Chapter 10
Thepoliceescortedmyhusband of just a few hours away into the dark of night. No sunlight streamed through the enormous lodge windows at this hour, and the lobby and great room were dimly lit by cozy lamps on coffee tables. I did my best to inconspicuously catch the redhead’s expression. Though I saw only the side of her face as she watched them lead him out of the lodge, I glimpsed the corner of her mouth turn up in delight, and a blood-red wave rippled through her aura. I shivered. Even from forty feet away, I sensed pure hatred emanating from her, and it chilled me to the core.
I wanted to act, but my instincts froze me in place, half wanting to confront her at once and half wanting to run away. If only I knew who she was. Her profile spoke of femininity, with a delicate jaw and red lipstick. But with the way she looked down, and in her bulky ski jacket, it was impossible to get a clear view of her face.
I signaled one of the officers over and spoke quietly. “Hey, there’s a woman behind me to the left. Reddish-magenta hair, with a notebook. My husband thought he recognized her.”
The officer nodded. “Miss, I don’t see anyone who fits that description.”
“What?” I spun around, but he was right. She was gone. “We’ve got to find her. Whoever it was, was just here.”
The officer didn’t act as stressed as he should have. “Do you know her name, anything like that?”
“I don’t.” I frowned. “But she was absolutely giddy when they walked Wickham to the police car.”
“Let me see what I can do.” The officer spoke into his com and told the others to be on the lookout for someone fitting the woman’s description. But they didn’t actively search for her.
I clenched my jaw, holding back what I wanted to say. Instead of freaking out, I dropped back onto the sofa and rubbed my temples. The wave of happiness, followed by utter frustration, that I’d been riding for the last few days gnawed at me, translating itself into exhaustion. If we were in Austen Heights, I would run to my mom and sisters to find a solution. They helped me with everything,and now I felt like a child, out of my depth and foolish. On my own and at a loss, I curled up on the sofa and waited, allowing myself to doze off because I could do nothing more.
After an hour of dealing with the police, Brig found a new cabin for me. "This one is very secure. It's close to the lodge, and I'm sure you'll be perfectly safe. How's George doing?"
I shrugged, casting my gaze at the door he'd exited earlier. "I wish I knew. He hasn't texted, and I wonder if they took his phone while he's being questioned."
"George is resilient, which I'm sure you know." Brig paused, looking into my eyes. Then, the corner of his mouth turned up. "You're going to be good for him, whether or not he realizes it yet. George has been through a lot in his life, but he's got a good heart."
It was exactly what I needed to hear. "I sure hope so."
"Just don't give up on him." He nodded to an approaching officer. "This is Detective Thurman. He is going to walk you to your cabin. Stay safe, Lydia."
Thurman, a middle-aged officer with bags under his eyes, escorted me to the newcabin. He held up my overnight bag. "We grabbed whatever wasn't evidence for you—toothbrush, and such."
"Thank you." Walking down the snow-covered path with Detective Thurman helped me breathe easier. But terrifying scenarios still collided in my imagination. When we stopped in front of my new cabin, I turned to him. "Do you mind helping me check the place out? I'm still pretty jittery."
"No problem. Make sure you keep your phone charged so you can call if there are any problems. We have two officers staying at the crime scene tonight, so they are close by if you get nervous about anything." He entered my cabin and graciously checked under the beds, in the closets, and that all the doors and windows were secure. "You should be safe here."
I locked and bolted the door behind him as he left, then flopped onto the leather sofa and rubbed my hands across my face. The brief nap at the lodge and the brisk walk through the winter night left me wide awake. Sleep was out of the question. And if there was any chance of my marriage working out, I needed to solve a mystery and exonerate my husband. Husband... I couldn't believe I’d associatedthe wordhusbandwith George Wickham. While I was perfectly aware that our wedding wasn't completely the real deal, it had the potential to become that. In fact, the whole experience would've been a dream come true if the police hadn't just arrested him—no, it would have been a dream if someone hadn't killed Tim. The police were not to blame for that.
I found a scrap of paper to scribble my thoughts on. Then I pulled my hair up into a scrunchy and sat at an antique wooden writing desk, listing the major clues: we recognized someone with a dark red wig, members of the Grey Doors were being targeted, and the killer had been at the open mic and followed us or Tim to the resort. The killer was also happy with how things were going so far, since Wickham's arrest thrilled them. None of the pieces seemed connected.
The temptation to stay in my cabin and hide under my blankets tested my resolve. Plus, the thought that the killer might be watching me crossed my mind, and I knew Wickham would disapprove. But finally, determination won the day, and I decided to investigate. I changed out of the silky wedding gown into fleece-lined jeans, boots, a sweater, and my coat. Then, armed with my phone as aflashlight, and not much else, I crept out of my cabin to further explore the Sky Powder Resort.
I started with the receptionist in the main lodge. If the person with the wig was staying at the resort, she might know who the assailant was. The crowd had died down, and the lobby was nearly empty, but it was still only lit by side lamps. It might have been cozy, but dark corners during a murder investigation left me on edge.
The woman at the main desk was the same one who’d checked us in the evening before: Ginny. Though she could’ve been a sweet and angelic human being, that’s not what my first impression had been. Nor was it now. She had a grayish-yellow aura, wore a mustard-colored turtleneck sweater that I wouldn’t touch in a blizzard, and her shoulder-length hair was hairsprayed so stiff it might withstand a hurricane. She lowered her reading glasses to eye me as I came in.
“You’re the girl who found the murder victim, aren’t you?" She pursed her lips, as if she already knew I had questions for her and she had no intention of answering them.
Thank heavens,charmingwas my second language. I moved in closer, and I placed my hand over my heart asI spoke. “Oh, poor man, I’m devastated for him. It's terrifying.” I was a terrible liar, but leaning more deeply into the truth was a breeze. It was the best way to charm someone—speaking absolute honesty from your heart—better than magic.
The woman’s stance softened, and her bottom lip quivered, the gray slipping out of her aura. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a murder here. So sad, but also terrifying.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I didn’t fight back my emotions. “I want to find out what happened. You may not know this, but tonight was supposed to be my wedding night.”
“You were the one married today? Oh, honey, that’s just not right. I can’t believe it.” Her barriers were completely gone—honest heart-to-heart feelings worked almost every time.
“But now the police have my husband. They’re interrogating him even though he was with me all day.”
“Oh, sweetie pie, that’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. I don’t know what can be done, though.” She shook her head sympathetically, her plastered hairnever moving.
