now laughing outright.

My face went scarlet. “…It’s a long story.”

Mona barely got out, “She writes short ones too!”

Chapter 25

Who & Where Was Herr Kraus?

A couple of hours later I was feeling those welts on my thighs and my palms were still red in spite of a soothing salve Hazel had found. I’d have some wicked bruises by morning. Worse was the humiliation. Hazel and Betty had gone to their bedroom still giggling as they shut their door.

In an unusual truce, Mona and Martha were whispering in the corner sitting area of our suite making snide remarks about the additional iPhone pictures they had snapped just before I was eventually extricated from what a laughing Martha referred to as my unique steel bodyshaper.

They were taking photos for posterity? Ha!

More likely, I’d find them floating out on the Internet one of these days. Or, even more probable, held for extortion purposes whenever those two wanted me to agree to something dangerous. I knew from experience how their scheming minds worked. Nothing went to waste. I was their personal coupon with no expiration date.

…And I loved every minute of it.

After getting under the covers of their own beds, Martha spoke first. “Now who and where is this Herr Kraus?”

“I was thinking the same thing myself,” said Mona.

“Maybe he is a ‘behind the scenes’ player,” I ventured.

“You mean kind of like a silent investor,” Martha said.

“If Clay and Peter are supposed to be guarding him,” said Mona, “why is Clay still out of town?”

“Excellent point,” said Martha. “Sounds fishy.”

“Herr Kraus must be here on the premises or somewhere in the vicinity of the hotel,” ventured Mona. “If you recall, he offered you that free dinner and champagne the other night. He knew exactly what was going on, real time.”

“That doesn’t tell us why they’re guarding him,” I said.

“Another good point,” added Martha. “Now, why would Clay come all the way over here to guard somebody?”

“It’s obvious that there’s more of a connection between Clay, Peter and Kraus,” I suggested.

“…I still have my sources and contacts,” Mona hinted.

“And what makes you think the Feds want to hear from you?” Martha asked.

“Not those sources and contacts, my other ones.”

She was referring to her legal and illegal contacts.

“…Oh,” was all I eventually said.

Martha shook her head. “This might prove tricky.”

“Unfortunately, where you two are concerned,” I added, “tricky and trouble are usually a part of every equation.”

“Always the pessimist,” Martha tossed back.

“We should find Herr Kraus and follow him,” I said.

“In the meantime,” said Mona, “I’ll make some calls.”

“Should we be asking, to who?” Martha asked.

“Some things are better left unsaid,” I offered.

“As the cliché goes, ignorance is bliss,” laughed Mona.

“If Clay found out what we’re doing…” warned Martha.

“I don’t know about you two,” I said, “but my lips are sealed. Clay hasn’t confided in us, so it’ll play both ways.”

After an hour of staring at the ceiling and well after Mona and Martha fell asleep, I got up in the dim light and turned on my laptop across the room in our sitting area. I figured if I couldn’t fall asleep why not research this Herr Kraus myself, but from a different angle than the others? Maybe he was listed on the Internet.

What did he do that required bodyguards?

I typed for several minutes. All I wanted to do was skim the surface on this guy to give me some kind of reference point from which to start. I’d leave the heavy lifting: my crew’s networking skills, to further peel back the layers on that information-onion called Herr Kraus.

I couldn’t find one picture, which spiked my interest further. Finally, and to my surprise, I discovered he was an author of a few obscure travel books about Switzerland. The publishing information gave no full name just Herr Kraus, Grindelwald, Switzerland.

Hmm…

I sat back. Again, the same question came to mind. Why all this fuss over a doddery old author, who wrote detailed-filled travel books? What did he need bodyguards for?

None of this added up and none of it made sense.

Chapter 26

The Not So Great Outdoors

Early the next morning, Peter called apologetically to delay my ski lesson. Everyone was already gone. So I took advantage of my downtime to scope out the grounds of the hotel. The task wasn’t as simple as I had thought it would be because it had snowed during the night and the deep powder on top of the snow from the day before was proving hard to walk in. I pulled out my phone pretending to take some pictures of the scenic snow-covered gardens.

Dazzling white peaks topping the trees were already dotted with skiers. I wondered briefly what Peter was up to, but then approached the side of the hotel and found myself in a secluded area. I’d heard private apartments were attached in the back for VIP guests who didn’t want to mingle with the other guests: a good place to start.

I’d just negotiated the rear corner of the hotel when I caught sight of a familiar figure: that elderly gentleman, Hans. His behavior struck me as odd. He appeared to be surreptitiously taking pictures with his cell phone of something out of my eye range. He must have sensed someone there and abruptly turned in my direction.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked sharply.

Rattled by his hostile attitude and worried about Clay’s reaction to my spoiling his simple request in keeping a low profile at the hotel, I backed away, turned, and headed back to the back door of the hotel.

What was Hans doing in this garden in the first place?

Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I realized in shock that he was running after me, closing the gap.

What the… Why was he chasing me?

At this pace, he’d catch me.

And what would he intend to do once he caught me?

I wasn’t about to wait and find out. How could I slow him down? I spotted a few decorative rocks on a garden bench, figuring they would do the trick. They were sizable.

Perfect!

I grabbed three and pivoted. He was much closer now.

“Wait! Don’t you dare throw those!”

I took aim and threw as hard as I could. One missed and went wide. He ducked, but then started moving again. I was walking backwards to keep some distance between us.

He paused when I threw another. It missed by a hair.

Damn!

“You’ll regret that!” he yelled, once more on the move.

I pitched hard and nailed him right above his eye and watched him go down in pain. That was all I needed. I raced for the hotel door and heard it click as I bolted it, then hustled for the elevator and safety of my room, knowing running to the front desk and drawing attention to myself was, by instructions of Clay and Peter, out of the question.

Why the bizarre and threatening behavior toward me?

Panting, I safely made it through the door of our suite and bolted that one, too, but then came up short.

…Our suite door had been unlocked. Not good.

Mona and the ladies were out skiing. I knew they would not return for a while.

Then I heard noise coming from my closed bathroom.

Now what? I was obviously not alone.

Someone was rooting around in my medicine cabinet.

Was it the same person who had tried the doorknob the day before?

My eyes scanned the immediate area from where I was standing in search of a weapon, any weapon. I didn’t need to draw attention to my presence. Whoever this was clearly hadn’t heard me enter and bolt the door because they were still in there noisily rummaging through the shelves.

My eye caught a jar of Martha’s face cream. I grabbed it, tiptoed to the closed bathroom door and extended my arm. The door creaked open and I tried for a hard fastball.

Chapter 27

In Deep Voodoo

I stared at the man lying facedown on the floor at my feet. Something felt familiar about his build. I toed him. He moaned and I jumped. I was about to phone for help, when he rolled over and tried to sit up. I drew back in shock.

“…Uh-oh!”

My victim moaned. His eyes flickered then opened.

“What happened?” he asked, gingerly touching his head, which now happened to be bleeding. Not a lot, mind you, but it sure needed a largish bandage. I couldn’t believe I did that much damage with a glass jar of face cream. I had to find out where Martha bought it. It worked like a charm.

“What happened?” he asked again, trying to sit up.

My mind scrambled to think of a reasonable response.

I panicked?

I’ve had threats?

I was being chased two minutes ago?

Where the hell have you been?

I’m so sorry?

I took a stab at, “I’m so sorry, Clay!”

I didn’t let him get one word in until I had finished explaining everything, concluding with my embarrassing bathroom trashcan incident so he would feel sorry for me and not freak out once he got up and looked at himself in my mirror. He was not going to like what he saw.

“That’s everything.”

Well, not quite. I left out the two Hans episodes.

I’d planned some detecting on my own just to see Clay’s face when I revealed Hans’ identity. Then I’d be the one to have a few surprises up my sleeve for a change. Besides, Hans should be easy to spot in town. He would probably be developing a real shiner right about now.

Apparently, I was two for two that morning: an oddity. And I couldn’t even bask in the glow of victory. One of my hits was not looking so good at the moment and would probably be called a personal foul: a very personal foul.

Hey, football, baseball, the lingo was all the same to me.

Clay was trying to get to his feet. I reached out to help.

He shrunk back instinctively. “Don’t! Please!”

“I was merely going to help you,” I said defensively.

He gave me a look I knew all too well.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, backing away. “With friends like me, who needs enemies?”

“Exactly. By the way, your pitch was perfect.”

“Why, thank you, Clay. I try to stay in shape. Hey, I’ve been learning to ski like you suggested. And that Olaf…”

By this time he had managed to stand up, but shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind. He held up his hand to stop me. “…Whoa! Back up,” he said.

I stared at him blankly. “…To where? Which part?”

“The part about you meeting Olaf. Who is he?”

Chapter 28

Whoa!

“Whoa, yourself!” I replied.

That was a golden nugget I wasn’t expecting.

“What did you mean, who is Olaf?” I said.

Clay crooked an eye at me, the good one. “I believe I spoke English. But I’ll give it another shot. Who is Olaf?”

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. If Clay sent me to Peter, and then Peter introduced me to Olaf as his partner, and Clay and Peter were working together…

Seeing my concern, Clay grabbed my shoulder. “What?”

“…Are you sure you don’t know who Olaf is?”

Clay sighed a familiar sigh: one of impatience.

So I dove in. “Peter said Olaf was his business partner.”

“Business partner?”

“You know, like in skiing lessons?”

“Funny, Peter never mentioned Olaf before.”

“Maybe he forgot to mention it?” I ventured.

“…Could be.”

“But you’re not feeling it, are you?” I asked.

“No, I’m not. Still it might be an oversight on his part.”

Or was it something to be concerned about?

Clay touched his head and winced. “Let me check this.”

I quickly said, “What’s to see? Nothing but a scratch.”

He looked skeptical. “As usual, you’re mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are saying something different.”

I smiled innocently. “…Well, maybe a small bandaid.”

Clay aimed straight for the bathroom mirror. “Oh, no!”

I came up behind him and peered my head around his shoulder. “…Well, maybe a shiner too.”

By this time he was cleaning the blood off his face.

“…Let me do that for you,” I suggested sympathetically.

He jerked away. “No! I value my other eye.”

I threw in my perfected teary-eyed look. “…Please?”

His shoulders slumped and he sat on the toilet seat.

“Clay, I’m so sorry about all this,” I said, then started to gently kiss him all around his eye, then the tip of his nose. He started to grin. Then I ever-so-softly kissed all around his lips and came in for a killer kiss of my own. He actually swooned and my lips curved upward, still attached to his.

Next thing I knew his hands were on my hips and he drew me onto his lap, whispering softly, “Great anesthetic.”

“I thought so,” I whispered back.

“When is everyone coming back from skiing?”

I chuckled. “Why, Clay! What are you suggesting?”

“I think I’m going to need more than bandaids.”

“Does it hurt that bad?”

“More than you will ever know. How about it?”

I grinned. “They should be back soon.”

He whisked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

“Which one is yours?” he asked. “We’re on the clock.”

I pointed. And that’s when his words hit me.

…How’d he know they were out skiing?

Chapter 29

Aha! I Knew It!

“Stop right there and put me down, now!” I demanded.

Then I pushed Clay away from me and scowled.

Clay threw his hands up in the air. “Now what?”

“What did you mean, ‘when is everyone coming back?’”

He lowered his hands. “…Oh, so you caught that slip.”

“I sure did. And I’m waiting to hear how you knew.”

He hesitated. “I haven’t been all that far from you.”

I stomped my foot. “Aha! I knew it! Where were you?”

“I was using one of the hotel’s apartments in the back.”

“For what purpose may I ask?”

“Surveillance.”

“Herr Kraus, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Peter.”

“Funny, like Olaf, he never mentioned that either.”

“Does it really matter now that he told me?”

“I guess not. Not after getting caught here by you.”

“By the way, how’d you get in here?” I asked.

“I had a key, a bad headache and needed some aspirin.”

Hmm… “And why did you have a key to my room?”

Clay winced in pain, saying, “…For your protection.”

“Let me get that aspirin,” I said, considering his answer.

Was he wincing for sympathy or deflection? Ah, trust…

After swallowing the pills, Clay followed me back into the bedroom, but abruptly took my wrists and pinned me up against the door and kissed me. “Now, where were we?”

“Uh-uh. You have too much to answer for.”

I felt the door handle against my spine wiggle a little. I smiled thinking it was some playful move of Clay’s as he gave me a wicked smile in return.

“I’m about to, right now,” he whispered leaning way in.

“Stop! You know I can’t think straight when we kiss.”

“That’s the whole point,” he said, not letting me go.

I swear I was balancing on one foot, raising my one knee, about to nail him to get his attention to stop. But then the door was shoved open and we both lost our balance, and fell to the floor: me landing on top. I looked back up.

“What the…? Tell me I’m not seeing this,” said Betty.

Hazel went scarlet. “Oh, my!” she said, looking away.

“It’s not what you think,” I said, trying to get up.

Clay’s face, obscured by my body, lay beneath me as I attempted to untangle us. He was chuckling.

I finally got to my feet, glaring down at him.

“Ladies,” Clay said, as he got up off the floor.

Hazel and Betty drew closer, but before they could ask what was going on, I quickly ushered them inside the room, shut the door and announced, “Clay’s been here the whole time and knows everything.”

Bunched by the door, everyone began talking. The door flew open again. We all turned to look. It was Martha.

“What’s this, a skier’s anonymous meeting?” she asked.

Hazel and Betty parted. Clay smiled. I was tucking my shirt in and straightening my hair from our kissing episode.

“Should I ask about Clay’s swollen and bruised eye, or leave?” Martha asked me.

Clay pointed at me. “She threw a perfect fast ball.”

I grinned at her. “Hey, Martha, where’d you buy that face cream? It really works.”

Chapter 30

And Then There Were Two

Antsy to get back on the slopes after lunch, the others left to retrieve their skis. Mona had not joined us to eat. The ladies said she was taking a walk. Clay and I headed to the bar and ended up at the same table where Peter and I had sat. It was my invite. I needed to talk to Clay alone.

“You have some explaining to do, mister.”

“You sound just like Martha,” said Clay laughing.

I smiled at his intentional snarky compliment. “No nonsense, straightforward, that’s me, now spill the beans.”

“Ah, another Martha euphemism.”

“They do come in handy. And I’m still waiting…”

Already knowing my stubborn streak and that I wasn’t about to be put off any longer, Clay sighed his usual sigh of being forced to admit some truths.

If I wasn’t so confident with the new me, I’d be hanging on his every word. Trust me, those days were long gone. Now I mostly ignored his advice and went with instinct.

But he didn’t really need to know that now, did he?

“I gather you’d like to know exactly why you’re here.”

“That would help,” I said, eyeing him warily.

“After all this time, and you are still suspicious of me.”

I went on glaring at him, saying nothing.

He laughed. “I guess I would be too.”

“So?”

“I was asked to guard Kraus. I hired Peter as backup.”

“That much I know. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Like what?”

I wanted to wring Clay’s neck. “Like, why would Kraus ask you of all people? Why not someone local?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

He looked at me steadily. “I haven’t told anyone this.”

I bit my impatience back, saying, “Told anyone what?”

His smile faded. “What I’m about to confide in you.”

Then I realized he was dead serious. “And that is…?”

“It’s something I’ve never spoken about before.”

“…Why not?”

“Because it involves the past about a few people.”

“Like who?”

“Like my grandfather, Herr Kraus, and my father…”

I sat there waiting for the rest, but then Clay rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“…What is it, Clay? You know you can trust me.”

“I know that. If anything, I know that much.”

So I waited patiently as he stared off, thinking.

His eyes fixed back on me. “My grandfather was a spy.”

In lighter circumstances I would’ve asked for what side, but this threw me. I flagged the waiter and ordered a drink.

“I can’t afford leaks. That’s why I invited you, Sam.”

“…And a bunch of loudmouthed, opinionated women?”

That alone proved he was desperate.

Chapter 31

Looking Through The Spyglass

Clay stared at my drink. “Vodka and orange juice?”

“I needed the Vitamin C boost to handle this shocker.”

He shook his head. “I never make it easy for you, do I?”

I took a sip. “No, but you keep it interesting.”

This couldn’t be easy for him either.

“…As a young US spy, my grandfather was assassinated during World War II. Many years later, as an investigative reporter, my father decided to look into his father’s death.”

“Your Aunt Jenny raised you. How’d you find this out?”

“Well, after my Aunt Jenny died, I cleaned out her attic and found letters: one from my Aunt with the truth, and the rest from my father to her. He was close to uncovering my grandfather’s killer and mentioned Kraus had helped him in his search.”

So, the onion gets peeled further back on Herr Kraus.

“Your dad didn’t die from illness, like your aunt said?”

“No. I located Kraus to confirm what was in the letters. Kraus said, yes, he knew my grandfather and father.”

“Did Kraus say how he met your grandfather?”

“In a foreign language class of the US government’s.”

This was not the obscure, aged author I had imagined.

It was obvious what Clay was referring to. “I’m thinking the OSS, a precursor of the CIA. What was the language?”

“You’re right. It was Russian. My grandfather was a young field agent. For years my father investigated to find out who killed his father.”

I couldn’t believe Clay’s unexpected mystery. “And…?”

“Following up on a lead, my father was shot and killed.”

“Two deaths, too coincidental. Sounds like a setup.”

“Kraus figures my father came too close to the truth.”

“But what does this have to do with Herr Kraus now?”

“He’s publishing a memoir to flush out the killer.”

From obscurity to notoriety. Interesting metamorphous.

“Kraus let that news leak out on purpose, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but there’s a snag. He said it’s one of three spies.”

“…And Kraus isn’t sure exactly which one,” I added.

“He was sure the guilty party would surface. They did.”

“Because they’re not sure how much Kraus knows.”

“Kraus wants to be certain exactly which spy it is.”

“This all sounds complicated. How about more info?”

“I can’t tell you too much for your own protection.”

I didn’t like it, but I now understood Clay’s intentions.

“Kraus won’t even give me the names. He said I’m just here to protect him. I have no choice but to wait. If I say no to this arrangement than I find out by reading his book like everyone else. I want to at least be in on the takedown.”

“This is a dangerous bluff: Kraus playing a live decoy.”

“He’s terminal: cancer. All I’m after is the truth…”

“…Before Kraus dies,” I added, getting the crux of it.

“By killing Kraus, the killer’s identity is preserved and so is the integrity of their heirs.”

“Why don’t they wait so Kraus’ secret dies with him?”

“No one else knows Kraus is terminal. And Kraus is determined to keep it that way. Once the book is published, time or death is irrelevant. The truth will finally be out.”

“You’re fighting an unknown entity though,” I said.

“Kraus won’t stop until the killer’s name is in print.”

“Why the rush, the obsession on Kraus’ part?”

Clay eyed me steadily. “He has descendants too.”

“And he’s worried about their safety?” I added.

“Yes.”

This whole thing was nothing but a rat’s nest.

Chapter 32

As Memoirs go…

“Where did Kraus’ threat come from?”

“An untraceable email. Trust me, a specialist tried.”

“What exactly did it say?”

“That Kraus would end up the same way my grandfather and father ended up if he published his memoir.”

“What did Kraus have to say to that?”

“If it was just himself, he’d have dismissed it, but this anonymous email also threatened his family. They must be stopped, but we don’t know who they are!”

“How horrible! Where is his family?”

“Kraus had them whisked off under guard to an isolated village in Switzerland. He said there are individuals and their descendants who owe him a few war debts.”

“So then he called you, and Peter was hired to help.”

“Yes.”

“Can you trust Peter with this?”

“Yes.”

I recalled Peter’s meeting in the lobby. “Are you sure?”

Clay weaved his fingers through mine. “Sam, trust me.”

Even though I was an amateur among professionals, I’d trust, but verify on my own. This had multiple tentacles.

“I do trust you. I was asking if you could trust Peter.”

I tried to think.

So where do I play in the scheme of things?

Was I perceived as a threat?

Would anyone expect me as Clay’s back up?

Not even Kraus. I was Clay’s girlfriend. You know, a blonde ski bunny: arm candy for Clay, the disarming PI. What kind of threat could I possibly be?

I thought about my Spanx. Whoever did that must have thought I was the perfect bargaining chip for Clay, who landed on the scene, causing a ripple in their so-called plan to get rid of Herr Kraus so this book wouldn’t be published.

It would be much easier to scare me as a diversion than try and go after and stop Clay, who was more experienced, hardened, and had an agenda of his own. I was a soft target: an author who would scare easily. Protecting me instead of Kraus would then compromise Clay and his focus.

Kraus would be bare: without protection.

I was already mentally weighing the pros and cons of what was going on so that I could help Clay and possibly solve this mystery. But with Clay there’s always more to it, and for some reason I felt he was holding back. Why?

I couldn’t wait for everyone to get back from skiing. This had book potential written all over it. Computers and phones would buzz as we considered angles and unraveled facts on another mystery because this was personal.

It involved Clay.

Right now I’d leave the physical side of it to Clay, but the mental side was wide open as far as I was concerned.

As Clay and I parted, I was a little more than curious and somewhat concerned after checking my watch.

Where was Mona all this time?

It was unusual for her to skip a meal with us.

Uh-uh.

Something was up.

Chapter 33

Speaking Of Which…

The door to our suite slammed shut. I personally locked it myself, so it had to be Mona or the ladies. After having just left Clay, I knew it couldn’t be him.

I peeked around the bathroom door where I was getting dressed for my walk into town. My mouth fell open. Mona was a mess. Her dark brown hair looked like it was used as a mop. And her clothes weren’t in much better shape: jacket half off, knit hat askew, one pant leg half up, broken sunglasses, dangling slightly, and one glove was missing.

At least she was grinning. When she saw me, she panted quickly: “Don’t worry—I’m still alive.”

“What happened to you?” I asked, approaching her.

“You had to be there,” she said. Her breathing was fast, as though she’d just been running.

I ushered her over to the chair to sit. “Try me.”

“I had to take the stairs,” she said, sucking in air.

Was that a twig sticking out of her hair?

I covered my smile at her comical appearance, pointing.

“What?” she asked, raising a hand then yanking it out.

“I’m surprised they let you in the lobby,” I commented.

“I tried the back door, but some damn idiot locked it.”

Uh-oh! Change the subject. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Just give me a second to catch my breath and wits.”

I leaned closer to her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She held up a hand: a signal she’d speak.

“…I need a drink,” she said hoarsely.

“I’ll get you some water,” I said, turning to get some.

She clutched my arm. “No! I need something stiffer.”

At that moment, I didn’t think it was necessary to inform her I’d needed one myself earlier.

“Sorry, no can do. We could go to the bar or order in.”

“There are small liquor bottles inside my backpack.”

I moved toward it, but then stopped. “What’s alcohol doing in your backpack?”

“I’m like a St. Bernard. It comes in handy if I ever get injured and need first aid real fast, like now.”

I gave her a skeptical look.

“…Okay, I threw them in there on my flight over here. You know me when it comes to lucrative endeavors. It was a bonanza with that first class seat that Clay arranged for me and all those free hard liquor bottles for the taking…”

“He sent you first class?” I choked out. “Why that…”

She held up another hand. “I was a rush-order backup for you and on the next plane. Clay freaked when he heard about your Spanx. I was to watch over you and see what I could do to help. His mind and efforts were elsewhere.”

“I know,” I said, handing her one of the small bottles.

“He told you?”

“Earlier. I’ll explain later. Now, what happened?”

She cracked open the small bottle and took a swig.

“I followed Peter and barely escaped alive.”

Chapter 34

I Kid You Not

“…Peter?”

“I kid you not.”

I fell into the nearest chair.

What was going on?

“I should call Clay,” I said concerned.

Mona grabbed my wrist again. “No, don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Nothing happened, that’s what.”

I looked at her, and then at her half empty small bottle.

Maybe I should call a doctor instead.

“You’re not making sense.”

“It’s not what you think,” she said shaking her head.

“Then tell me exactly what happened.”

“I’m not exactly sure myself.”

I checked her pupils. “Did you hit your head?”

“No!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“It felt like a near-death experience, but I…”

“…Wait a minute. Back up to the beginning.”

She took another swig. “Well, I begged off from the ladies, saying I’d check out downtown first, then join them. I was walking past the ski shop and saw Peter leaving, deep in conversation with Nick, the elevator repair guy you said you met when it got stuck, and figured I would tag along.”

That’s a second sighting. “Okay, so far I’m following.”

“They walked between two buildings, and then stopped. Peter handed something to Nick, who pocketed it. Then they parted. I followed Peter. Other than Clay vouching for him, we really don’t know much about Peter now, do we?”

“Smart, I agree. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I followed him to the cable station, and then the ski lift, staying a discreet distance still keeping him in sight. When he hopped off, so did I. Then he took a trail, one I’d never noticed before. I followed him for some distance until he stopped at a chalet and disappeared out back. It was like something out of one of those picture postcards in the lobby: stacked firewood, snow-covered pine trees, and get this, a corralled horse in the back…”

She stopped when I inhaled sharply, throwing me a questionable look. “You okay?”

“What color was that horse?” I asked.

“A blondish colored one.”

I gave a gasp. Was it the same horse? Same chalet?

“What does the color of the horse have to do with this?”

I didn’t like the connection I was seeing. “…Hans.”

“What does this Hans have to do with what I just said?”

“It’s a long story.”

“How about giving me the shortened version.”

I did just that, plus my rock-throwing episode…

“Does Clay know about any of this?” she asked.

“Everything but those two times I encountered Hans.”

Chapter 35

I Swear, I…

It was obvious by the startled look on Mona’s face she was just as surprised as I was by what I’d said about Hans, including his possible black eye, which then explained how we ended up sipping from our own small bottles. I was feeling a bit lightheaded, having eaten very little at lunch. Having eaten nothing, Mona was too.

I was dying to hear what happened to her.

“So why do you look like hell? Were you spotted and chased? Did someone tackle you?” I asked her.

“I wish I could claim something dramatic, but can’t.”

“Well then, why do you look like a bad mugging?”

“I was trying to take iPhone pictures and backed up to get the whole chalet in my shot when I heard two voices coming from around the back. I needed to hide. Using my poles, I continued skiing backward on a decline to take cover, aiming for some trees, while still keeping my eye on the chalet. I gave myself one final shove and brought the camera up for my last shot: a major miscalculation.”

“…And?”

“Moving way too fast, I glanced behind me…”

Mona stopped to take a sip from her bottle, shuddering.

“And what was there?” I asked.

“Not a whole lot. I had gone off the edge of a drop-off.” She closed her eyes and shaking her head, remembering.

“How far down did you fall?”

“Just far enough to get religious. Scared the bejeezus out of me, probably hundreds of feet of shrubs, trees, rocks…”

We both took another sip: me because I could imagine the visuals and Mona because she actually felt them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked doubtfully.

“I think so,” she said, taking another sip and winking at me. “For once I was glad I’m a well-padded large woman.”

I grinned with relief. “You know, after hearing your story, you don’t look so bad.”

“After hearing myself describe it, I agree.”

We clinked bottles. “A toast!” I announced.

Mona started giggling. “To what?”

I gave it some thought. “To unexpected screw-ups.”

It seemed that was what surrounded us: one mishap after another that somehow connected at a later time. We tipped back our bottles then broke out laughing. At that moment, the door opened. The gang was back.

“My goodness,” gasped Betty, stopping in place.

Hazel read her watch. “A little early, don’t you think?”

“Okay, what did we miss?” said a hopeful Martha. “By your expressions and Mona’s appearance, it’s a doozy.”

“You won’t believe it,” I said.

“I’m warning you,” said Mona. “It’s a whopper.”

“Have the decency not to steal my lines,” said Martha.

“Go ahead,” said Betty. “I think we need a distraction from all this skiing.”

“Major distraction about sums it up,” said Mona.

“Pull up a chair,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

“How about the shortened version instead,” said Hazel.

Martha eyed Mona. “Where’d you get those bottles?”

“Backpack, upper left pocket, compliments of Clay.”

Martha nodded. “If anything, you’re organized.”

By the time Mona and I brought everyone up to date, someone suggested a snack to help offset the booze effect. We automatically turned toward Mona.

“Upper right hand pocket: cookies, chips, you name it.”

“Did you leave any for the airline?” asked Martha.

“I’m big-boned. I must maintain my blood sugar levels.”

“Hey, let’s focus on what to do here,” I said.

“Let’s case the lobby, Betty,” suggested Hazel. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot who this Herr Kraus is.”

“I’ve got to find that cleaning couple,” said Martha.

“I need to make some calls about Peter,” added Mona.

They all looked toward me. “And I’ve got to find Hans.”

Betty paused at the door. “Be careful. Hazel and I will thoroughly case the lobby then walk the grounds out back.”

Hazel turned to Betty. “Case is a great word use, Betty.”

Betty nodded. “Well, in this case, you would normally use the word case as a noun, but I thought using it in its verb form was a nice touch: very apropos in this situation.”

Martha ushered them out the door, shaking her head.

“Ladies, this is not the time for old B movie jargon.”

Betty frowned. “But you see? That’s the whole point.”

Martha stopped walking. “What is?”

“Those phrases sum up precisely what we’re doing.”

“It’s a colorful way to speak too,” added Hazel.

I faintly heard Martha say, “Well, I’ve got colorful…”

Mona looked at me. “You do realize those three could screw up everything.”

I was staring at the closed door, now a little worried.

“They looked a little tipsy, didn’t they?”

Mona chuckled. “Who would notice the difference?”

I shrugged. “They do come up with results, though.”

Mona reluctantly nodded. “That is what’s so scary.”

“Good thing they’re walking,” I said.

“Forget that. It’s the talking, I’m worried about.”

Chapter 36

“And Then There Was…”

“And then there was…”

By the time I finished on the phone, running the outline of my new mystery by Sandra, my agent, who miraculously was somehow still my friend, I was met with total silence.

I’ve been known to stretch the truth a time or two with missed deadlines, stretches of time with no communication and pitching hard-to-believe stories. This usually ended up with her taking the heat from my publisher, who was more interested in his profit margin and what would sell, certainly not speculation.

Always defending me over the years, Sandra ultimately became a good friend. So I was grateful when she gave me feedback and advice. Besides, I wasn’t close to an ending on this one. I was simply looking for a positive response.

“…Are you still there?” I asked, thinking maybe we had been disconnected accidentally. But then a second or two later, I figured maybe she’d actually hung up.

… Silence.

“…Sandra?”

“…This actually happened, is happening?” she asked.

Doubt had entered the picture.

“As far as I can tell…”

“Sam, talking to you is such a challenge.”

“…Look, I only have a few loose ends to tie up.”

I heard a loud sigh at the other end of the line.

“You have to trust me on this. It shows real promise.”

“So do a lot of other authors,” she shot back.

Ouch!

“I deserved that, ever since…”

I left the rest unspoken. She knew I was referring to the unexpected death of my husband, Stephen, and what a rough time I had afterward getting through my next book. She was there for me as a staunch supporter, encouraging me with some much-needed tough love and a reality check regarding my contract.

“Enough said. Go with it,” she finally said. “It’s good.”

“…You mean you like it so far?”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but yes, I do.”

“I knew you’d like the take on this one.”

“It’s unusual. Just do me one favor, okay?” she asked.

“Sure, what?”

“Try not to get yourself carved up like your Spanx.”

“I’ll be careful. Hey, did I mention I’m skiing here?”

“Now I’m really concerned.”

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

“Physically you’re lousy at sports.”

“But mentally I’m at the top of my game.”

She laughed. “That’s what has me so worried.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, Sandra, I’d take offense.”

“At what?” she asked.

“Your lack of enthusiasm for me pulling this off.”

“Don’t waste your breath convincing me, just give the publisher a great ending minus missing body parts: yours!”

“Trust me. I’ve got a great ending.”

I just had to find it, that’s all.

Chapter 37

I Shouldn’t Have, But Did Anyway

I shouldn’t have, but grabbed my skis and took off for that chalet. It was foolish to ski there without a partner, but not knowing was far worse. After skiing by there with Peter, my hit, my cross-country trek and that horse, with luck, I’d find it again to confirm it was the same chalet.

I had plenty of time before my afternoon lesson with Peter because, once again, he pushed it back until later. I hadn’t read too much into it before, but after Mona mentioned seeing him at the chalet, his whereabouts at that moment were looking suspicious.

Was it a different chalet? If not, what was Peter doing there in the first place? Would I get lucky and find him still there? After arriving, I skied to a sheltered spot behind some cover: an evergreen that camouflaged me perfectly. I wasn’t about to move closer until I felt it was safe to do so. Still sore and afraid of undergoing the same fate as Mona, I checked behind me…just in case.

My head jerked back to the chalet. Were those voices?

Two men came from behind the chalet and stopped. One had his back to me. The other was Peter, who said “Ich…”

“I don’t have time for your German. Speak English.”

“Trust me,” said Peter. “She has no idea.”

Before I jumped the gun, I let their conversation play out. I held my breath as Peter glanced my way then back.

Had he sensed someone watching?

I lifted a branch for a better view. The other skier turned my way. That older man, Hans! Why was he meeting with Peter? Were they both involved in this? Was Peter playing both sides? Was Hans paying Peter to get to Herr Kraus? Was Hans one of the spies? He was old enough to be an original one and Peter was young enough: an heir of one.

My mind zigzagged with scenarios. I had to warn Clay. …But warn him about what: that I saw two people talking and became suspicious? I couldn’t even snap a picture to show Clay. I’d left my phone at the hotel.

Why bother? No signal, remember?

Hans turned back to Peter. “I am not concerned. She’s an amateur and appears easily manipulated. Let’s continue as we planned. Keep both of them on the back burner till this is over. I doubt they know enough to do much damage. If we’re lucky, her own reckless behavior will do her in.”

Was he referring to Clay and me? Was a skiing accident planned for me if I became an impediment?

My motor-mouthed brain was rambling once again. I attracted trouble just second-guessing myself. But then maybe those thoughts weren’t so far-fetched. Perhaps those two were plotting to do away with Herr Kraus before Clay caught on. Like I had said earlier, with me in harm’s way, Clay was distracted and they’d go in for the kill. Literally.

Peter skied off, confirming this was not Peter’s house.

Well, whose house was it? Hans’?

Chapter 38

Hey Wait!

I had to wait for Hans to leave before making a move.

…Hold on! Who are these two?

Two skiers swerved to a stop right in front of Hans. It was as though they were waiting in the wings for Peter to take off. One took their knit hat off, but not their sunglasses: an older woman with a prominent gray streak running through her shoulder-length chestnut brown hair.

The other skier, whose voice was masculine, removed nothing. Both were smaller in stature than Hans. I strained to hear their conversation. Then the wind abruptly changed and their words drifted toward the evergreens and me.

“…Arguing isn’t getting us anywhere,” said the woman.

Her ski partner nodded. “She’s right. Plus that kind of money is ridiculous. No one has that amount lying around.”

I didn’t think they were arguing the price of ski lessons.

Hans laughed. “Did you think this was about money?”

“Well, isn’t it?” said the woman, getting upset.

The man with her laughed in Hans’ direction. “No my dear, this is all about him getting even, isn’t it?”

Hans scowled in anger. “Don’t play word games with me. You have no idea how I could destroy you both.”

This time the woman laughed. “And you have no idea how we could destroy you in turn.”

Hans raised his hand, but then lowered it.

“Don’t even think about it,” her partner said angrily.

The woman moved in closer to Hans. “This game you are playing of cat and mouse could cost you dearly. I would think twice before it’s too late.”

With that said, the two skied off, leaving Hans standing there, looking clearly upset. He cursed then skied away taking a different trail than theirs.

I tried to make sense of what was said, but couldn’t.

It would have helped to hear their whole conversation.

I waited five more minutes, and then skied back to my hotel. I didn’t want to meet up with any of them, especially, Hans, who wouldn’t think of me favorably, especially after that incident in my hotel’s rear garden.

Hans knew me. Did they? Hans’ prominent black eye was exposed when he removed his goggles to talk to Peter. And he kept them off. None of the three mentioned it once.

Then they probably knew how he got it: from me.

I glanced all around. The coast was clear, so I took off. This was proving more involved than I expected. Plus, my trust factor was tanking fast on Peter. I should be careful around him.

I had to speak with Clay. Was he being upfront about Peter? There must be more. Was Clay picking and choosing what he told me? If so, why? Was it for my protection? Telling Clay what I just saw and heard would be up for grabs depending on what he told me. For now I’d take the high road and wouldn’t judge Clay’s reasoning. I’d hear him out first then maybe threaten to leave, and after he apologized profusely for leaving me out of the loop…

I just loved that apology part. Like I said, we’ll see…

Chapter 39

Deciphering An Enigma

I was about to call Clay when first one, then the rest of my crew filed through the door. I set the phone back down. I would call him later.

Silence reigned: a rare event with my bunch.

Mona, the last one in, closed the door behind her. “This Herr Kraus is a tough nut to crack,” she announced.

“Were you able to find anything out?” Martha asked.

“I can’t believe the favors I called in from my sources.”

“Same here, but on our cleaning duo,” said Martha.

Hazel was looking everywhere but at me, so was Betty. I wondered why, but then turned back to Martha when she cleared her throat loudly to get my attention.

“So what did you find out?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “…Well, I didn’t actually talk to them.”

Martha always spoke in circles. “…And why not?”

“That manager, Herr Miller said their names are Maria and Carlo: husband and wife, who speak only Italian.”

I didn’t get it. “So then why are you still smiling?”

“I made a point of getting their full names then did some private networking on my own and guess what?”

“I’m not even trying,” I said. “Get anything specific?”

Martha gave me another grin. “Oh, nothing much, just Carlo’s grandparents’ significant job during WWII.”

I leaned in closer. “Now you’re talking. Doing what?”

“They were the cleaning staff at an embassy.”

“I swear I don’t know how you find stuff out.” I said.

Martha merely smiled. “Don’t ask because I won’t tell.”

“You belong in hackers anonymous,” said Betty.

Martha waved her off. “At my age? It’s hopeless.”

Interested, Mona asked, “Exactly where did they work?”

“Surprise, Surprise. At the Russian embassy.”

“I bet they were spies!” said an excited Betty.

Martha nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

I agreed. “If you found out, maybe others did too.”

“Maybe, but then guess what? Their trail dead-ended.”

Mona grudgingly nodded in approval. “They say you’re never to old to hack. You, dear lady, are living proof.”

Martha preened. “I’ve expanded my, uh …networks.”

“My trail dead-ended on Herr Kraus too,” said Mona. “I did get a confirmation that Kraus was trained by the US and fluent in Russian, but that was it. Oh, and he’s an author of some obscure old Swiss travel books. There was nothing after that. Zip. Zero.”

“That corroborates so far what Clay told me and what I found out on my own,” I added.

“Could that couple’s link be plausible?” Betty asked.

“Possible,” mused Martha. “Both appear to be the right age to be heirs of WWII spies.”

“But,” said Betty, “they’ve worked here for some time. Why would they wait that long to go after Kraus?”

Martha leaned in. “Maybe being sleeper spies runs in Carlo’s family and he was called back to active duty. Being married, his wife, Maria must have known all about it.”

“But why back to active duty?” I asked.

“Kraus wasn’t a threat then, but is now,” added Mona.

“Hmm ...” At this point, I wasn’t discounting anything.

I then told the others about what I had seen at the chalet with Peter, Hans and that strange couple confronting him.

Martha laughed. “They must be running a special on spies and suspects around here.”

“Looks suspicious to say the least,” said Mona.

“Maybe we’re looking for something that’s not really there,” I countered. “I might be reading too much into what I actually saw and heard out there.”

“I say we keep going on this,” said Martha.

Mona nodded. “I agree. Let’s keep looking into it.”

I nodded too. Then I turned to Hazel and Betty. “What about you two? You’ve been too quiet.”

They both glanced my way then toward the others, who shrugged, eye-rolled and nodded for Hazel to speak. I wasn’t exactly getting good vibes from their reactions.

What did they all know?

Hazel quickly nudged Betty, who finally said, “…Well, uh, we spotted a young woman leaving Clay’s apartment.”

My mouth fell open.

…He’s a dead man.

Chapter 40

Under Whose Covers?

I wasn’t one to lean toward jealousy, but this sure felt like it as my face flushed. Who was she? There had to be a logical reason for that woman being in Clay’s room, right?

Betty patted my arm. “Easy does it, Sam.”

“He better have a good excuse or else good insurance.”

Mona laughed. “Revenge is good. I personally find it extremely cathartic.”

“Show restraint,” said Betty, shaking her head at Mona.

“You need to look at the big picture,” added Hazel.

“I am, and it seems to be changing by the minute!”

Martha stepped in. “No sense getting riled up yet.”

“And why not?” I asked the other revenge queen.

“You need more proof. Walking out of someone’s room is not solid evidence. It’s merely circumstantial.”

I couldn’t believe she’d said that to me. “Since when does circumstantial come into play when it concerns Clay?”

Martha thought about that for a second. “…Since we’re in a foreign country, that’s why.”

That stopped me.

“What does that have to do with this?”

I always had difficulty following Martha’s logic. I felt the whole conversation had been gaining momentum until she threw in her two cents. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Betty stepped in. “I think you need to rethink this, Sam.”

I turned to her. “Rethink what?”

“Pardon my interruption,” said Hazel.

I then focused on her. “What?” I asked gritting my teeth.

“You are going about this all wrong,” she said.

Martha turned to Hazel. “And how is that?”

“Now I’m completely lost,” said a confused Mona.

I looked at her. “Welcome to the club.”

Mona raised a brow to me. “What club?”

“The what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about, club,” I said.

“We’re dealing with spies,” said Martha, “You have two choices. One: spy on Clay. Two: confront him point blank.”

“I’m leaning toward the direct approach,” I said angrily.

“On the other hand,” countered Mona, “surveillance might reveal something interesting, if you get my drift.”

I did, but was leery of what that drift might be.

“Why not let Betty and I do a stakeout,” offered Hazel.

“No,” I said. “Keep an eye on Peter. I’ll focus on Clay to find out who this mystery lady is. Martha, you keep tabs on that duo. Mona, find Kraus. He’s got to be somewhere.”

I needed a Hail Mary pass. Bases were loaded…

I needed a winner or me and my book were toast.

What Clay deserved was a swift kick.

What I deserved was an explanation.

What my readers deserved was a great ending.

What we’d all end up with was anybody’s guess.

Chapter 41

This Was Not My Forte

Spying was not my forte, especially spying on someone I was personally involved with. In this case, I was more upset about what I might find out. Was Clay involved with another woman, or was she merely a spy? Of course, I could be way off-base and it was nothing more than a get-together of friends between the two.

But I didn’t think so.

The more I thought about it, nothing was unintentional about Clay and everything connected to him was usually preplanned. This job was up close and personal for him since it involved his family’s history. He was directly zoned in on setting the record straight. So in a way I kind of understood his line-of-sight regarding this case.

I had to set aside my personal feelings and deal strictly with the facts. Forget the romance angle. Was she an agent or a descendent of one? Or both? Did Clay initiate contact or was it visa-versa: her arriving unexpectedly threatening Clay’s guarded target: Herr Kraus? Possible. …But twice?

Knowing Clay and his calculated strategies, it seemed likely that he was working the angles. Deep down I felt he was truthful when he confided at the bar about his family and why he was there: to protect Kraus and his book and to expose the assassin.

I paused at my laptop. But what if there was more than one killer? Plausible? I gave it some thought…maybe, but not likely. I’ve learned to never completely rule out abstract considerations. That kind of thinking was an approach of mine that helped me put everything into perspective.

Unfortunately, this time nothing was falling neatly into place. There were way too many coincidences, convenient meetings, confrontations and questions to put anything to rest yet. The one figure I was after was the one in the center of it all: Herr Kraus. Where was this elusive figure?

He seemed to be all-knowing and mythical at this point. Having never met the individual, I was at a loss as to how to read my instincts or what they were telling me. Those instincts hadn’t failed me yet, but still…

I backed up my info onto my flash drive, then shut down my laptop and stored it securely in my room safe. That way, if someone got to it, I still had all the information as backup. I didn’t think anyone might take it, but after the Spanx incident I wasn’t taking any chances. I felt violated enough. I didn’t need my thoughts violated too.

I took one last look back at our room, memorizing the simple placement of everything. I had told the others to do the same. If someone was messing with me, I didn’t want to be caught off guard again. I locked the door and left the hotel to spy on my favorite gumshoe, Clay. I took my iPhone for snapshots, determined to find out…

Who was that woman?

Chapter 42

The Other Woman

I was freezing, clocking in on the end of an hour when Clay’s door, the one Betty and Hazel told me how to find, opened up. A striking blonde, like the one they’d described to me, walked out. I won’t get into detail about her curves and perfectly placed features. It would hurt too much. Let’s just say I was dealing with Miss Switzerland.

Who was she? As a side-note, I wanted to rip her eyes out, but you know how demure and ladylike I am in real life. But in this mystery, I suddenly had gratifying visions of placing a huge wart on the end her nose just for spite.

Those thoughts came totally unexpectedly. I tried to tamp them down, but jealousy surfaced faster than I thought was humanly possible.

…I know, I know, no man is worth that waste of good emotions, but you weren’t the recipient of all those great undercover moments we had in the past.

I mentally slapped myself. I must keep my decorum.

Oh, the hell with that…

I marched right up to Clay’s door located at the back of the hotel and pounded, hard. Even though his private apartment had a doorbell, the emotional and direct physical contact against wood felt real good: all those hormones screaming with vengeance. How dare he cavort with such a beautiful woman! I was about to drive my point home once again with more pounding when the door swung open.

Clay looked relieved. “Just who I wanted to see.”

I stood there, wordless. Now what kind of angle was he pushing with that greeting? Was he trying to catch me off-guard to recoup somewhat from being confronted by my sudden appearance at his door?

“Greetings from behind that bush,” I said pointing to it.

He got my message. “…Oh, so you saw her leave.”

I pushed by him. “Yes, I did. What, no brunettes?”

He shut the door, chuckling. “I specialize in blondes.”

I whipped around. Was he playing me? “Explain.”

“She’s Herr Kraus’s granddaughter and was concerned about her grandfather’s well-being.”

I gave him a doubtful look.

Clay laughed. “She’s happily married with two small toddlers safely tucked away behind security. She snuck out to check with me. She’s worried sick over her grandfather.”

Clay smiled when he saw my shoulders slump in relief, then he wrapped his arms around me and brushed his lips against mine, whispering, “You’re the only blonde for me.”

I could barely breathe. “…Talk is cheap.”

He came in for one of his killer kisses. When we finally came up for air, he looked me in the eye. “Proof enough?”

Still weak-kneed, I held steadfast. “…I’m still not sure.”

A repeat performance was given. I loved it and he knew it, smiling confidently when our lips finally parted.

Then I whispered, “…Now tell me who she really is.”

Chapter 43

Who?

“…And add how she ended up in your room twice.”

“She showed up the first time saying she knew about Kraus, his book and why I was here.”

“Did she sound legitimate? Is she trying to cash in on all the rumors flying around about this book of Kraus’?”

“Well, she claimed she was the granddaughter of a spy who worked with Herr Kraus during WWII. Her grandfather was Vichy French. Herr Kraus would know exactly who he was because they worked closely together during the war. She said to tell Kraus his name was Claude, who Kraus knew all too well.”

“Did she have any proof about all these claims of hers?”

“No, none that she could show me. Then she begged me to tell Kraus to keep her family’s name out of it. Claude killed no one. She said her grandfather had nothing to do with my grandfather’s death and Kraus knows that.”

“Did you believer her?”

“The only one who could answer that was Kraus. So I told him exactly what she said. He laughed and dismissed her claims completely. I relayed back to her his response when she showed up this second time.”

“Is Kraus playing some kind of game with the truth?”

“If he is, it’s bewildering why. The list keeps growing.”

To include my name too. Time to put my foot down.

“I’m being placed at risk. My mutilated Spanx was most likely a warning shot for you to take your eye off who you should be guarding. I think I deserve to meet Kraus. I want to ask some questions. I won’t accept this mythical man behind a curtain: a puppet master pulling the strings.”

Clay agreed. “You’re right. I’ll set something up.”

I crossed my arms. “Now, let’s discuss Peter.”

“…What about him?”

“No stalling this time, Clay. I’m not buying it.”

“I knew my charisma could only buy me so much time.”

“Maybe we’ll work on that at the end of this book.”

“I’d like that,” he said, tipping up my chin for a kiss.

But I drew away. “Have you considered the original assassin might still be alive? Tell me what you know.”

“Peter got wind of the rumors about Kraus’ book and also found out why I’m here. His grandfather was a spy as well. It’s a small village, gossip spreads: the book, my presence… Anyway, Peter insisted on helping me protect Kraus until the person who threatened Kraus was outed. He was also concerned Kraus might make false accusations about his grandfather killing my grandfather and father, which would ruin his own family name.”

“I take it you confirmed Peter’s story and background?”

“Yes. Peter’s grandfather was already arrested by the Americans for spying for Germany at the time of my grandfather’s death. He couldn’t have killed him.”

I then told Clay what Martha found on the Italian duo.

“So there’s one more heir of another spy.”

And I was still figuring out the elderly Hans/Peter link.

“Clay, have you checked Kraus’ background?”

He nodded. “I tried when all this first started, but all information about him dead-ended after 1945.”

“When Mona checked out Kraus it was the same thing. And according to the publication dates, his old travel books on Switzerland predated 1945.”

“Peter and I’ve been closely guarding Kraus in shifts. Now we’re waiting to see who will make the next move.”

I smiled. “…Can I suggest a possible next move?”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Blondie?”

“As gumshoes go, you’re pretty savvy on the uptake.”

Oh, the fringe benefits of all this spying and sleuthing…

Chapter 44

Back To Sleuthing

I’d just walked through the rear door of the lobby from Clay’s apartment when Herr Miller, the hotel manager stopped me, his eyes barely meeting mine.

“Ms. Jamison, may I have a word with you in private?”

What could I say but, “…Sure, of course.”

“Please follow me to my office. I wish to be discreet.”

He walked briskly through the lobby at a much faster clip than me. I had a difficult time keeping pace: forget catching a side-glance to get a read on him.

What was the big rush?

By the time I rounded his door, he was already behind his desk, gesturing for me to have a seat. I waited for him to start talking. I knew if you waited patiently and stayed silent long enough, people became uncomfortable, feeling a need to fill in the gap and start talking. He did.

“An unfortunate incident that took place on our hotel grounds was brought to my attention by someone.”

Now, be honest, what were the odds someone saw me?

I managed a smile as he sat there waiting for a response, but my voice had somehow gone AWOL. Someone must have witnessed my rock-throwing event. Or Hans, my victim, had complained. Well, so much for me keeping a low profile. I took the play-it-dumb route.

“…Are you referring to anything in particular?”

“Our hotel is known for decorum and discretion because our guests expect it. And even though this is stressed on our premises, unfortunately your incident didn’t fall into either category. Of course, I am not referring to your trashcan episode that was awkward at best. …But this one?”

I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair, feeling like a kid being sent to the principal’s office for misbehaving. How could I possibly explain throwing rocks at a man I hardly knew, but at the same time still felt threatened by? Even I wouldn’t buy that lame excuse. Was Hans a hotel guest and the ‘someone’ who had complained? I refused to ask.

So I sat there and said nothing.

“I’m sure you know this latest episode I’m referring to.”

Elaborating would have compounded it, so I nodded.

“Then let’s put this last and final event behind us.”

I started to get up, but then sat back down.

“Is there something else, Ms. Jamison?”

Considering my episode, Miller reacted pleasantly and in an efficient manner: a loyal employee. I figured I had nothing to lose by asking one question.

I nodded then smiled. “Well, now that you mention it.”

“Yes, Ms. Jamison?

“Who occupies the suite across the hall from my suite?”

His firm but friendly tone changed to one of displeasure.

“I’m afraid we don’t give guests’ names: hotel policy.”

Reluctantly, I stood up. “I understand.”

I’d just have to find out myself.

Chapter 45

Laptop Notations

Nothing noteworthy occurred during my last ski lesson. Peter was his usual self: a methodical, ski instructor, taking me through various exercises and practice runs. It was a waste of my energy to be so psyched up, being on the alert for him to shove, trip or have me do something dangerous.

I was beginning to think I was mistaken about Peter when I spotted him talking with Hans in front of that chalet. Their conversation had disturbed me. But now he was acting nothing less than harmless and cordial toward me. A few times he even warned me about the hazards of skiing improperly and how best to ski safely.

Had I misinterpreted his words to Hans that day?

There was one thing that kept nagging me. Peter never took me back to the ski trail where that chalet was, the one with the horse. Was he avoiding it on purpose? Was I reading too much into this? Could he really be trusted?

After jumping off the ski lift for our third run of the day, I suggested, “Why don’t we ski that one trail again.”

“What trail?”

“Remember that first time I lost sight of you?”

“How could I forget that one? What about it?”

“Why don’t we go that way again?”

“There are other trails that are just as scenic.”

I checked my watch. “It’s getting late and since we’re heading back toward the village, that run virtually leaves me right across from my hotel. We might even see that elderly man I met, who then disappeared into thin air.”

“If you insist.” Then he paused. “…What older man?”

“That older gentleman, Hans, the one I described to you that I met behind that chalet the day Olaf joined us?”

“What about him?”

“I believe you know him.”

“…I think you’re mistaken.”

We weren’t that far from where that chalet’s trail veered off into the deep woods. I had to stir things up, so I lied.

“My friends skied that run on my suggestion. They saw you talking to him in front of that chalet as they skied by.”

His pause was too long. “…Oh, yes, now I remember. I spoke to an older man who stopped there. I knew the owner of that closed chalet was away and was curious why someone was there. At first I thought it might be the same man you described. It wasn’t. He had a different name.”

Was he lying, playing both sides or telling the truth?

Peter just stood there. None of this made any sense. Playing it safe, I kept it light until I could figure this out.

“Don’t mind me. I see everything as one big mystery.”

“One should never jump to conclusions,” he said. “What we think we see isn’t necessarily what we actually see.”

“The savvy ski instructor’s advice is duly noted.”

Peter smiled “The author would be wise to take it.”

…Was that a warning?

Chapter 46

Parting Ways & Parsing Words

Skiing down the mountain felt rushed. Had I disturbed Peter back there? I was now afraid of getting hurt and had to work hard to keep up. The chalet was still shuttered tight as we flew by it at what felt like a breakneck speed.

My heart was in my throat with every break and turn. Was he testing me? Pushing me? Being careless with my safety on purpose? I wanted to cry with relief when I finally caught sight of the village. I wasn’t certain whether I was more doubtful of Peter at that point or disappointed when nothing actually happened to me.

After arriving at the village, I waved goodbye to Peter and turned away, more than a little uneasy by what sounded like a warning from him back there. I glanced back, but he was already gone. Where was he headed? Why the rush?

I still hadn’t spoken to Clay after I’d made numerous calls. His voicemail was wearing thin. Where was he?

I started to cross the street to the hotel, but was yanked back onto the ski path.

“What the…”

A hand quickly covered my mouth. “Shh… It’s us.”

I twisted around to face my mugger: Betty. Hazel was beside her. They started talking at the same time. I couldn’t make head or tail of what they were trying to tell me.

“Hold on! One at a time!” I said, just then noticing they were dressed for a late run with their skis and poles.

Hazel came in real close. “Something is going down.”

Then Betty added, “This caper is becoming perilous.”

“Who? Where?” I demanded.

I swear, I expected to hear, ‘right here in River City.’

Those two were so cliché driven, as was Martha, that it drove me nuts. But then it was probably the era they grew up in. I couldn’t help but snicker, expecting more of the same until I was finally able to get to the real reason why they stopped me.

“What are you both trying to tell me: bottom line?”

“Martha is missing!” said Betty.

“Call Interpol,” Hazel said dramatically.

“…Martha is missing? Are you sure?”

“She was to meet us, but never showed up,” said Betty. “Remember she was going to hunt up that cleaning couple, Carlo and Maria?”

“When was she to meet you?” I asked.

“About two hours ago,” said a distraught Hazel.

“And Mona?” I asked.

“We looked for her too. We have no idea,” said Betty. “She went out looking for Herr Kraus, remember?”

Now I had two missing women unaccounted for and two frantic friends. What happened to my dream vacation in the Alps, Swiss chocolate and romance with my gumshoe?

“Have either of you two seen Clay?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” said Betty, “Since it was an emergency, I called his room, but got voicemail. He doesn’t answer his door.”

They turned to go.

“Hey, where are you two going?”

“Checking out a tip on the case,” said Betty rushing off.

“Before it turns dark,” added Hazel waving goodbye.

Everybody was giving me the brush-off, why?

“…What kind of tip?” I yelled, but they didn’t hear me.

As I approached our room, I caught the tail end of an ornately carved walking cane entering the opposite suite.

Must be an elderly guest: so much for that mystery.

Entering our suite, I froze. Martha and Mona were there.

“Where have you been? Hazel and Betty were so upset.”

“Bad karma struck then Mona’s backpack beckoned.”

I was venturing into the land of the unknown.

“…Huh?”

“I’m fleet of foot, but this? Uh-uh,” complained Mona.

Angry, Martha leaped out of the chair she was sitting in.

“We were being stalked. How’s that for an opener?”

Chapter 47

Who Was Following Who?

“The tables were flipped on both of us,” she added.

I tried to decipher her Martha-speak, but couldn’t. “As usual, I’m confused. How about a few more details?”

Mona cut in. “Martha tried to track down that cleaning couple from the hotel, but ended up being followed by what appeared to be, from your description, your ski-clad Hans.”

Martha leaned in. “Forget Kraus, Mona found herself being followed by Carlo and Maria, our cleaning crew.”

“We couldn’t shake them,” said Mona. “When we saw each other later comparing notes, it was creepy. Me, the stalker, was being stalked by who she was supposed to be stalking in the first place. Hers was just plain weird with that Hans.”

My head was spinning. It was easier just to ask, “And?”

“And we don’t know why,” added Mona.

“We wasted hours dodging our tails,” said Martha.

“I’m good at that,” said Mona. “But they were pros.”

“Exactly who are we dealing with?” asked Martha.

I sighed. “We’re nothing but a bunch of amateurs…”

“Speak for yourself,” snapped a touchy Mona.

“I take offense by that statement, Sam,” said Martha.

I continued, “…who are caught up in a deadly spy web.”

“What did Clay expect?” asked Mona.

“It looks like what Clay expected, and what he’s getting, are two entirely different animals,” said Martha.

I sat down. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Mona asked.

I looked from one to the other. “Clay’s emotions are outweighing his usual skepticism on this one. He’s become obsessed by his family’s deaths. I would be too. But by trying to find an answer, he’s gotten himself and us swept up in this spy game agenda on all sides. I don’t think he’s sure who to trust at this point. Neither am I.”

“It’s far from cut and dry, that’s for sure,” said Martha.

“Now, what’s this about the old ladies?” asked Mona.

“They stopped me on their way to the ski lift all upset. They thought you two were missing.”

“This is getting really bizarre,” said Martha.

“They called Clay, but got voicemail. Then they said they had a hot tip on the case and hurried off.”

“Did we buy traveler’s insurance?” Martha asked.

Her question hit home. “I was trying to stay positive.”

Mona glanced at her watch. “What was this hot tip?”

I got a bad feeling all of a sudden. “…They didn’t say.”

“We’d better go look for them,” said Mona getting up.

“Yes,” I said, urgently. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“We’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” said Martha.

Mona’s brows furrowed. “You got a better idea?”

I stood up. “Let’s get our skis. Martha: your flashlight.”

“This sounds like more bad karma,” warned Martha.

“Where could Betty and Hazel be going?” Mona asked.

My head whipped up. “That chalet! Must be!”

Chapter 48

Now, Where Would They Go?

As the three of us rode up on the cable car, bad thoughts intruded. Had someone called them with this so-called tip? Could Hazel and Betty possibly have been set up for something sinister: perhaps they were going to be left as an example for the rest of us to lay off our digging around where we didn’t belong?

Martha was irritable: a sure sign of her concern about her two friends. Mona remained silent. I knew she was plotting a worst-case scenario with us three as the rescue party. And I was praying we weren’t too late.

I pushed off first with Martha and Mona following close behind. I was sure we each had our own vision of what we thought might be taking place with those two sweet ladies, who loved sleuthing and most likely thought they were onto something big that would break this case wide open.

We arrived at the bend in the trail near the chalet as the sun began its descent behind the snowy peaks. Taking cover under the low branches of some evergreens that lined the path. We anxiously stared at the chalet. Had my hunch been right? Was this where our friends were?

Even though the window shutters were still closed, a flickering light was filtering through the uneven gaps in the shutters. It looked as if someone was inside.

My own worst-case scenarios struck me painfully. Had Hazel and Betty gotten inside? Was that flickering light a candle? Were they being held hostage? We hadn’t planned on breaking in. We couldn’t exactly call the Swiss version of 911 either.

No signal, remember?

I turned to Mona and asked her, only half-joking: “You wouldn’t have a gun stashed in that backpack, would you?”

“Now how would I get through airport security?”

“One thing is for sure with her backpack,” said Martha.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“We won’t starve to death or dehydrate out here.”

Mona turned on her. “Lay off old lady. Don’t venture into areas that might prove detrimental to your well-being.”

“What do you call this, the happy hour?” Martha asked.

“Okay, okay, stop it, Martha. What do you suggest?”

“Let’s at least check it out before something bad…”

I held up my hand to stop her. “We got the message.”

“Hey, look!” said Martha pointing. “Isn’t that smoke?”

It was seeping out from some of the windows.

This was bad. “Those flickering lights must be a fire!”

Martha turned to me, “Even though you said that place was Fort Knox, maybe we should try to at least break in.”

“Well, we can’t stand here looking. Let’s give it a try.”

Mona grabbed my arm to stop me. “Maybe it’s a trap.”

“For who?” said a voice from behind us.

Chapter 49

Things Heat Up

Startled, the three of us turned back to look.

Hazel and Betty were staring right at us.

“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” chuckled Martha.

“It’s Sherlock Holmes and Watson,” laughed Mona.

Martha glanced toward the chalet then back at Hazel and Betty, demanding, “Now, where have you two been?”

“We’ve been behind that tree,” said Betty pointing.

“Wondering what you three were up to,” added Hazel.

Betty appeared puzzled. “Why are you three here?”

“Looking for you two,” I said.

“We were told to come here,” said Betty.

“Did you get a note too?” asked an anxious Hazel.

“What note are you talking about?” said Martha.

“It was slipped underneath the door,” she said

“Well, what did it say?” asked Mona.

“It was a map leading here to find some evidence.”

I stared at Mona and Martha. “Why send them here?”

“It said to go inside the chalet to find it,” said Betty.

“Of course,” said Hazel. “We’re much too smart to enter that deserted looking place without scoping it out first.”

“Then you three showed up,” added Betty. “So…”

A loud explosion came from the Chalet.

“Holy Moses!” exclaimed Martha turning.

No one said a word. The flames spoke for us.

Then Betty whispered, “That could’ve been us inside.”

“Fried to a crisp,” Hazel added, starting to shiver.

“Now why in hell would they send two old ladies to a bomb-rigged chalet?” asked an enraged Mona.

“Maybe it went off prematurely,” said Martha, “or…”

“…Their main target was already inside,” Betty added.

Hazel sucked in a breath. “…Do you think Clay got a note too? That would explain why we couldn’t locate him.”

We stared at the fire. I dropped my poles, unsnapped my skis and began running across the yard to the chalet, safety be damned. Footfalls sounded behind me. I glanced back. Mona was on my heels followed by Martha and the others.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mona yelled.

She was closing the gap between us. I turned to her.

“If there is a breath left in me and if Clay is in there…”

“Don’t think it, Sam,” she said, now panting beside me.

We arrived at the burning structure breathing hard.

“Clay!” I screamed.

“Try the door,” ordered Martha. “We might get lucky.”

Betty and Hazel brought up the rear, breathing heavily.

“Dear God,” said Betty. “Think he’s really in there?”

“Maybe his note said we were in there,” gulped Hazel.

The front door was locked. I rammed my shoulder against it. Mona joined me as well as Martha.

It didn’t budge.

“Lord almighty,” Martha hollered. “This can’t be!”

It was a futile effort.

Hazel fell to her knees reaching under big empty pots on the ground. “Martha shine your keychain light down here.”

“Now what in hell are you trying to do?” Martha asked.

“Shut up and do it now!” Hazel ordered, tipping one up.

Martha was stunned into silence and clicked it on.

“I got it!” said a grinning Hazel, holding up a large key.

I could see the fire spreading inside. “Hurry please!”

Mona grabbed the key and shoved it into the lock.

Chapter 50

And Behind This Door Is…

Billowing smoke and sweltering heat struck our faces.

“Better pull up your ski goggles and scarves,” I shouted.

My eyes stung as I yelled out for Clay. But my words were lost to the sizzling fire as it burned out of control.

Martha was right at my side.

“Do you see him?” I yelled.

She no longer needed her flashlight. The flames were consuming drapes and everything else in its path. I had this sinking feeling my efforts were in vain, but kept on yelling. I took another step and stumbled, falling forward. “Oh!”

Mona was at my side instantly. “Are you alright, Sam?”

“My goodness,” shouted Hazel. “It’s a body!”

I scrambled on all fours to the person I had tripped on.

“Who is it?” Martha asked standing over me.

I prayed as I rolled the body over. “…It’s Peter!”

He was either unconscious or dead—it was hard to tell.

“Quick!” Mona ordered. “Let’s get him out of here.”

We all turned when the front door slammed shut loudly.

“Was that wind or did someone just run out?” I asked.

We fought our way back to the door, dragging Peter along. I looked back. It was nothing but flames trailing us. If Clay was in there, he was done for. I buried that chilling thought, trying to focus on getting the others out to safety.

I had to think positive. Maybe it was just Peter that was left behind instead of Clay. Who would do this? Was the same thing planned for Hazel and Betty if they had gotten inside too? This was one too many close calls.

It would be foolish to run back into that inferno. I said a silent prayer as we inched closer to the door, perspiring as the five of us dragged Peter toward it. By the time we reached the door, Mona grabbed the handle to open it so we could get Peter and ourselves outside to safety.

“Hurry,” choked Hazel.

“I can hardly breathe,” said Betty, gasping for breath.

Martha began hacking.

I yelled to Mona, who cursed loudly. “What’s wrong?”

She looked back at us. “The door won’t budge.”

I felt sick. We’d all burn to death in there. Who would save us? This chalet was on a remote trail with few skiers during the day, and after dusk, probably none at all.

Martha kicked the door. “I’m too young to die and I’m certainly not going out like this. I’ve got too many years left to have some fun screwing with people’s minds yet. Come on, everybody. Help me push this door open!”

We moved Peter to the side and pushed against the door.

Then it hit me. “Wait. That door opened inward.”

Martha looked at me. “…Okay, everybody pull!”

Nothing. The large door handle wasn’t budging.

It was useless. “It must be locked,” I yelled.

The flames crept closer. Our ski goggles were leaking and we were coughing. Now what?

Chapter 51

Getting Outed

Betty called out to Mona. “Hey, there’s a keyhole on the doorknob. Do you still have that key? We can unlock it.”

Near tears, Mona swiped her sweaty brow. “No. It’s still in the doorknob outside. I didn’t think to pull it out.”

Hazel patted Mona’s shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty. I would’ve done the same as you in all this confusion.”

Refusing to admit defeat, I searched for an escape route.

“How about I break that window? It hasn’t been touched by fire yet,” I said. I shoved the curtain back. “Damn!” Six by eight thick wooden panes: solid as a rock. But then I did a double take. The horse was gone. How convenient.

I glanced back to an unmoving Peter.

This was premeditated, attempted murder…

Martha ran to the sink. She wet a pile of hand towels and gave each of us one to place under our scarves to cover our mouths. “It’s not much, but it might buy us time.”

If we didn’t get out, we’d burn or suffocate to death.

Mona gave the door an angry whack in frustration. Then we heard a whack from the other side. We were speechless.

“Who’s in there?” yelled a voice from the outside.

The others screamed, “Heeeeelp!”

I almost fainted in relief. “Oh my god!” I yelled.

All eyes turned my way.

“What’s wrong?” Betty asked.

“It’s our favorite gumshoe, Clay!”

Everyone began shouting simultaneously. I kept an eye on the fire that was inching closer. “Hey,” I called out to the others. “Help me drag Peter closer to the door.”

They all turned back and began assisting me, while still yelling for Clay to get us out. I stared down at Peter’s body.

There were two possible motives in play here: Peter was compromised or was contaminated (he was dirty).

Which one was it?

Within seconds the door swung wide open.

“Did you know there was a key in the knob?” Clay said.

Everybody ran out, as Clay shoved each of us forward through the door. I grabbed him, pointing to the body on the floor. “It’s Peter. Hurry, get him out too,” I said, and then ran out myself, choking and crying in relief.

Clay was alive and safe and so were we. And Peter…?

I stood outside shivering in the cold, watching the chalet burn. If there was anyone else in there, they were toast. I shivered at the thought, as Clay’s arms encircled me from behind. I turned into his embrace, still in shock.

“I thought you were in there,” I said unsteadily.

He tipped up my chin with his thumb, wiped away my tears and kissed me. “I’m fine, and it appears Peter will be too. He’s slowly coming around. You and your friends saved his life.”

I hugged him tightly chilled by what happened and my suspicions about Peter’s loyalty. Could I be wrong?

“Oh, Clay! What is going on here?”

He hugged me again. “…I’m not sure, but at least we’re all safe.”

I looked at the chalet, and then at him. “…For now.”

Looking back at the chalet, he frowned. “Yes, for now.”

Chapter 52

Aftershock

I sat up with a start scanning my surroundings: the flames still licking at the edges of my nightmare. It was morning, I was in my hotel suite, and all my friends were safe and sound asleep. But all this spy business we were caught up in was very real and bordering on deadly.

I looked over to my bedside clock, shocked to find we had slept right through breakfast. After evacuating us safely and Peter had regained consciousness, Clay then dropped Peter at his home after he adamantly refused to go to the hospital. Clay then left the rest of us back at our hotel.

“Shouldn’t we report the fire to the police?” I had asked.

“Best not to,” Clay replied. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

But I knew differently. He wasn’t letting go of a thing. I knew Clay. He had his own methods of investigating.

I recalled yesterday’s intended victims. Why Peter? And why make an example of two sweet old ladies? Was a deadly process of elimination in play? Anger pulsated at the thought.

But then I remembered who we were dealing with: spies who thought nothing of sacrificing and burning bridges for the greater cause: like saving their asses. After this, I’d like to burn a few of them myself. But I promised Clay I’d wait until his sources got back to him with some information.

Trust me, this gumshoe’s sources ran both high and low. I just hoped Clay knew what he was doing, and that he was thinking with a clear mind. I certainly didn’t want any risk to my friends or me to escalate because of his issues.

Martha and Mona woke first, and Hazel and Betty came into our room soon afterward. Nobody felt like skiing. I couldn’t blame them. They were still upset about the fire.

There was a knock at our door. “It’s me, Clay.”

I called out, “Come on in.”

He entered smiling, but soon frowned. “No skiing?”

“Not today,” said Martha. “Nobody is in the mood.”

“I feel bad about what happened last night,” he said.

I went over and kissed him lightly. “Not your fault.”

“But still, there must be something I could do.”

Hazel asked, “How is Peter doing?”

“Will he be okay?” asked Betty.

“He’s resting and will be fine.”

Mona stood up, moaning. “I am so sore.”

Clay’s face brightened. “I’ve got it.”

Martha looked up from soaking her feet. “What?”

“I’m treating all of you to a day at the hotel spa!”

Martha eyed him, smiling. “Including nails and hair?”

He winked, “And a body massage to boot!”

“Now you’re talking!” laughed Martha.

“How about it, Sam?” Clay said smiling. “You in?”

“No, I’m typing notes while they’re fresh in my mind.”

After they left for the spa, I got to work at my laptop.

Before leaving, Clay had mentioned that Peter received a note about Kraus’ case too. After leaving me, Peter skied to the chalet to meet whoever said they had information.

My theory: When Peter arrived, the door wasn’t locked. He walked in and was hit on the head.

Was the door locked right after that?

Then we arrived. The set explosion spread the fire. We uncovered a spare key and found Peter, but then ended up being trapped ourselves.

Was this a stretch? Was it possible?

We learned afterward Betty and Hazel had found their note shoved under my door, not theirs. They just ran with it, inadvertently pocketing the note and not leaving it behind for any of us to find to confirm their whereabouts. I made a lucky guess in figuring out they were headed to the chalet. I shuddered at the possible negative alternatives.

…That computer-generated note was meant for me.

There was no word from Clay on the chalet that burned. But we did catch the cleaning couple in our suite the night before when they showed up as they were turning down our beds. We walked in on them looking like hell: disheveled and exhausted and smelling like a fire brigade who just left a burning building. Maria nodded and continued dusting. Neither batted an eyelash at the smell or our appearance.

They were an older couple. Maria wore a hair scarf. Carlo had dark hair. That was it. Other than that, they were sort of generic looking: uniforms covering most of their bodies, which covered their average builds and average heights. I don’t think anyone could pick them out of a lineup after just a fleeting glance at them.

Did that play to their advantage: being invisible?

They shook their heads speaking only Italian at our feeble attempts at conversation with them. And after a few minutes of going nowhere, we gave up trying.

Was it possible they were spies too? They had access…

Maria’s face brightened as she held up one of my books.

“Sel tu l´autore?”

I was able to understand her gesture and nodded.

(Yes, I was the author.)

Carlo then tapped Maria on the arm and said to us, “Ci scusi per favore.”

And they were gone.

“Hey, they left chocolates!” said Martha grabbing one.

At this point, doubt stepped in. I shouted, “No, don’t!”

Damn, Swiss Toblerone too. Better safe than sorry

First it was the Spanx and lastly this fire.

I sat back looking over my laptop notes. I couldn’t recall anything else that might be valuable in solving this mystery. Accurate notes were now critical because my incentives had morphed since this would be my next book, involving covert spies, the war, an assassin, (I still hadn’t forgotten Clay’s father’s murder) and some type of spy agenda that apparently still survived to this day.

It was a spy whodunit that I thought was solvable and might even sell for both Kraus as well as me.

Chapter 53

Suspicious Activities

After locking up our suite that evening, we walked to the elevator excited and looking forward to a fun evening. What a striking group they made: elegantly dressed, nails polished and hair stylishly done up in our hotel’s salon.

Mona wore a tailored black evening dress with long sleeves and silver heels. Hazel wore a slimming wrap around emerald green dress with matching sling-back heels. Betty had on a gray long skirt and matching long-sleeved top and flats, her usual hair bun done up in an elegant French twist. I had on an off-the-shoulder red cocktail dress with matching strappy high heels. Martha completely shocked everyone with a long, elegant navy evening dress with matching shoes. Her white hair looked stunning, sleeked back behind her rhinestone-studded earlobes.

At first, in spite of the day at the spa, no one wanted to attend, because Clay had to work, but he insisted. The formal dinner party with orchestra was a great diversion from the stress we’d been through. He said we deserved it.

Our group came to a halt in front of yellow tape strung across the opened elevator door, blocking it. We peeked inside, surprised to see the maintenance guy, Nick. He held a cable that hung from the open ceiling hatch.

Martha spoke first. “Nick, is everything okay?”

He frowned. “Notta so good.”

I peered closer. “What happened?”

He held out clean-cut cable for all of us to see.

“It’s-a tampered cable. Gooda thinga I founda it.”

Betty stared at the wire. “…Why is that?”.

“Someone coulda beena killed whena it broka.”

Turning away, Nick shook his head, mumbling Italian.

“I don’t like the feel of this,” whispered Martha.

Hazel leaned on the wall of the hallway, visibly shaken.

Betty’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh!”

Mona scowled. “I don’t like it. Period!”

No one said anything for a second.

Then practical Martha shrugged. “I guess it’s the stairs.”

We headed toward the stairway.

The last to follow, I said, “This is far from finished.”

From behind I swear I heard, “You gotta thatta right.”

I whipped around and stared at Nick. “What?”

Nick just stared, saying, “…Have a nicea night.”

By the time we made it to the bottom and opened the lobby door, everyone had thrown in their two cents as to why the elevator was out of commission, including yours truly. Obviously, if what we all suspected was anywhere near the truth, our problems had followed us back to the hotel. Was the cut elevator cable more than just a warning?

It sure looked like it, didn’t it?

Chapter 54

Dancing To A Different Beat

We were given the same table next to the dance floor. I glanced at several couples dancing, disappointed at having no prospects of being whisked off my feet by Clay because he wasn’t with us. I was hoping we might have at least, as Martha always liked to say, trip the light fantastic. Translation: dance on the dance floor.

I was anticipating the elegant prix fixe menu. This hotel was famous for its deluxe accommodations and superb cuisine, and as long as they didn’t serve me any raw fish sushi or carpaccio (hors d’oeuvres of thin slices of raw beef or fish served with a sauce), I was good to go.

I don’t eat anything moving on my plate either.

I proposed a toast. “To the unexpected…” I began.

“May it not happen tonight,” added a laughing Martha.

Several cheers were added to her sentiments and I got down to sampling my appetizer of sautéed scallops. Mm…

Martha was just about to bite into another shrimp when she paused, saying, “Uh-oh.”

Sitting next to her, I was nudged in my ribs. “What?”

“Approaching at two o’clock: possible incoming target.”

I gave her a questioning look until I realized she was serious. I froze, mid-fork about to turn. …Who was it?

She placed her hand firmly on mine, whispering, “Don’t look yet, just act casual then turn. He’s headed this way.”

What a joker she was! I immediately swung my gaze over to the dance floor, smiling, expecting to see Clay.

He had surprised me after all.

But instead my eyes locked onto the elderly Hans, who was approaching our table. I tried to appear relaxed. The dining room was now crowded. Nothing dangerous could happen, right? Snakes are deceiving. It was their actions that revealed their true intentions. Hans’ were camouflaged by his black tux, pleated shirt, black bow tie and diamond stud cufflinks, which transformed his appearance entirely.

By now the others had noticed Martha’s and my focus and turned in the same direction. Both Mona and Martha showed no recognition of him whatsoever. Then Martha, Betty, Hazel and Mona started primping themselves like the guy was live bait.

He took his time walking to us. I had to admit he didn’t look that dangerous, smiling like that and especially since his black eye was now undetectable. Makeup?

His elegant attire enhanced his gray hair, mustache and trim torso. Sophistication and confidence oozed off this guy. He was nothing like he appeared earlier those two times in his never varying black ski attire and sunglasses. But like I said, appearances can be deceiving. Having past experience with my crew on this subject matter, I braced myself for the unknown. What was going on?

Chapter 55

Say What And More…

Martha whispered, “Hey, it’s James Bond’s father.”

I wasn’t saying squat. This should prove interesting. Instead I waited politely for Hans to reach our table and to make the first move. He did.

“Do you mind if I join you and order us champagne?”

Everyone nodded, including an intrigued me.

He snapped his fingers in the air and out of nowhere servers appeared at our table. After some instructions in German, they set another place setting down and left to get the champagne. Hans was definitely in his element and in total control. No one bothered asking his name. With all the drooling going on, I don’t think anyone really cared.

This was a very handsome and possible eligible male.

Where was Hans going with this? What was he trying to pull off? He knew exactly who I was and when we had last seen each other: both times. He must find this amusing. I found it odd, but definitely intriguing. So I played along.

“Are you staying here at the hotel?” I asked casually.

His eyes conveyed something, but in a flash it was gone.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he replied.

That explained a lot.

Still, if he complained about me to Herr Miller, why his I-don’t-know-you-attitude? It wasn’t adding up.

He took my hand in his.

I flinched slightly, not knowing what to expect.

But all he did was kiss it and gave it a slight squeeze.

This was surreal.

I heard a collective swoon around the table.

“Ah, such beauty,” he said directly to me then he turned to the others and winked. “A toast to all your beauty!”

No one argued. They were still too busy swooning.

Hans had a captivated audience. I couldn’t believe what I was watching. I was dying to interrupt to pin him down with questions. But after my third attempt, I didn’t push it. I’d listen and wait to see what happened next.

I had just about recovered from the shock of Hans being at our table and conversing like he was attending a reunion dinner when another shocker happened.

Martha tapped my arm. “Incoming, two o’clock, again.”

I waved her off, laughing. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious,” she said pointing subtly.

I turned to look. “…Oh!”

Tuxedo-clad Clay was walking right for our table.

“Good evening ladies…you too, Samantha.”

I smiled at him. Hah! Slick entrance.

But then he nodded at Hans. “Glad to see you made it.”

My mouth fell open.

Clay knew Hans? What the…?

Chapter 56

So What Do You Think?

I swear, I tried to say something, anything, but nothing passed my lips, not one word. It was happening a lot lately.

I also swore I saw Hans smirk at my confusion. But then again, maybe I was imagining it. My mind was jumping all over the place with possible explanations, but not the one Clay hit me with seconds later.

“Sam, I try to make good on my promises. I’d like you to meet Herr Kraus, the owner of this fine establishment. Herr Kraus, this is Samantha, a personal friend of mine.”

Hans/Kraus gave a slight nod. “The pleasure is mine.”

My mouth was still hanging open when I remembered to respond. “Likewise,” I said. Of course nothing further came out after that bombshell Clay just laid on me.

When hearing exactly who Kraus was the others were just as flustered as I was but for different reasons. They were quite taken by this handsome gentleman, who also happened to be a former spy that they’d heard about.

I suddenly had an ah-ha moment.

Now I knew why Peter met Hans/Kraus at the chalet. Peter was protecting him. And they weren’t talking about me, they were probably talking about the man and woman who showed up seconds later when Peter skied off. The two skiers apparently were threatening Hans/Kraus as he did in return. They were most likely heirs of one of the original spies: thus the argument I witnessed.

Were they referring to bribe money? Now it made sense.

Another place setting was brought. Clay sat on my left and Hans/Kraus was on my right. On Clay’s left was Mona. To Herr Kraus’ right was Martha. Betty and Hazel were across the table from us, staring blatantly at the debonair hotel owner. Martha hadn’t taken her eyes off of him. This guy was a charmer, a real Casanova, flirting with her.

I took a large gulp of my wine to steady my nerves. Both Clay and Kraus were playing it cool. Obviously, Clay had no idea what turmoil I was going through as I sat there trying to figure out who knew what, when and why.

I have to ask. Did you see this coming? I sure didn’t.

I had my work cut out for me, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. I felt a tug on my left arm.

“…So what do you think?” Clay asked discreetly.

I stared at Clay, trying to piece together what he was saying, while my mind rambled on about Kraus. I barely caught, “…finally meeting,” and “…you wanted this.”

“…Yes,” I said. “I appreciate you coming through in setting up this meeting. It just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect Herr Kraus to be…”

I couldn’t say, Hans, who I’d never mentioned meeting.

“…here tonight.”

Clay whispered low, “I love it when you get flustered.”

I whispered back, “You’re always surprising me, Clay.”

But I had to admit this one was a whopper.

Chapter 57

Dancing Around The Truth

I took another large sip of my wine, gaining courage to challenge Herr Kraus about his so-called, Hans subterfuge that had me questioning his motives, as well as our safety. Why the ruse? Why not tell me who he was to begin with?

I couldn’t exactly turn and smoothly divulge to Clay what happened between us on those two odd encounters. Clay would be upset I hadn’t confided in him. He had a right to be. I remembered all the times Clay kept me in the dark, but always said afterward it was for my own good. I could use that same excuse, but it would sound ridiculous.

Truth be told, I had a selfish motive. I wanted to prove I could pull this off with my crew: solving this spy business.

But it wasn’t working out so cut and dried, was it?

I felt a gentle tap on my right arm and turned to Kraus.

“Ms. Jamison, would you care to dance with me?”

Finally an opportunity presented itself. “…Of course.”

I was not only struck by how debonair he was, but how healthy he seemed. You would never guess he was dying.

He led me to the center of the dance floor, which was crowded. I turned back to my table, barely able to see any of them. Had Kraus surrounded us with strangers so the others couldn’t hear our conversation? Good.

A little on edge, I jumped right in. “So we meet again.”

He smirked. “Hopefully this time I won’t need first aid.”

I didn’t trust my motor mouth on that one, so I smiled.

“We haven’t had a good start, have we?” he asked.

I began to relax. “No, I guess we haven’t.”

“I’m sorry you misinterpreted my actions.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I was, how do you say, having trust issues.”

“Due to your death threats no doubt.”

“And because of that, I became overly cautious.”

Okay, I understood that. It made sense.

I nodded. “Keep talking.”

“I can see why Clay is so enamored by you. You are not only a beauty, but are refreshing in your candor.”

I could feel myself blush. “Oh, you’re smooth.”

He laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

I relaxed some more, but still wanted an explanation.

“So, why the big chase in your hotel’s gardens?”

“I was taking pictures of the snow peaks.”

Oh! “…I guess I was having trust issues of my own.”

He ran his fingers lightly over his one eye and winced.

“I tried to explain, but you threw rocks at me and ran.”

I felt like an idiot. I’d misread his intentions.

“I must apologize, Herr Kraus. I panicked.”

“Apology accepted. Please, call me Hans.”

I laughed. “You mean your name really is Hans? Well, Herr Hans Kraus, please call me, Sam, the one and only, very much embarrassed, mystery author, who blundered.”

“I’ve been known to blunder on occasion myself.”

Chapter 58

Ask Away

I knew I still had several questions that needed answers, and I had his undivided attention, so I figured, why not?

“Since formalities are over with, how about we talk?”

“I thought that was what we were doing,” said Kraus.

“Would you mind if I probed further?”

“I might not answer, but go ahead, ask away.”

“Why did you take such risks with the threats to you?”

“I had nothing to lose. I’m dying anyway, remember?”

“True, but in the mean time, other people aren’t safe.”

“As you can see this is not a game for amateurs.”

“It’s not a game for pros either, is it?”

Concern shadowed his features. “What do you mean?”

“You still haven’t flushed out the real spy, have you?”

“I’m close.”

“But not close enough to put it to print.”

“How would you know?”

“Your book would be at your publishers if you were and I’d be on my way home with Clay.”

“You’re very observant for an author.”

“As an author, mysteries have always fascinated me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Until I solve them.”

“Oh, really?” he repeated.

I smiled. “And I always do, you know.”

“Maybe I should have hired you instead.”

“I don’t think so. The air around you is too toxic.”

He chuckled. “The same could be said about you.”

I paused mid-step, but he moved me smoothly along.

“…Okay, so I get nosy and a little over-reactive.”

He tapped his eye lightly to emphasize his point.

I chuckled. “…Okay, okay, a lot.”

“That can be a good thing…”

I was trying to read him. “…And a bad thing, right?”

“I find success comes to those who don’t press so hard.”

“Funny, it’s just the opposite with me,” I said.

“But that is where we differ.”

“How is that?”

“Pros keep friends close, their enemies closer.”

“My take is the human caveat emptor version.”

He threw is head back and laughed. “You are priceless.”

“That’s what Clay says, except when I drive him crazy.”

“And then?”

“He wishes he’d chosen a different profession.”

“Why is that?”

“It drives him nuts when I outguess him.”

“Does it happen often?”

“When he least expects it.”

“Then I’d better watch my step.”

“That’s what they all end up saying.”

“How about we have a ski date?”

“You’re on! Remember, I’m better than you think.”

Chapter 59

Looking Back & Looking Forward

It was another sunny crisp morning. The others were off skiing after our evening of great conversation and cuisine. Clay took off to see how Peter was coming along. I knew my ski classes were at an end, and after having skied before I came to Switzerland and Peter’s rigorous classes, I now felt proficient enough. Besides, Peter had to rest. Olaf said he would handle their ski business for the time being.

Clay confided to me last night that the risk to the others and me wasn’t worth it. Our safety mattered most. If the assassin remained anonymous, then so be it.

“Is it that important?” he’d asked, “after what all of you have been through?”

I understood his sentiments, but couldn’t accept them.

I wanted out of this nightmare world of spies too, but what about the effort all of us had invested trying to solve it? I wanted my personal spy, my favorite PI and gumshoe, Clay, back on home territory. I also preferred home-team advantage when dealing with nefarious individuals. This foreign intrigue was just about killing us: literally. We’d had too many close calls for my comfort zone.

But still…

Kraus called earlier, saying he finished his book after figuring out who was guilty for the deaths of Clay’s father and grandfather. It was time to relax and enjoy our skiing.

Had Kraus really figured it out or had he guessed?

Regrettably he wasn’t offering reasons or tidbits.

I was dying to know who it was. Ah, authors!

He also said not to worry that we were quite safe skiing alone for a few hours. He’d protect us both. After all, he was trained with skills that I could only imagine. Besides, we’d be meeting up with Clay at a restaurant halfway down the slope: the views spectacular. First, I’d have a great ski run with Kraus and then we would break for lunch with Clay. And after another few more runs, the three of us would ski back to Kraus’ hotel for dinner with everyone else later on.

Perhaps the couple Kraus confronted no longer fazed him because he was nearer dying than anyone anticipated. He must also feel Clay’s services were no longer needed now that his manuscript was emailed and a hard copy posted to his publisher.

…That was it? There was nothing further to be done?

I stood at the cable car waiting for him. The station was crowded. A couple that felt familiar snagged my attention. A chill went up my spine as I edged nearer for a closer look. Was it that man and woman who confronted Kraus at the chalet? Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

I heard my name called out and turned. Kraus was waving, making his way over to where I was. I waved back, acknowledging him. Then I turned back to the couple, who were getting passes. The woman removed her sunglasses then glanced my way. Spotting me, she waved, smiling.

It was Carlo and Maria, our cleaning couple. I sighed. I had let my imagination get away from me, again.

“Ciao!” they called out and left for the slope.

Relieved, I smiled and waved goodbye.

A cheerful Kraus arrived at my side. “Ready to go?”

“Sure. Let’s hit the slopes.”

Chapter 60

Guilt, Suspicions & Spying

I would miss this place. The village of Grindelwald with its scenic ski runs, glacier and breathtaking vistas was a multi-cultural mecca and a memorable place to visit. This ski run with Kraus was just what I needed. I no longer felt uneasy. That was ancient history. Now I embraced picking up speed, traversing around snow-laden evergreens, and was game for just about anything that came my way.

I had become used to not skiing first. Plus, Kraus’ confident and upbeat mood was contagious. And true to his word, he kept glancing back at me to make sure I was okay. Believe me, I was more than okay. I was laughing out loud and taking in every detail for my book.

He veered sharply to the right, so I followed him to a trail I hadn’t skied before. It must be another secluded and remote run of his. I smiled. He had chosen well. I loved it.

I saw him gradually slow to a stop after we negotiated some evergreens. Then it dawned on me we had arrived at that chalet, but from a different angle.

It was a charred mess.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked.

He seemed disturbed. “This destroyed chalet is mine. When Clay first informed me, I was upset then I became incensed. It’s been in my family for generations. Thank goodness I live at the hotel and my horse was spared. The farrier had him to trim his hoof and replace a shoe.”

I was shocked.

This was his chalet? That explained the missing horse.

“Where in the hotel do you live?”

“I have a suite in the hotel on your floor.”

I made the connection. “Can I take a guess where?”

“Right across from your suite.”

“So that was your cane I spotted.”

He nodded. “It belonged to my grandfather. He always took it on his hikes. Now, so do I, to honor his memory.”

Was that tampered elevator cable meant for Kraus?

I looked at the burnt timber and ashes “What a waste.”

“Too many keys laying around.”

I remembered the key under the pot Hazel found.

Thank goodness for that or Peter would be dead.

“I was so foolish to trust a select few at my hotel with the chalet key.”

I was foolish too: a true amateur. My suspicions and my spying on Herr Kraus were proven wrong. I should admit it.

“I prejudged you and I spied on you here one day.”

I hadn’t expected him to reply, “I figured that was you.”

“I guess it takes a good spy to spot a bad one. Are you sure about the assassin’s name, the one who killed Clay’s grandfather and father? Do you think they did this too?”

“My publisher will soon have both of their names.”

…Two? Was it Herr Miller, the hotel manager, Nick, the maintenance man, or others?

“I always knew I’d tie up those loose ends,” Hans said.

I wasn’t following. “What loose ends?”

“It’s us who will tie up those loose ends,” said a voice.

We turned. It was Carlo and Maria. She tore off her ski hat. …That gray streak! They were that couple: the two who had argued with Kraus at this very spot!

I heard a guttural growl beside me. Kraus was livid.

Naturally, like the aggressor I am, I skied back a few feet. It was all about pole placement and self-preservation. Something was terribly wrong with this picture postcard.

Now I ask you, could this get anymore complicated?

Chapter 61

Falling For You…

Kraus, ever the gentleman, blocked my body with his. So I slowly pushed back another few feet. He did the same.

“…What do you two want?” he asked them cautiously.

Maria glared at Kraus. “What do you think?”

Carlo, right beside Maria said, “You can’t name us!”

Kraus unexpectedly laughed. “It’s too late for that now.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked warily.

“Hey, wait!” I said. “You two are speaking English!”

“Some author/sleuth, aren’t you?” Maria shot back.

Mistake one: Don’t criticize an author

“Keep the little woman behind you,” laughed Carlo.

Mistake two: Don’t mock an already pissed-off woman.

“Say, what?” I shot back.

“You heard us,” said Maria. “Shut up or you’ll get hurt.”

“Like I just said, it’s too late,” laughed Kraus.

“For what?” Maria asked him again.

Being ignored, I tried to ski around Kraus. “I never…”

Kraus turned, blocking me. “Stay there,” he warned.

When he turned back to Carlo and Maria, the dynamics of our party-fest had changed dramatically by the addition of someone else. I couldn’t believe who was there. Off to the side and behind the evil duo stood Peter. When did he get here? I thought he was home recuperating. I looked around us. Where was Clay? I hadn’t heard Peter approach. Was Clay Peter’s backup, observing from nearby?

Peter stood his ground. “It’s too late, Kraus.”

Maria and Carlo turned surprised to see him there.

Carlo spoke first. “We can handle this ourselves…”

“No, I don’t think so. I am Inspector Peter Hoffmann, Swiss National Police. Herr Kraus, you are under arrest!”

I stared at Peter, stunned by his remark. “…What?”

He smiled. “You mean Kraus hasn’t told you yet?”

Peter looked way too confident. Something was terribly wrong. “…Told me what?” I asked uneasily.

“Now, Kraus, let’s see. What could you be hiding?”

“How dare you! You can’t intimidate me like this!”

“Intimidation has nothing to do with this,” laughed Peter.

Kraus turned toward me, whispering, “He’s corrupt and one of the spy assassins.” Then he winked, reached into his jacket, and in one fluid stroke, slipped out a gun, turned and fired directly at Peter, who crumpled to the ground.

I stared down at Peter. No movement whatsoever. I couldn’t breathe, not believing what I’d just witnessed.

Kraus chuckled. “This old spy still has what it takes.”

Initially I thought Peter the good guy, then bad guy, then good, then… I couldn’t keep up. Now what? I was numb.

“Was that necessary?” asked a now uncertain Maria.

“Yes, as you can see, I don’t play games,” said Kraus.

“Are you implying Peter tried to pay you off?” I asked.

“Yes, to save his reputation and keep his family name…”

I suddenly got it. “From your list of suspect assassins.”

Chapter 62

Aftershock

“But we are not assassins, Kraus,” called out Maria.

An upset Carlo added, “And you know that.”

“Collateral damage for a bestseller,” countered Kraus.

Floored, I said, “You added them to sell more books?”

“Their embassy family history would add some sizzle. Besides, I’m tired of living in obscurity taking a backseat to other authors with boring books. I want fame before I die. I want myself plastered across news headlines: How a spy defied the odds and came out on top exposing other spies!”

Where was the friendly Kraus from the night before?

“But how could you just destroy people like that?”

He smirked, enjoying this. “It takes years of practice.”

“Is this how you want your legacy to read?” I asked.

“Legacy? What legacy? I’m not dying.”

Having a sinking feeling, I looked at Maria and Carlo.

I asked Kraus, “Tell me I’m wrong about assuming…”

He pushed me, whispering, “Shh…I’m stalling them.”

“Stop. Don’t push her further back,” warned Carlo.

“Why? What do you intend to do to us?” asked Kraus.

I slid back further. This whole thing was confusing.

“Don’t move another inch, young lady,” Maria ordered.

Why did they keep warning me?

I laughed nervously. “Next thing you’ll say is I’m about to fall off a cliff and…”

I froze.

Kraus had turned and was now grinning at me.

…Why?

I glanced backward. I was on the precipice of one very steep cliff. I remembered Mona’s warning about how she fell. This fall was way further than that.

Now what?

“Stop!” Maria shouted. “Don’t move!”

I wasn’t going anywhere.

His gun at his side, Kraus abruptly spun around and fired at them both. They dove to the ground for protection.

Kraus turned back to me sneering: the persona of evil, the deadly spy: an individual my gut had initially warned me against.

I smiled weakly. “…You, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Oh, yes I would,” he snarled.

“…Why? Why me?”

“You were a bonus, my dear.”

I had to keep Kraus talking. I had to think of something.

“Bonus? What bonus? I’m not making the connection.”

Kraus smiled. “I needed Clay here because I wasn’t sure how much he knew about his grandfather’s and father’s deaths. By enticing him to come, it gave me the opportunity to eliminate any potential future threat of him ever discovering the truth and to further sanitize my reputation.”

“What made you kill the two of them in the first place?”

“His grandfather and father discovered I was a double agent. By killing them, I eliminated some loose ends. Then Clay entered the picture with his phone call. I couldn’t take the chance he might dig further like his father had. I was losing control of my laid-out plan of historical revision!”

At a fever pitch, Kraus was on a roll, almost yelling at this point. This situation could go either way. I realized then that it would all come down to timing.

“I still don’t understand…” I said, trying to appear interested so he’d keep on talking, while I frantically tried to come up with a plan.

Kraus fell for it. “I knew Clay would come to help me if he thought he could solve the mystery of his father’s and grandfather’s deaths. So I told him I needed his protection. We’d be helping each other. Clay bit the bait. But then you showed up. My bonus! It was perfect.”

“…But I didn’t do anything to you.”

His pupils were black holes: dilated.

This guy was crazy!

He smirked. “I relished the thought of causing more pain! It was just like in the old spy days.”

How cold-hearted could one person be?

“…My gut instinct about you, Kraus, was right.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. You bought into my sob story a few minutes ago.”

I had to admit, he had sounded convincing, but then weren’t spies supposed to be convincing? Lying came naturally.

What should I do now?

I could feel the snow crumple under my skis as I tried to shift my weight anywhere but backward to maintain the delicate balance between me standing there and falling off the edge. I swallowed hard when I heard clumps of snow hurtling down into the ravine, dropping hundreds of feet behind me.

I quickly glanced past Kraus. Maria and Carl watched in horror as he leaned into me. I knew they dared not make noise by getting up, fearing it would draw Kraus’ attention to turn back toward them, throwing off his balance.

Then I’d fall.

I could see no way out and realized it was over or would be in minutes, but then I caught movement peripherally. It was Clay! Would Kraus hear him and turn?

Keep Kraus talking.

“I don’t see how you can get away with this.”

Clay was skiing silently, ever so slowly toward us. I knew he didn’t want to shoot Kraus for fear he would fall onto me, thus causing me to fall off the cliff. He’d have to yank him back toward himself and away from me. Like I said this would all come down to timing.

Hearing nothing behind him, Kraus suddenly cackled, totally focused on me. He was enjoying this.

He was clearly nuts.

“You’re a second-rate sleuth, who’s in over her head.” He then laughed. “An amateur hack and a bad one at that.”

Kraus nudged me, taunting me to fall.

Sick bastard!

He laughed again. “I bet spellcheck is your best friend.”

That did it! Like I said, don’t criticize an author.

I lunged for his gun, but he twisted back.

My arms flailed in the air as I teetered on the edge then I latched onto his jacket and hung on for dear life to stop from falling backward.

Like Martha, I yelled, “I’m too young to die.”

Clay unsnapped his skis. Leaping, he caught Kraus from behind. “Hang on Sam,” he yelled.

Then Maria and Carlo scrambled to get up to help.

I’d be damned if Kraus was going to win. I let go with one hand and hauled off and let him have it with my right fist. Then I latched on again and threw my head forward and heard the crunch of cartilage breaking.

But Kraus was a crazed and manic bull, and even though Clay tried to pull him back from the edge, Kraus wouldn’t go down. Kraus raised his gun with me still attached to his sleeve, laughed maniacally and yelled, “The irony!” His arm swung back and the gun connected with Clay’s head.

Kraus attempted to turn, but I refused to give up as I reach through his bent arm trying desperately to grab onto Clay, clearly throwing Kraus off balance. Bloody, Clay reached out for me, straining one last time to save me, but Kraus’ weight played against him and me.

I strained harder.

I’m so close…so close…

I flex out my hand further for Clay’s outstretched one…

I’m almost there…

Our fingers barely touch, but then slip apart…

I’m falling…

I hear a shot…

“Noooo…!”

In the distance the last thing I hear is a bell tolling…

Chapter 63

Cleanup & Aftermath

When referring in the future to this particular vacation, if you could call it that, I would have to quote, hey, it might not be the exact words, okay? F. Scott Fitzgerald when Gatsby said, ‘It was the best of times and the worst of times’ or something close to that, but you pretty much get the core of what I’m trying to say, right?

We were currently traveling on our first class flight on Swiss Air that would take us back home. I was taking notes, balancing my laptop on my full leg cast (yes, you heard me right) that was propped up, dealing with cuts and bruises and chomping away on my Toblerone candy bar, exactly like the ones I warned the ladies not to eat, but was assured this one was not poisonous.

Normally I wouldn’t be eating candy, but with all the painkiller drugs they had me on, I got the munchies and had to have one. Mona’s backpack was now my best friend.

Bodyshaper be damned.

I really think that last line was the drugs talking, which now ran a close second in my best friend department.

The plane jerked and I winced. “Oh!”

“Are you okay?” asked a concerned Hazel.

Betty jumped out of her seat. “Need anything?”

I looked at them both and said, “I’m doing okay.”

And I was, considering the aftermath from my death-defying, hair-raising fall with Kraus.

Martha declared, ‘Thank the Lord! She’s still alive.’

This pain proved that point, which was a good thing. The bad thing was that I had a triple sprain and a fractured ankle. I looked down at my full leg and foot cast. No lying needed. I had now bragging rights on this one. This was definitely not from a skiing accident.

This was attempted murder!

I still got the chills remembering. I must have blacked out because I woke up at the doctor’s clinic to see him viewing my x-rays, shaking his head and mumbling in a low voice to Clay, who kept glancing back at me. I smiled back at Clay, already high on drugs to kill the excruciating pain. Next thing I knew I was ensconced in a full leg cast and handed metal crutches with red reflectors on them.

Now I ask you, where in hell did they think I was going with them, to play in traffic?

I accepted them graciously and shakily half-walked and was half-carried by Clay out of the clinic and brought back to the hotel. Clay had me moved to his private apartment until emergency tickets could be booked to fly us home. He lovingly washed my long hair that night while I leaned back over the tub in my temporary cast. They couldn’t put on a regular one because my leg and ankle were so swollen.

Clay said he wasn’t letting me out of his sight.

The next day we traveled two trains to get to the airport. In changing trains, you were expected to go down a flight of stairs, walk a long walk and then up a flight of stairs to the next track. Clay tipped the baggage car attendant to set me on the wooden luggage cart with my leg propped up. It was allowed to cross the tracks directly to the next train. I felt like a piece of luggage as I bounced along while the porter sang something in really nice in German.

Keep in mind I was still drugged to deal with the pain.

Maybe he wasn’t singing at all.

I was capable of hearing anything at that point. I was also ecstatic because I was still alive. I had survived that death-defying fall.

The aftermath was something else…

Chapter 64

Final Words On The Aftermath

As for the final words on Herr Hans Kraus, infamous spy and international assassin, Clay decided to wait before telling me the gory details right away. By the time Clay worked his way down the cliff, which felt like forever to him, he found me out cold on a ledge, which saved my life. But much farther down the ravine, a grotesquely sprawled out Kraus lay dead. Kraus would finally get his fame, guaranteeing his name being in the headlines. Clay said it was eerie when he looked down at Kraus. That church bell was still tolling in the distance: a symbolic message.

Death knell in the Alps.

That shot I heard was Kraus’ gun. He had accidentally shot himself while trying to kill me in our struggle. As he fell off that cliff, he bounced off boulders and trees. I shiver thinking about it. It could have turned out so differently. The doctor said that because of my young age and my extraordinary good luck in landing on that ledge, I was able to withstand the fall surprisingly well.

That ledge had changed the whole dynamic.

Carlo and Maria were innocent, as they had proclaimed.

Peter was lucky. The shot barely missed his heart. His prognosis was good. In time he’d be up and skiing again.

I took another small sip of the champagne courtesy of Swiss Air. “To a job well-done,” Clay had toasted earlier.

I looked over to Clay, who was now sleeping, my cast propped up on his leg. He was smiling: his doubts and questions finally resolved after all this time. The mysteries concerning his past would finally be put to rest.

It’s funny how you think you know someone, but they keep surprising you. This was how I thought about Clay. He was always surprising me. Like he said at the start,

“Remember one thing, Sam, it will never be dull.”

He was right.

I looked over at my crew, who were laughing and remembering the crazy, close calls that were now part of our ‘ski vacation’ and the tall tales that would be told for years to come. I wondered what would be next. Then I laughed too. If anything it will be as usual: the unexpected.

Thinking about this book, I hadn’t seen spellcheck pop up once since I began typing, and was now looking forward to handing everything over to my agent and editor, who would critique it thoroughly with a fine-toothed comb.

I leaned back. Where next? Clay hinted at a nice respite from all this chaos and my recent death-defying antics.

“How about a romantic stay at a B & B to sightsee a historic area and deal with people who are already dead?”

But as usual, I had a feeling another mystery would conveniently fall in our laps and we’d be off and running again. That was just fine with me. As long as it was like my other mysteries: easily solvable.

…And they say some authors have no sense of humor.

This ends Death Knell In the Alps.

For a preview of the first book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series, Volume 1, The Puzzle, please continue reading right after this:

SPECIAL NOTE TO THE READER

Thank you for reading Volume 6, Death Knell In the Alps: I do hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked this book, I hope you choose to check out and read the rest of the mysteries in the series. Here are some other possible suggestions:

Why not share the book? If you liked this mystery, please lend your copy to a friend who might also enjoy it.

Why not review it? If you liked it, please consider posting a brief review on Amazon. Reviews do help other readers decide whether they might like the book.

Feel free to contact me via my website: http://www.SamanthaJamison.com. I would love to hear from you.

Why not sign up on my website? http://www.SamanthaJamison.com. You’ll receive updates, blogs and be able to peek at a future release when it’s about to debut.

Please read on for the preview excerpt of the first book in the Samantha Jamison Mystery Series, Volume 1, The Puzzle

The Puzzle

A Samantha Jamison Mystery

Volume 1

A Novel

by

Peggy A. Edelheit

Copyright © 2011 by Peggy A. Edelheit

Chapter 1

Fatal Obsession

My Letter To My Dead Husband

Stephen,

For the first time, I find myself at a loss for words to describe exactly how I feel, but I will try. You see, I need somewhere to park my anger, and even though you will never read this, I must have something tangible in my hands, written in black and white. When I look back, I actually thought we had some kind of life together. Maybe not a great one, but, at least in the beginning, one that I thought was worth an emotional investment. Now, I’m not so sure. The big shocker? I didn’t expect to be a widow. It stopped me in my tracks. How and why did this happen? Undeserved as it was, it now dictates my search for the truth, regardless of what that truth might turn out to be. I ask myself, how was I to piece together all the shattered fragments of my life? To do that, I need a better understanding of where things went wrong. Initially, I felt vulnerable, but not for long. Knowledge was the game-changer. I remember the impact of betrayal, after discovering your deception, the way you used your lies and my apprehension to manipulate me. Why? For what reason? I’m exhausted from my naiveté and making excuses for your odd behavior, and I’m physically numbed by our last verbal encounter and your confusing remarks. What strange bedfellows we ultimately became, me with my ignorance and you with your secretive duplicity. It takes my breath away.

Samantha

* * * * *

I felt like I was losing it, as my fingers flew across my computer keyboard, typing away, still wondering if my obsession for the truth would be the death of me. Little did I know when I first started this book that it would be the death of him instead. I paused to sip my wine, thinking it through. I wasn’t writing the great American novel, just another book about commitment and making choices. Pretty straightforward, right?

No. Not this time. All bets were off. My concentration stunk. I looked up. That damn clock was ticking away and my novel was behind schedule. I tried typing once again…

(My book)

…Doubt and fear shadowed me, as I proceeded down the hall with more courage than I felt. Listening carefully, I moved slowly past the first room, then the second, stealing a quick look in each. Old houses settled and creaked, right? But his death did that to me, made me uneasy, ever since I discovered there were no lifetime guarantees on anything or anyone. There were just words that made you feel safe and secure. I flicked the landing light on and the hallway switch off, tentatively glancing back, but all I heard was that same conversation rebound from the past.

“I don’t have time right now!” snapped Stephen. “I’ve got to catch that plane. Let’s get a move on, or I’m going to miss it. We’ll sit down and talk when I get back.”

“Don’t you see? You always say that!” I knew the drill.

He turned back to me, grabbing my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I swear, this time I mean it. I have to tie up a few loose ends and have a feeling that everything will go my way. And if it doesn’t, well, you know me. I still manage to cover all my bases.”

I searched his intense, unreadable eyes. I wasn’t willing to let it go. “But what about me? What about us?”

Stephen smiled. “We’ll always have us,” he reasoned.

Was I overreacting? I tried yet again. “But, Stephen….”

His smile abruptly vanished, and he released me. “Samantha, don’t push. This is important to me. Now, drop it!” He glanced down at his watch. “Let’s go!” He turned, grabbed his bag and walked out toward the car, calling over his shoulder, “Are you coming? You have to drop me off at the airport, remember?”

I stood there, staring down that hallway, recalling his words. How could I forget them and all the anger that still lingered? I closed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath and moved on.

I knew how many times I had gone this way and it was always twenty-four, and then six footsteps, so predictable, just like our arguments. I descended to the landing and was about to swing to the right and go down those last steps, but stopped. Something caught my eye and I turned to the left.

There on the wall hung a familiar picture, another reminder of my life, the one that used to include Stephen and me. I was still trying to piece together what I may have overlooked. How could I have been so oblivious? Suddenly, what I thought was secure was unexpectedly reduced to nothing. Poof! Right for the jugular! Just like that!

Stephen, why did you lie? Were you dishonest with me from the beginning?

These considerations were long overdue since I was finally questioning his motives and confronting mine. How could I change my future if I didn’t understand his past?…

Chapter 2

The Book Of Revelation

I slammed my laptop shut, tapping my fingernail in frustration. This whole thing was driving me crazy. Yet again, it was happening, figuratively and literally. I glanced down at my computer. Where was my book going? Leaning forward, I rested my forehead on crossed fingers, as if in prayer, and then sat upright, annoyed. For the life of me, I couldn’t think straight.

Restless, I shoved my chair back and began pacing. My neck was killing me. I tried massaging my muscles, as though that would ease all my uncertainty. I knew full well what was affecting my writing: Stephen’s death and that unknown factor just waiting in the wings. They influenced every word I typed. My life and my novel were becoming one. I couldn’t stop it.

Stuck on replay, my mind kept returning to that point in time when I had made deals with God to give my life back. And as usual, denial, pain, grief and doubt all found their target, and like clockwork, anger showed up and slapped me out of it. I remember standing there in shock…

(My past)

…“What?” I had asked the police, stepping back from the door. “My husband?” In minutes, I was practicing denial, refusing to acknowledge their sympathy, and stunned as they explained Stephen’s fatal accident.

In a heartbeat, my life shifted. I reached out, trying to latch onto reality, as I knew it should be. What did they just say? Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.

“Sorry that it took so long. His identification, rental info, and plates were all missing.”

“It’s not…He couldn’t…” Dead? Car rental? Their information wasn’t registering. None of it made any sense. What happened to the plane he was taking?

Doubt lingered at the edges as Stephen’s picture, sitting on my desk, vied for my attention. Every time I passed it, more questions began to surface. I felt his eyes follow me, as though he was trying to…

I leaned in closer, confused and upset, demanding, “What are you trying to tell me, Stephen? What were you thinking? Where were you going?” Silence. No response, real or imagined.

That nightly ritual grew unsettling. No matter how I struggled to walk away, I felt certain he was trying to communicate something. What? Then I gradually began to consider what other unknowns might be out there.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Days later, the police said his brakes were tampered with, and told me to be “available.” For what? More pain? My frustration sat there, right beside my former blind acceptance and ignorance.

I had never considered foul play. That changed everything.

Anger simmered, as I gave them a newly memorized address and my cell number. I really didn’t have any choice. Unwilling to wait for their answers, and with nothing holding me back, I decided to pack up what was left of me, go back to North Carolina and find out for myself…

Now I stood there thinking about that decision. I should really start that packing instead of getting more frustrated and going nowhere with my book. But then I glanced down at my laptop and reluctantly sat back down to try and concentrate once more on my book. I had a deadline to consider. But my fingers, poised over the keyboard, wouldn’t move. It was like a disconnect had taken place between my hands and my brain. I stared at the lettered keys and then at the screen, thinking about what I continued to do day after day.

Why was I compulsively interjecting our lives into my book? My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, working freelance, asking questions, but where were they leading me? After five years of marriage, it only took one fatal accident to find out I didn’t know Stephen at all. So many questions remained unanswered. What was he involved in? Why was he driving without identification? He was so meticulous. After I dropped him at the airport, why didn’t he board that plane? Why did he rent a car?

Our marriage, his accident, and my future were all tied up in knots and needed unraveling. I leaned back in my chair, considering what to do, and then it hit me, a possible way to solve everything, one I had never considered. And it just might work.

I stared at the computer screen. Since my life had taken an unexpected turn, why not my book, too? Why should I go in another direction when my fingers had just dropped me in my own narrative? Granted it was a bit unusual, but what was usual about my life anymore? Not one damn thing. I considered my odds on pulling this off. To tell you the truth, they didn’t look too good; more like slim to none, because I would probably be kept guessing all the way down that uncertain road I had decided to travel. Would I find myself scrambling just to keep up? Would my life be put at risk like Stephen’s?

What do you think?

Chapter 3

Expecting The Unexpected

As the wind whipped past me, I looked up at the clouds and felt the predicted cold front threatening. Armed with caffeine, I pulled my jacket collar close while I hurriedly walked down Main and turned at the next corner. The side street was tree-lined with a few leaves still clinging to the branches. Several aging cottages, now used as shops, fronted the uneven sidewalk. Stopping at the second one, I unlocked the door, quietly flipping the sign to read “Open,” and then cautiously entered my own antique shop in this small town from Stephen’s past: Highlands, North Carolina. It was my cover for being there to find out what happened to Stephen.

I glanced around, looking for any kind of disturbance. I was always uneasy at first, expecting the unexpected. Stephen’s death had changed me in so many ways. I took nothing for granted anymore, certainly not my life.

I ventured further in and called out, “Sneakers? Are you around here somewhere?” Occasionally, I left him overnight in the shop for a change of scenery.

His choice.

A black cat with white paws silently tiptoed from behind the curtained front window, stretching. He sat and stared.

I made eye contact. “There you are! Any uninvited visitors last night?”

He replied with a contented meow as I reached down to scratch him behind his ear. He licked my hand in greeting, and then, dismissing me, sauntered back toward his cozy hideaway. I hated to admit it, but I sort of envied his “I could care less” attitude.

“Well, I’ll take that as a no. Just try and stay out of trouble. One of us has to.”

I continued my surveillance. Months had slipped by, but to me, time was meaningless. It stopped the day Stephen was killed. Murder and deceit were now my second skin. Had I also acquired a taste for distrust? Yes. Would my true objective be recognized? Hopefully, it wouldn’t. Still, it was days before I felt sure no one in town knew my real intentions. People offered words of sympathy, assuming the widow needed to get away to the mountains after the death of her husband and that my new shop was therapy to deal with my grief.

Good. That’s what I wanted them to think.

After Stephen’s death, I swore I would never return to this place. That is, until I learned his death was not accidental. That changed everything, even the air I breathed. I came looking for answers and wasn’t leaving until I got them. Period. I had to stay focused on whose agenda had turned deadly and why if I was to solve this thing.

When I first got there, I tried to create a life in Highlands that appeared ordinary and predictable, but it wasn’t that simple. There were several hurdles. One was the ever-challenging Martha, who constantly complained and verbally ran over everyone in her path, including me. She drove me crazy, but after a while, she settled into a routine of working Thursday through Sunday. She was a force to be dealt with, brandishing a laser-sharp mind that missed nothing, and I mean nothing.

She came to me by way of a recommendation from Jack, a local developer and my builder. Jack warned me ahead of time about his cousin’s eccentric ways. It’s amazing what you overlook when you’re desperate, and believe me, I was. Besides, she had business experience and was willing to work part-time. The final deal clincher was that Martha knew most everyone in town.

At the spry age of seventy, Martha was tireless, offering advice whether you asked for it or not. She just loved chewing on the latest town gossip. No, nothing went by Martha unnoticed, and I was willing to catch anything thrown my way, playing all sides.

I jumped at the opportunity to hire her, and so far, was pleased with my decision. She was pushy, but I could live with that. What was off-limits I avoided, talking my way out of probing conversations. I evaded issues that were no one’s business, perfecting the art of observation and deception, while silently acknowledging my former mentor, Stephen.

My intuitive antenna, sensing an imminent disturbance, shot up. Martha energetically burst through the door, weighed down with a heavy bag. She flung it on the counter in front of me. Startled, I jumped back. Much like her personality, her silvery hair was airborne in all directions.

“Hells bells! I just stopped by to drop off an antique quilt from the flea market. I thought I might forget it on Thursday. Boy, when will this tourist traffic let up? I just about got myself run over. Thank the Lord I am agile. I can’t stay. I have to pick up medicine at the pharmacy. My arthritis is kicking up. The weather is changing and I feel it in my bones. Even at my age, anything kicking up, I’m grateful for. I might have an ice cream at their soda fountain though. I heard there’s a cute new soda jerk behind the counter serving up all that ice cream. Got to check him out. You know, you’re never too old to look, I always say! Well, I’ve got to go. See you on Thursday, Samantha.”

She paused, turning back to me. “By the way, you keep your mouth open like that and you’re sure to catch some flies.” She abruptly spun around and left, slamming the door behind her, as dust motes flew wildly about in the air.

Yes, that was Martha, I thought, then promptly closed my mouth, realizing I never got the opportunity to utter one single word. That woman was intense, but I wouldn’t change a thing about her. She was the best gossip, spilling a wealth of information that I was so desperate for. Yeah, she was a keeper.

Luckily, no one suspected Stephen died from anything other than failed brakes. The detective said the investigation was ongoing and saw no need to tip his hand while the perpetrator was still out there. He methodically interviewed Stephen’s acquaintances in the town, and then inexplicably left. Why? Was there a person of interest? If so, who was it? Here I was, surrounded by people I didn’t trust, people who might not trust me, and possibly, a potential killer. Hopefully, I’d manage to stay one step ahead of any threat that might be out there.

I soon found out that in small towns, news travelled quickly, gossip even faster. You didn’t need a phone. Someone was always watching and listening. That could be a good thing and a bad thing, depending on who you were. Even though Stephen had a history here, I would always be considered somewhat of an outsider and didn’t need any suspicious behavior added to the mix. I had to remain vigilant without drawing attention to what I was trying to do: find out the truth.

I did inform my agent about my relocation. Of course, my past book sales helped play in my favor. I wasn’t a top name, but I did okay. Fortunately, no one in town knew I was an author because I wrote under a penname name. Stephen, for some reason, insisted on that from the start. I never really gave it much thought, but now that he was dead, maybe I would.

To him, my writing was more of a hobby than a job. So I humored him, going along with the anonymity so I could write. Maybe in a way, he was right. It didn’t seem like work to me. Initially I was lucky, got published, and as they say, the rest was history. No blockbusters, but I did pretty well, my book sales gradually increasing every year with each new novel.

I turned to the mirror to tie my long blonde hair back from my face and tried to concentrate on my best features, my hazel eyes and long lashes, and not my stress-related weight loss. I quickly smoothed on lip gloss. Then I heard the bell on the front door, swung around, and smiled as Jack Thompson entered.

A year and a half earlier, he had sold Stephen and me the property where he built our log home. Jack’s coarse features softened as he greeted me in his usual friendly manner. He pulled his knit hat off and smoothed down his wiry gray hair.

“Well, look what the wind just blew in!” I greeted him.

“Hey there, good lookin’,” he shot back, smiling.

At first, I kept my distance with people, but Jack was the exception. His stature, like his personality, could be intimidating to some, but not to me. He became a self-appointed protector of mine since Stephen died. Besides, I figured I could use an ally. On his insistence, he personally helped me finish the house, and his influence helped ease my transition into small town life. Also, it was a well-known fact about town that he had a substantial network of friends in high and low places, and I had no qualms about using that to my advantage either.

“Speaking of the wind,” Jack said, “Martha just flew by me on the sidewalk, like she was on some kind of mission.”

“Drug store, ice cream, and new soda jerk, and not necessarily in that order. Need I say more?”

He laughed. “Oh! Well, that explains it! She’s a bundle all right, uncontrollable and totally unpredictable.”

I chuckled. “I’m never quite sure what to expect from Martha. And I want to personally thank you for recommending her. I’m still recovering, though.”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?” he said still laughing. He made his way over to one of my glass display counters. “Listen, Sam. I want to surprise the love of my life with a present for her birthday. Help me pick out something extra special.”

“Sure. By the way, how is Barbara?”

“She’s still trying to refine my rough edges, complaining I’m a bad-tempered old coot. Barbara always boasts that she considers me a formidable challenge and might even accept my marriage proposal one of these days. I like a woman with spirit, and usually try to expect the unexpected, but with Barbara, everything’s a surprise. Maybe I need that at my advanced age.”

“Then consider yourself a lucky guy. Now, let’s see what we can find…”

And so I proceeded to fill my days with just such everyday tasks.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 4

The House That Jack Built

That fall slipped by, more or less uneventfully. I ran the shop, stayed focused, took notes, and resumed my writing. By the end of November, between the locals and weekenders, the town seemed quieter. A seasonal area, it overflowed with tourists during the summer and fall, but then slowly prepared to hibernate as the locals looked forward to reclaiming their town. The air got cooler, the pace a little slower, and the echo of traffic and people became somewhat muted.

Shops extended along Main, spilling onto a few side streets here and there, one on which my shop was located. Some were plain brick, nestled close, abutting one another. Others had brightly painted clapboard siding. Awnings revealed paned windows and bowed fronts, filled with gifts, antiques, books and toys. In the summer, tourists meandered along stone paths and courtyards bordered with flowered gardens, while they leisurely enjoyed an ice cream. You could sit on benches or under the canopied shade of the old oak trees, or stroll among the various shops.

Over the years, long-time summer residents bequeathed gifts such as land and money, which I heard were greatly appreciated by the town. A few buildings and inns were renovated or built occasionally, but the small town remained exactly that, a small town. This time of year many of the businesses closed up for the winter, but several remained open. I noticed a few people in, what I liked to refer to as, the diner when passing by on my way home, probably locals. I still checked anyway, out of habit. You never knew who might be spotted talking together.

After leaving town, the road clung to the mountain, snaking around bends and curves, intermittently allowing views of the valley below. Within minutes I turned in at my drive and slowly began the steep descent. Now on my own and without Stephen, I kept feeling as though a piece of me had been erased, but in some mysterious way he was still there beside me, watching and waiting. For what? And like usual, I turned half expecting him to be in the seat next to mine staring at me, but of course he wasn’t. I turned and looked back behind my car.

A cold mist of uneasiness settled over me. Would I always be looking over my shoulder? It was surreal, but this was a challenge I had to face. Alone. I slowed down, then stopped midway mentally replaying that first day I arrived. Was it only several months ago I had negotiated that first tentative trip down this long, narrow driveway?…

(My past)

…I was feeling energized, but edgy, as wild brush scraped the sides of my car. It was early spring, and I was feeling almost hopeful. I was certainly not prepared for what appeared below as I approached. Trucks and workers were everywhere, caught up in what seemed like a maze of confusion. I slowly came to a stop, suddenly unsure of the intimidating task before me. My eyes darted left and right, taking in the whole area, and I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake.

Because of my lack of communication, it didn’t appear as though I was expected anytime soon. Bewildered glances were thrown my way as I looked for Mike Cummins, the foreman. After a few minutes, I spotted him coming out of the house, and his sour expression spoke volumes. I stepped out of my car, anxious and unsure.

As he approached, I asked, “Not ready yet, is it?”

Mike was upset. “You know, I tried calling you, Samantha, but your home phone was disconnected. I tried your cell too.”

“I’m sorry. I had to get away and didn’t think. On the trip up here, I had a terrible signal on my cell…” I stopped. I was getting tired of making excuses for my life. “Tell me what’s up.”

“The electricity is out, and of course, that affects the electric baseboard heat. Also, the well out back is acting up. We’re finishing off some carpentry work and touching up the last of the outdoor paint on the back porch, but this electrical problem may take another twenty-four hours.” He looked sorry for me. “Trust me, Sam. This is no picnic here. My advice? Go and stay down in Franklin.”

I expected him to say that, so I squared my shoulders. I needed to be convincing not ambiguous. “Mike, it’s going down to thirty-three tonight. Most hotels and inns in town are already closed for the season, and the rest will be booked at this late hour. I’m too tired to drive down to Franklin. I need to stay here.”

“I figured something like this might happen when I couldn’t reach you,” said Mike. “So, I threw a kerosene heater in the back of my truck for your bedroom on the second floor and also brought my old gasoline generator to set outside to run some lights. It won’t be exactly what you’re used to, but it might work. I sure wish you’d reconsider Franklin.”

A hot bath in a warm hotel was very tempting. I gave it some thought and was on the verge of caving in, when I realized that if having my independence meant roughing it alone, then that was the way it would be. I glanced back at my car, my belongings, and who I used to be. Oh, and how could I forget all that emotional baggage I had brought? No, I had to stay. I had to make this work. I had to prove a point, if only to myself. I turned back to Mike.

“I’ll manage here just fine, and hopefully you can straighten everything out tomorrow.”

Then I looked up at the house, taking it all in. It was just as Stephen and I had planned: a beautiful log home, jutting out at the corners, connected and resembling a perfectly fitted puzzle, ironically in direct contrast to my life, which had fallen apart into many unrecognizable pieces.

Looking off to the left, I caught sight of the magnificent view of the mountains across the way, and had difficulty speaking. I cleared my throat to mask the sudden ache and loss that surfaced so unexpectedly.

“Samantha,” Mike said, gesturing. “About all this. Who would have thought so many problems would pop up at the last minute? You shouldn’t have to deal with any more stress. I’m sorry.” He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what else to say.

I turned back to him, surprised. Stephen’s death was not only redefining my life, but my previous impression of Mike, who used to seem as tough as nails. I forced a smile. “That’s okay, Mike. Just don’t forget me in the morning, okay?”

His look of relief said it all. “You bet. I can be here by about…”

The roar of an engine interrupted him as we both looked up. A large furniture van slowly eased on in behind my car.

Uh-oh. This wasn’t working out the way I had expected.

“What the hell?” Mike demanded.

“I forgot. It’s my furniture. I meant to tell you it would be getting here today. With all this turmoil in my life, my mind has been in a fog.”

To my relief, he smiled. “I’ll take care of it. Trust me, physical problems I can handle.”

After some maneuvering, the furniture was unloaded and placed in all the rooms, while various wires were hooked up to the generator. The frenzy of activity eventually wound down and the driveway slowly emptied of the crew and their trucks, including Mike’s, which was the last to disappear over the crest of the drive and out of sight.

I stayed out by the front door for a while after they’d gone. Where was my life headed from this point? What was I going to accomplish? I was constantly second-guessing myself. Was I overreaching in thinking my outrageous idea might actually work? Probably, but I felt I had to do something. Sitting back and doing nothing was just not an option.

Even though neither the questions nor the answers were clear-cut in my mind yet, I still had to face living in a town I was not all that familiar with. I slowly pivoted in place, staring out at the woods, and then up at my house. The isolation of the location wasn’t ideal either, but I knew I had no choice but to remain and find out the truth.

A step at a time, I thought, and I just might get through this.

Once indoors, I clicked the deadbolt in place, firmly locking out the rest of the world, along with all my uncertainties for the night. And as usual, I would simply have to wait and see what would happen next in my iffy future. For now, I had some boxes and unpacking to attend to.

Chapter 5

The Good, The Bad And Me

I stood in the hallway, my hands on my hips, and glanced around. Draped along some ceiling fixtures from room to room were hideous electrical wires with only bare bulbs attached. Mike had started the gasoline generator outside before he left, its humming was deafening and drone-like, while the bulbs created a harsh, intense, and painful glare.

“Only a few electrical appliances can run at a time,” he had carefully instructed.

Even though the chaos was intimidating, I got right to work, placing firewood in the kitchen and living room hearths and lighting both, grateful Mike had left a stack at each one. Hot tea was next on my list. I turned on the kitchen faucet and out shot a whoosh of air and a few measly drops of water, and then nothing.

Closing my eyes, I gripped the edge of the counter tightly. What in the world was I thinking? No electricity. No water pumping. “I can do this,” I whispered encouragingly to myself.

A sudden, sharp knock startled me. I cautiously walked over to the entrance and peered out the glass in the door at the encroaching darkness. A familiar face appeared. Relieved, I quickly unlocked the door.

“Jack! What a surprise!” I greeted, in a friendly, but guarded manner.

What did he want? I couldn’t stop myself from getting consumed by paranoia. Should I question everyone’s motives?

“Come on in,” I invited, attempting to put us both at ease.

He walked in, carrying bottled water. “I saw Mike in town and heard about your arrival and electrical problems. Since the well needs electricity to pump, I figured you’d need some water.”

“Oh Jack, I completely forgot about the well.”

How could I have suspected Jack? Of course, he would know! I relaxed and led him into the kitchen. “I was going to call you tomorrow.”

He set down the jugs of water. “This sure was unexpected. Will you be okay for the night? Barbara and I are concerned. Do you need anything else? I see you’ve got fires going. That’s good, because it’s going to be bitter tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ve got Sneakers to protect me. Don’t worry.” I was trying for laid-back and lighthearted, but didn’t feel it. I did manage to get a laugh out of him though.

“Very funny,” he replied, but then he turned serious. “Is your phone working, Sam?” He eyed the table where it sat.

“It sure is, and I definitely promise to call you if there is any kind of emergency.”

“Well …okay, but I don’t feel right, leaving you like this, with no one else around. You’re isolated out here. Who knows what could happen to a woman all alone?”

I tried not to dwell on that fact. I gave Jack a confident smile, hoping my fear wasn’t that obvious, firmly committed to pulling this off on my own. “Hey, please don’t worry, okay?”

“I’ll try not to, but you know me, I will anyway.” Jack put on his gloves and hat. “It’s getting very cold out there. Now, don’t forget, we’re only a short distance away. Just call us.”

“I will.” I placed my hand gratefully on his arm. “And thank you for stopping by with the water. It was nice of you to think of me. I really appreciate your concern.”

He smiled, opened the door, and headed straight for his jeep, yelling back over the rumbling generator, “Bye, Samantha.”

“Goodbye Jack, and thanks again for coming out.”

I slowly shut the door, slid the deadbolt in place, and then leaned heavily against it, physically placing a separation between that huge black void outside and me. What did I expect? There were houses nearby, but they were vacation homes and were presently unoccupied. I shivered involuntarily, brushing off those thoughts, and then went to check on the fires upstairs to turn on the kerosene heater.

Okay–time to unpack. Resolutely, I went into the living room to begin the task, but came up short. Too many boxes stood there staring back. The idea of doing this on my own suddenly felt overwhelming. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, I realized there was no way I could attempt it my first night. I had driven a long distance that day and my muscles and neck were stiff. I searched for a place to sit, shoved away a few boxes, and then dragged a rocker up close to the blazing fire.

I tossed in a few more logs and sat down, draping a blanket around my shoulders. Had I made an unwise decision? No one knew what I was really up to and I didn’t want help from anyone, at least not yet. I had to concentrate on why someone wanted Stephen out of the way.

What had Stephen done or been involved in that resulted in his murder? Who decided he was better off dead than alive?

One issue continued to bother me. What was Stephen talking about that last night we last spoke? His words made no sense. I had to make sure I went over that again. I might have overlooked something important.

It didn’t surprise me that sleep evaded me my first night. Roaming like a zombie, stiff and glassy-eyed, I tried to keep the fires going until early morning. When dawn broke, I was already out of bed and dressed. The upstairs reeked of kerosene; clothes, everything, even my hair. The fumes were nauseating. I cracked the windows open a little for some fresh air and got moving.

Downstairs was arctic cold. I rekindled burning embers by adding logs, then started unloading some boxes and throwing the packing paper into the fires too. The first few hours passed by quickly.

Around ten o’clock, Mike arrived with his crew.

He tried to read me. “How did it go last night?”

I continued unwrapping dishes, trying not to show my annoyance at how late it was. I knew Jack would have told me this was the way up here in the mountains. “Just fine.”

He looked at me for a second longer, and then replied, “Good, now let me tackle those problems and get them squared away.”

Around noon, once again, Jack stopped by with more water and a hot meal Barbara had prepared, saying he would call later to check on me. At one o’clock, the electricians arrived and Mike walked them down to the well. By three o’clock, Mike announced there was electricity, and the well was pumping, which meant my refrigerator was humming too. With that news, I left for the small grocery store in town. The ordinary chore of food shopping was suddenly appealing, and would hopefully bring some normalcy back into my life.

Once there, it didn’t take long to stock up on the basic food and cleaning supplies I needed to get my pantry started, but soon I grew restless to return back to the house and finish unpacking. Almost done, I was reaching for the last item on my list when the hair rose on the nape of my neck. I didn’t move a muscle, and then slowly eased around to take a look. No one. I could have sworn someone had been there. I walked to the end of the aisle and peered down the next one. I didn’t see anyone.

All of a sudden, I was shoved from behind. I turned to find three small boys laughing and racing past me, their arms full of snacks.

I sighed, brushing away my anxiety as nothing more than exhaustion and an over-active imagination. Not many people knew I was in town yet. With that thought in mind, I aimed for the register, checked out and started walking toward the exit, but then heard my name called out.

“Samantha! I can’t believe you came back!”

That voice. I cringed. It was the owner, Ben, who had blatantly flirted with me at every opportunity whenever I returned with Stephen while we were building our house. Stephen laughed him off when I complained about it. I detested Ben and barely managed a smile.

“Hello, Ben.” His rumpled appearance hadn’t changed at all. Stephen and Ben had been friends for a long time. I couldn’t understand why Stephen bothered.

“I heard about Stephen,” Ben said solemnly, as his eyes swept over me from their six foot two perch. “It was such a shock.”

You didn’t even call to pay your respects or offer condolences, I silently retorted, taking in his wrinkled clothing and slicked black hair.

“Yes,” I said.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“No! Nothing at all,” I replied, politely cutting him off. “I’m doing just fine thank you.”

His insincere smile didn’t con me for a second. His hand unexpectedly grazed my shoulder, and lightly slid down my arm, a gesture that left me unsettled and slightly sick. He leaned in close. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to, or want some company,” he whispered softly.

I stepped back. “I appreciate the thought. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back.”

I was fully aware his eyes were trailing after me as I walked away. My throat constricted, and my skin still crawled from his touch. I needed fresh air and flew through the door.

Outside, loading groceries into my car, I felt as though someone was watching me again. Quickly, I turned, but saw no one. I finished, jumped in the car, locked the door, and checked the rearview mirror, trying to figure out what was making me so jumpy.

Calm down. Lighten up. It’s nothing, Sam.

I gripped the wheel and closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax. I had to stay centered and aware. I couldn’t afford any mistakes because this had to be believable. I needed to stay in character, behaving the way Stephen’s wife would behave. Only I wasn’t Stephen’s wife anymore, but his widow. I shoved my uneasiness aside and proceeded to drive in the direction of my new home, new life, and hopefully new answers to all those questions sucking me dry.

All that week, I found myself dodging and ducking around workers while I tried to unpack. By Friday, everything was finally completed, and at the end of the day, Mike’s crew cleared the site, loaded up, and left my driveway for the last time.

Mike and I leisurely walked out of the house, pleased with what had been pulled off in such a short time. He grabbed the door handle of his truck and climbed in, then rolled down his window and glanced up at my house.

“You know, Sam, you’ve got a real nice home if I do say so myself.”

I was pleased with the results, too, and smiled. “I do, don’t I? Thanks for everything.”

Then with a final wave goodbye, he was gone, too.

I retraced my steps back to the entrance, closing my jacket tightly to keep out the damp approach of evening. I thought about what a melancholy time of day sundown had become: yet another evening alone. I felt my chest decompress and my eyes fill, as I glanced out at the forest, and then resolutely closed the door behind me.

There were so many secrets out there lurking...

…My car sat idling in the cold November twilight, as my mind dismissed those initial encounters and shifted back to the present. I stared down at my house. Exactly what had I accomplished? I knew if I wanted the truth I had to have patience. Even so, every so often, I still had reservations about my decision to move to this house and pursue this crazy venture.

But then I would think of Stephen, shadowed by the bizarre circumstances of his death and me with all those unanswered questions dumped on my doorstep, and like a persistent, intrusive visitor, my anger returned, knocking loudly, and my resolve ultimately always answered.

I had a burning desire for the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I couldn’t just shy away from what I might find out about Stephen, or myself for that matter. I knew that it was going to hurt big time; and like Martha, I felt it in my bones. There was an unknown threat out there. I was convinced of it.

I just had to find it first, before it found me.

Chapter 6

Cough It Up

As I hung up the phone, my ears were still ringing. It was my agent, Sandra. I knew I would be hearing from her. Both Sandra and my editor were tired of waiting for the update I never sent. I had purposely not returned their numerous calls, hoping to buy some time, but they only bought that for so long.

“Friend or not,” Sandra said bluntly, “you should be working on your book. It’s time to get back to a regular writing schedule. Life moves on and readers have short memories because loyalty only goes as far as your next book. Focus on the here and now and get back to work. Besides, you have a contract for two more books, have you forgotten? Samantha, you don’t have a big one, but it is still a binding one. I like you personally, but don’t push the issue. I’ve got to deal with the publisher.”

Months ago, those words would have stung, but now I realized that Sandra was being realistic and making financial sense. We all had a stake in my book, plus I needed the money more than ever before. I had neglected to mention to them that my story had taken a new direction, but I was fairly confident they would be enthusiastic when they saw the finished manuscript. That is, if I unraveled the truth, wrote it all down, and finally sent it to them.

The pressure was on, and if my strategy was to work, I needed to refine my notes and keep on writing. I flipped open my computer and resumed typing my book and my life.

Chapter 7

I Don’t Have A Clue

Why were Stephen’s brakes tampered with? So far, the authorities had zero. Me? I was at a loss too. I had gone through his personal belongings, unable to find anything unusual or suspicious, except for one detail. I found it odd that his laptop was missing from the car at the accident scene. The police said the area was thoroughly searched. I knew he never went anywhere without his laptop and allowed no one near it. That fact was written in cement. Period.

After the identification, the police told me they would see me the next day to follow up with further questions. “Go home and get some rest,” they had said. Besides, I wasn’t in the best shape and finally did follow their instructions. Later, at home, I sat in the dark for what seemed like forever, stunned and unable to move. Isolation and fear paralyzed me as the minutes and hours slowly ticked by on my bedroom clock. Reluctantly, I finally ventured downstairs to Stephen’s office, determined to see whether the missing laptop was perhaps in his office. Maybe he had hidden it before going on his trip. I remembered hesitating before turning the knob.

No, I knew Stephen too well, and was certain he would have taken it on his trip. After an extensive search, I gave up and went to his desk, approaching his desktop computer. I paused, realizing it would be an exercise in futility. How was I to find out anything when I didn’t even know his password? It didn’t matter, I realized then, as I spotted small screws strewn across his desk. Leaning close, my breath caught. His hard drive had been removed.

Alarmed, I called the police. They fingerprinted the room and checked the house thoroughly. No other prints but his were found on the computer. Would Stephen remove his own hard drive? Why? Worse yet, did someone else remove it while wearing gloves? That would mean someone had been in my house. Was I home at the time?

On the evening of Stephen’s death, I had received several phone calls, but the person hung up the second I answered. Were they checking to see if I was home? If so, why? Were they still watching me? Did they think I knew what was on his computer, and did that now put me at risk? I couldn’t extricate myself from this mess if I tried. I didn’t want a life where I would always be looking over my shoulder in fear. Why no other prints? But then again, why would someone be so sloppy as to leave fingerprints behind? If there were answers out there, I was positive they had to be in some overlooked details from Stephen’s behavior and his past.

One surfaced immediately. Why had Stephen ignored my writing, acting somewhat dismissive? He would give a fleeting glance at the checks, totally disinterested. Upset, I opened my own checking account. What hurt me the most was the new book deal I had finally landed and was thrilled about and wanted to share my excitement.

The minute I found out, I managed to catch him on his cell phone. This was too important for voicemail. I was well versed from past experience how he hated to be interrupted on business trips. He claimed it was a distraction and he needed to stay focused. But I had convinced myself this would override any objections he might have once I told him about my new contract…

“What is it now?” he said, his words laced with hostility.

At first, I was caught off guard by his tone and didn’t speak right away. I had forgotten that with his caller ID, he already knew exactly who was calling him. Finally I said, “Stephen?”

“Yeah? What? I’m busy!”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Just say it, Sam!”

“But, Stephen…”

“I haven’t got all day,” he protested, impatiently.

“It’s about my new book contract,” I explained. “I just had to…”

“And you called me for that?” he shot back.

“But it’s more than I’ve ever made before. I just wanted to share with you my…”

“And this ridiculous thing couldn’t wait? You had to call me for that? I don’t have time for this now!”

I was speechless, rigidly waiting for his next verbal slap.

Stephen suddenly did an about-face. “Look, I can’t talk now,” he said calmly. “Okay? I’ve got to cut this conservation short.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was still too stung by his hurtful remarks.

Stephen finally broke the silence between us. “I know what I have to do, Sam. The key to everything is behind me.”

“…What do you mean? …What key?” I asked, hesitantly.

“It could get much worse,” he explained. “This whole thing was driving me crazy. There could be recriminations, you know, but I’m just not sure anymore.”

“Sure of what?” I asked, confused. “What recriminations?”

He turned on a dime. “Don’t be so dense, Sam! Follow… The answer is there…” He paused. “…When you see me…”

“Stephen, what are you talking about?”

He sighed. “It was never meant to be. Samantha, you…” He hesitated. Suddenly, he whispered into the phone. “Don’t you understand? You have everything now. I’ve got to go. Someone’s coming… I…always thought…he… it was…”

“This isn’t making sense,” I replied, frustrated and thoroughly confused by his incoherent outbursts. “Stephen, what’s wrong?”

“You… understand…decision’s made. It’s too late.” Click. And just like that, he was gone.

It’s too late for what? I have what? Where? I held the phone for a few more seconds, blankly staring at it, thinking maybe I was hallucinating and maybe this exchange never took place. But it was real all right. And I was stone sober. And still clueless...

At the time, my thoughts were all over the place as my bruised sense of self replayed that incoherent conversation over and over in my head. I tried to piece together his loosely-strung words. Nothing jelled.

The final verbal assault arrived a day later, with a vigorous knock at my door and the delivery of the shocking news that Stephen was dead.

Why did Stephen always see life in black and white, while I saw only color? Apparently, neither one of us was capable of seeing that gray area that always seemed to linger in between.

And this gray area held the answers.

~~~~

Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit

The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series

The Puzzle (Volume 1)

Without Any Warning (Volume 2)

86 Avenue du Goulet (Volume 3)

A Lethal Time (Volume 4)

Mouth Of The Rat (Volume 5)

A Samantha Jamison Detour

The Riviera is Burning (Volume 5.5)

Visit my website: http://samanthajamison.com

About The Author

Peggy A. Edelheit has three sons, lives with her husband & Miniature Schnauzer, Samantha II & spends time between Bucks County, PA and South Florida.

Visit the author’s website: http://www.samanthajamison.com

or

Twitter: @samanthajamison

I am so grateful to all my readers for all your wonderful

feedback and support. Thank you, Peggy