Chapter 11
Outside the lodge windows, the gently falling powder turned into a raging blizzard.
Gales of wind dumped loads of sleet on the ground, and the real Ginny was probably relieved to be long gone.
With the roads in such a condition, I doubted I would see Wickham anytime soon.
Even if the police had finished questioning him, several inches of fresh snow covered the ground.
That also meant the weather trapped the killer at the resort, giving me the opportunity to uncover their identity.
At three a.m., a sleepy young man joined me at the counter.
“Hi, Ginny,” the young man with spiky blond hair, whose nametag read Zack, greeted me. “Good thing I drove up here earlier. The roads are all blocked. You might want to ask Brig for a room to bunk in tonight.”
“Yep, I’ll do that. No driving in this snow.” I nodded. “It’s been a slow night.”
“Well, I heard about the dead guy in cabin 217. Kinda freaky.” Zack took a sip from his thermos.
“Hospitality business.” I shrugged, hoping my response was normal enough. “You never know what’s going to happen.”
Zack nodded. “You got that right. Have a good night.”
Now it was time for the real test. I’d already pocketed the spare key for 319.
I told myself I had the guts to go sneak in.
But as I trudged across the dark mountain resort, snow piling up on my jacket and coming halfway up my shins with every footstep, my heart pounded like a racehorse and my stomach twisted itself in knots.
If the person in 319 really did kill Tim, what was to stop them from being up in the night, plotting their next victim’s death? Or my death? I shuddered.
Before I realized it, I was standing in front of 319.
The interior lights were off, and a single bulb lit the porch.
Shivering in the freezing cold, my first instinct was to turn around and get to my cabin as quickly as possible.
But I finally had Wickham, and I wasn’t ready to lose him.
So I had to at least try to see who was in there.
Before their band was big, I’d watched him play a gig in some basement venue when they’d come through Austen Heights.
He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on.
Now he was technically my husband, which I scarcely comprehended.
And the only thing stopping us from being together might be whoever was in that cabin.
I pulled the key from my pocket and trudged up to the cabin’s deck. I reached for the doorknob. But my muscles wouldn’t move. I couldn’t get myself to put the key in the latch. Instead, I fought a mental battle with myself.
Come on, Lydia. Wickham is worth it.
But if I’m dead, I still won’t get Wickham.
My hand shook as I tried once more. It was of no use. So, instead, I pulled out my phone. I was a scaredy-cat.
I crept around to the side of the cabin and peered through the cracks between the curtains. No one was awake, so I flashed my phone’s light through the windows, looking for any clues. At first, nothing stood out. From what I saw, which wasn’t a lot, the cabin was nearly identical to mine.
Some papers were scattered across the desk. They were the Grey Doors concert fliers, along with a man’s wallet and a car key. I gulped. I thought it was a woman I’d seen in the lodge. She must’ve stolen Tim’s things.
I opened my camera app, turned off the flash, and snapped two quick photos.
Ice and snow crunched beneath my boots as I stepped to the side of the window and listened.
The winter night’s chill slowed all of my movements.
No one stirred, so I continued investigating anything visible through the barely open curtains.
Then I caught sight of something on a side table. A cat. No. It was a wig. That bright magenta-red hair. I snapped a photo. Stepping back, I tripped over something on the porch that was completely covered by snow and caught myself by slamming into the outer wall of the cabin.
Shoot!
A lamp inside turned on, and I crouched under the window.
I tried to settle my breathing, but large bursts of misty air still escaped my lungs.
My heartbeat alone was probably loud enough to hear through the walls.
That was it . . . how I was going to die.
I looked around, trying to figure out what to do. Footsteps sounded inside the cabin.
Fortunately, the porch had no railing, allowing me to jump off anywhere.
The porch light turned on, and without further thought, I jumped down and booked it toward the lodge because I couldn’t have a murderer track my footprints back to my cabin even though I looked like Ginny. It wouldn’t be fair to put her in danger either.
Inside the lodge, I hid in the bathroom as the spell wore off and I faded back to my usual appearance.
Still pitch dark and blizzarding at five a.m., I finally made it back to my own cabin.
I unlocked the door and flipped on the light before stepping inside.
Fortunately, no dead bodies waited for me.
I bolted the door behind me and checked every corner of the cabin, then made sure all the windows were solidly locked and there were no cracks between the curtains.
Wickham still hadn’t messaged me, and I prayed that he’d be released soon. My eyes felt heavy. Alone in the cabin, I slept with all the lights on and a chair lodged under the doorknob for extra measure.
Suspicions filled my chaotic dreams with dark characters lurking around corners, ready to pounce.
My phone buzzed, and my eyes snapped open.
Lydia, are you doing alright? I can’t believe they kept me so long.
I checked the time—nearly ten a.m. It seemed like I’d only been asleep for a few minutes.
I’ve been sleeping . . .
Good . . . Well, at least we’ll have a crazy story to share.
I smiled. That we would, a very good story. And it sounded like he was going to be able to leave soon.
So you’re being released?
For now, but, I swear these officers want to arrest me.
He really did have the worst luck. If someone was really trying to frame Wickham, they were pretty effective, with the wake of dead bodies left in his path. Part of me suspected that whoever was trying to frame Wickham found him to be an easy fall guy.
The snow’s really bad here. There was another blizzard last night. Will they drive you back?
Unfortunately not. The Jeep has four-wheel drive if you’re comfortable driving it. But you might want to check with Brig to see if they’ve plowed the roads. There’s a spare key in my overnight bag.
Okay, let me see what I can figure out.
I rolled out of bed and checked myself in the mirror.
Not my best day. I hadn’t done my facial routine, and my skin looked tired.
So did the rest of me. It wasn’t the most graceful way to start off a marriage, so I took a few minutes to shower, blow-dry my hair, put on some fresh makeup, spritz some perfume, and make sure my top and jeans went together nicely.
The last thing I needed to do was scare off my new husband by showing up looking like a troll.
He was right, we’d certainly have some good stories to tell. Even a week ago, this was not how I imagined my life going. Eloping with a vampire rock star, trying not to get murdered or framed, being trapped in some tiny ski town. At least it was an adventure.
Finally, I dug through Wickham’s travel bag to find his spare key. Shoved down at the bottom of his bag was the paper he’d been scribbling on when Darcy called.
$100,000 plus another $50,000? Maybe?
It made sense, and he was no fool. I knew it would be a lot.
And it would be helpful in getting our lives together started as long as Wickham was really willing to give us a shot.
At least he was completely honest and upfront about everything with me.
Part of me wondered if he would have eventually wanted to marry me even without the money. I hoped so.
But I couldn’t worry about that now. Plus, the sooner I left, the sooner I’d get away from whoever the killer was.
Wickham’s Jeep was buried in a foot of snow. So, I started the digging-out routine by turning on the engine to warm it up while I took a good ten minutes to get it cleaned off enough to be drivable.
Before climbing into the car, I noticed a piece of paper jammed under a windshield wiper.
I lifted it, to avoid ripping the paper, then I smoothed out the crumpled scrap.
It was a gas station receipt, with a message scribbled on the back.
Fortunately, the snow was cold enough to keep all the writing from smearing completely. I did my best to make out the message.
Someone . . . following you two. My . . . no service here. The ring . . . I'm trailing . . . it . . . up here to the resort and . . . you were safe. . . . who killed Alex. I’ll text as soon . . .
—Tim
I shuddered and checked the back seat, even though no one could hide there. Tears welled up in my eyes. Tim must’ve been killed because of what he knew. Wickham and I were either the next targets or being set up. Either way, it was too much.
I backed the Jeep up and aimed to leave, but my wheels slipped a few times.
Though I’d driven in snow for years, the layers of silky powder still made me nervous.
I navigated the parking lot at painfully slow speeds.
As I approached the exit, a blue sports car swerved in front of me, barely missing my front bumper.
I slammed on my horn and brakes and glared at the driver.
It was the person in the red wig, but I still couldn’t see their face.
A smarter person would have immediately memorized the license plate, but it took a moment for the shock to wear off. Their screeching tires produced a spray of snow, obscuring my view. All I saw before they got away were the letters AJ. But they had Maine plates.