afternoon.”
He didn’t explain what else he had to do, and she didn’t ask.
“Hard to believe that a year ago, there was nothing here but woods and a few bricks from the fireplaces of a hotel that burned to the ground over seventy years ago,” she said, once again marveling at the grandeur of the hotel.
Rich nodded. “Harder to believe someone built a hotel in the exact same spot. Obviously they weren’t superstitious, which means they were probably not from around here.”
“No, but the woman who rebuilt it was a descendant of the original builder. She meant it as a monument to her ancestor and the past. That’s why she built almost an exact replica.”
“Kind of like the Titanic Two,” Rich said. “But from the looks of that parking lot it must not matter.”
He slowed as he reached the circular drive.
“I guess we should introduce you to the night security supervisor before we do anything else,” Carrie said.
“I’d like to see the spot where they found the woman’s body,” Rich said, making a U-turn and heading back the way they’d come.
“Tonight?”
“Seems as good a time as any.”
She tried to count to ten silently, but only made it to eight. “They found the body at the bottom of a ravine.”
“So?”
“It’s pitch-dark out there.”
“You scared of the dark, Fransen?”
“Of course not. I just don’t see the point in roaming the woods at night when I’ve thoroughly examined the scene in the daylight and documented all my findings. You have read the reports, haven’t you?”
“I read them, but I like to see things for myself.”
“You can’t see a lot in the dark.”
“I’ll see what the perp saw that night. And what the woman saw before she was raped, branded and murdered.”
“It’s not safe to hike that area in the dark.”
“Must be why they made flashlights.”
Smart-ass, she mouthed, her gaze straight ahead.
“You know if I didn’t know better, Fransen, I’d think those ghost tales had gotten to you and that you’re afraid to go into the woods at night.”
“Nice you know better.” But the comment got her attention. “I haven’t heard any ghost tales.”
“Then you must not be talking to the right people. The locals up here claim this area of the Cascades is inhabited by the undead.”
“The undead?”
“That’s what they say.”
“And exactly what are the undead?”
“You’ll have ask someone who believes that bull for the definitive answer, but according to Maizie Henderson they are referring to people who are no longer living, but not gone from this dimension.”
She didn’t know a Maizie Henderson. “I’ve talked to a number of locals during the course of the investigation. No one mentioned ghosts to me.”
“They’re not big on talking about their superstitions, especially to outsiders.”
“And just how would you know that, Mr. Seattle cop?”
“My grandparents lived just a few miles from here up until my parents moved them to an assisted living facility in Seattle a few months ago. My grandfather was big into mountain lore.”
Great. Now Rich was not only the authority on homicide, he was also the authority on the locals. She wasn’t sure why that irritated her so, but it did.
He slowed to a crawl. “Aren’t we near the spot where Bart stopped that night?”
“Just around the next curve.”
He took the curve, then pulled off the road and killed the engine and the headlights. A blast of cold air hit her in the face when he opened his door. She grabbed her parka from the back seat, and pulled it on as she stepped out of the car. An owl hooted somewhere above her and something rustled the grass a few feet away.
“Ready to hike?” Rich asked, cutting away a wide swath of black with the bright beam of his flashlight.
All of a sudden she had the bizarre but almost overwhelming feeling that someone was watching them. But it couldn’t be. She and Rich were the only living souls around. “I’m ready,” she lied.
He handed her a flashlight. “Want to lead the way?”
“Sure.” Lead the way right past the spot where Bart had been shot. Right to the ravine where Elora Nicholas’s body had been found, her stomach branded with some weird design. She breathed in a huge gulp of cold night air and started walking. She would not be spooked by the dark or ghost tales. Or by the icy tingles climbing her spine.
IT WAS ten past nine when Bart took the service elevator to the first floor, then followed the strains of a waltz to the Glacier Ballroom. According to information in the hotel lobby, the ballroom was the site of fabulous Christmas balls held every Saturday night in December. The soirees were acclaimed as a not-to-be-missed activity, and Bart had no intention of missing this one.
Not that he was into balls, but it was an excellent opportunity to check out the guests, at least sixteen of whom also had been guests the night the woman had been abducted, and he’d been shot. Apparently, people couldn’t get enough of this place. Considering the prices they charged, he found that pretty amazing.
But then the hotel did have an ambiance he hadn’t expected. Elegant, yet the staff was warm and friendly. Breathtaking scenery, rugged yet serene. Remote, but there was a shuttle that made a run a few times a day to the ski trails an hour northwest of here.
He adjusted the jacket of the black suit he’d “borrowed” from the servant supply closet on the first floor. The fit wasn’t great, but it would do for a waiter. For the most part he hoped to go unnoticed amid the party crowd. He was here to observe and overhear, not to be seen.
The ballroom was already crowded when he followed a middle-aged couple through the open double doors. Men in black tuxes and women in elegant dresses that swept the polished wood floor filled the dance floor and sat at white-clothed tables listening to the music and sipping champagne.
Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, and everywhere he looked there were huge bouquets of flowers and tables of food accented with delicately carved ice statues. It was a far cry from his usual Saturday night burger and a couple of beers at Jake’s Bar and Grill.
The band started a new number, this time a tune he recognized, though he didn’t know the name of it. A woman walked past him, close enough that the silky fabric of her gown brushed his fingers and the fragrance of her perfume crawled inside him and evoked a memory he’d thought was dead and buried.
It got to him a lot more than it should have. He took a few steps backward, then stopped, mesmerized by a woman across the room.
Her hair was the color of molten gold, though the strands that caught the glow of the chandeliers took on a reddish tint. It was piled high on top of her head, with curly tendrils falling about her cheeks and forehead.
Her dress was emerald-green, cut low enough to show cleavage. It fit tightly around her tiny waist, then swirled into yards of satin that didn’t stop until they reached the floor. But the jewel of the outfit hung from a silver chain around her neck, a huge emerald surrounded by pale yellow diamonds. He’d never seen anything so spectacular in all his life.
He looked around, half-expecting the rest of the people to be staring at her the way he was. They weren’t. They were dancing, filling crystal flutes with the champagne