Chapter 14
“She definitely thinks there’s something wrong,” Jem said, stomping snow from his shoes in the lodge’s lobby.
The morning crowd had cleared out. Laughter, voices, and music came from Afterski—the bar would be doing steady business all day, no doubt—but the lobby itself was empty and cold.
Even the bellboy seemed to have run out of steam.
He glanced up as they came in, but his expression was dull and, once he recognized them, uninterested.
“I don’t know if she thinks they killed him, but she was on the edge of freaking out. ”
Tean was pulling off his hat, shaking out his wild, dark hair.
“What did the others say?” Jem asked.
“Not much, unless you count Nora and Tafton getting in an argument about the ice cream sundae at Afterski.” Tean blew out a breath.
“Their answers lined up with what Mckell told you. Tafton, Dean, Sawyer, and Aiden alibi each other. Their scripture study ran until after midnight. Sawyer and Aiden share a room. Nora’s movie was supposed to be done by twelve-thirty.
Dean went back to his room, quote, ‘once it was safe.’”
“Safe from the temptation to jerk off to gay porn,” Jem said.
The bellboy’s head came up.
With a scowl, Tean marched Jem farther into the lobby and lowered his voice. “That’s exactly the temptation, as a matter of fact. They’re on a buddy system. The married men have their wives, but the single men are paired up with ‘companions.’”
“Sounds like the start of a raunchy boyslove show,” Jem said.
Tean’s scowl deepened. “It’s a term they borrowed from Mormon missionary work.
Every missionary has a companion, and you’re supposed to always be together.
You’re never supposed to be out of sight unless you’re using the bathroom, and I’m sure if they could find a way, they’d say you couldn’t do that either. ”
Jem opened his mouth—some dumbshit joke about showering together—and then he caught the furrows around Tean’s eyes. “Hey,” he said, bumping Tean’s hand with his. “You okay?”
For a moment, the doc stayed that way: standing too straight, shoulders tight, fingers curled in. Then he shook his head, and some of the stiffness went out of him. Snowmelt glistened in his hair despite his earlier efforts. A drop of it glowed on his ear.
“No. As a matter of fact, I’m not okay. I’m feeling…dysregulated.” He let out an unhappy laugh and took off his glasses to clean them. “To put it mildly. Which was obvious when I lost my mind talking to Mckell.”
“Lost your shit,” Jem corrected. “It sounds more badass when you say you lost your shit.”
Tean didn’t say anything. He just kept cleaning his glasses with the tail of his shirt.
“Babe, if this is too much—”
“Can we eat something?” Tean said. “I need to eat something.”
Jem’s eyebrows shot up.
“One bean,” Tean said. His mouth was trying to smile. “Lightly salted.”
For some reason, it almost made Jem start crying. But he managed to keep the sudden wash of pain off his face, and all he said was “Lightly salted? Is it Mardi Gras?”
They started toward the restaurant. And as they walked, Tean slid his arm through Jem’s. Rested his head on Jem’s shoulder. Only for a moment. And then he was back inside himself again.
With the breakfast rush over, The Fjall Club was more than happy to seat them.
Tean seemed pleased to get a table near the fireplace, away from the handful of other guests still dining.
Jem was definitely pleased to learn that The Fjall Club offered a buffet style breakfast, and yes, the omelet station was included.
His ass had barely made contact with the seat before he was taking off again, plate in hand.
“I’ll bring you back a bean,” he said, because with a buffet, time was of the essence.
They still had plenty of bacon, thank God.
And he did fill a plate for Tean, which meant he had to carry everything waitress style because he’d filled two for himself.
By the time he got back, Tean was studying a page of his pocket notebook, pen in hand.
Not writing anything. Just staring at the page.
His phone was on the table next to him. When he noticed Jem returning, he put the notebook away.
“That’s a lot of bacon” was all he said, though.
“Mine,” Jem said. “What’s up? Daniel call again?”
“Still no service,” Tean said. “But I’m successfully ignoring a voicemail my mom left last night.”
Jem turned the phone face down and said, “Eat your omelet.”
For a while, they ate. Jem asked for coffee for both of them, plus an orange juice, plus a grapefruit juice, and when he found out chocolate milk was on the table, so to speak, he ordered one of those too.
He creamed-and-sugared Tean’s coffee the way he knew the doc liked it—or at least would tolerate it. And he ate.
The mixture of caffeine, carbs, and bacon made him feel like a human being again. Walking through the storm, standing in that frozen maintenance building with Gerald’s body, being stuck in the chalet full of strangers—it all pulled back.
Tean actually did eat some of his omelet—not much, but enough that Jem decided not to pick a fight about it.
He drank some coffee, and then, when the waiter passed them the next time, he ordered peppermint tea.
Which Jem should have thought of, because Tean liked herbal tea.
Which he would have thought of, if he’d been a good boyfriend instead of acting like he was eight years old and Brother and Sister Magleby had forgotten to put the lock on the fridge.
“Sorry about that,” Jem said.
Tean glanced up. For a moment, he looked lost, like he didn’t know where he was. And then he said, “About what?”
“The tea.”
That lost look again.
“I should have ordered you tea,” Jem said.
“What?”
Jem shook his head. He got to his feet. “Do you want anything else?”
When Tean said, “No, thank you,” there was a familiar wariness behind the words—like he expected it to turn into an argument.
This time, Jem only loaded up one plate. And he put cantaloupe on there. And honeydew. Even though the melons were kind of pale. Because that was what adults did.
Also, bacon, though. Obviously.
When he got back, Tean was staring into the fireplace. The doc’s face was slack, and while some of it was probably fatigue from the morning they’d had…
“What’s going on inside that head?” Jem asked.
It took a moment, like Tean had to drag himself back from somewhere, the firelight dancing in his glasses. But then he said, “Nothing. I’m all right. You?”
“Tired. Cranky. We still haven’t had sex.”
A shadow of a smile fell on Tean’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Not right away. He traced something on the tabletop with his fingers. When his gaze came back to Jem, he said, “This must be a lot for you.”
“I mean, we’re trapped at a ski resort with a dead body and a killer who’s still on the loose. It’d be a lot for anyone. Except maybe those Hallmark gals. The ones who are always solving murders in between baking things and knitting things and opening bed-and-breakfasts.”
Another of those pauses came. And Tean said, “It’s okay if it’s a lot.” He hesitated. “With your mom, I mean.”
Jem shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“She just lost her husband, Tean. She’s upset. What’s she supposed to do? Say, ‘Hey, my husband got killed for some mysterious reason, but I’d love to get to know you and your boyfriend while we watch Real Housewives?’”
Tean studied him.
“What?” Jem asked.
The flames were back in the lenses of Tean’s glasses, flickering, making his eyes difficult to read. “I was upset,” Tean finally said, the emphasis clear, “when she said that about Maeve and Milo.”
“Said what?”
“About raising independent children.”
Jem wiped his hands on his napkin. After a moment, he pushed his plate away.
Tean picked up his fork. He put it down again. He said, “What did you think about that?”
“I think they’re her kids. She can do what she wants.”
Tean nodded slowly.
“They’re fine,” Jem said. “You saw them. They’re little terrors—spying on everyone, eavesdropping, spilling secrets.”
“They call her Brigitte.”
“Lots of families do that.”
“She had no idea where they were.”
“We’re at a resort. There are kids all over the place.”
Tean didn’t answer, but his mouth tightened.
“What do you want me to say?” Jem asked. “Am I supposed to say, ‘Hey, there’s the proof she’s a bad mom, nothing has changed, gee, I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one she fucked over’?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m telling you it upset me. And I’m asking what you felt.”
“I didn’t feel anything!”
His volume got away from him at the end. A big-haired woman glanced over at them. Their waiter paused. At the buffet, a middle-aged man stared, bacon slipping out from between forgotten tongs.
Jem slumped back in his seat. Folded his napkin.
“I’m sorry,” Tean said.
“No.” But that came out sharp. Trying for gentler, Jem said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I just… I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.”
At the edge of Jem’s vision, Tean nodded.
“Anyway,” Jem said, “we’ve kind of got more important stuff to worry about, you know?”
Tean didn’t say anything. Didn’t nod. When Jem finally faced him, Tean was still watching him, eyes hidden behind the reflected firelight.
“Somebody hit him on the back of the head,” Jem said. “Hard enough to kill him. What does that mean? Someone strong?”
Flatware clinked. Someone laughed. A cork popped, and a woman cheered.
“Not necessarily.” Tean’s voice was neutral. “If the murder weapon was Gerald’s cane, then the killer wouldn’t necessarily have to be exceptionally strong. The right angle of impact, the right acceleration—almost anyone could have done it.”
“So, it could have been any of them?” Jem asked. “The women too, not just the men?”
“In terms of the cause of death? Yes.”
Jem took a drink of coffee. It was starting to get cold. “You know what I was thinking when Mckell was talking to us?”