Holly and Homicide (15 page)

He still struck me as very close to throwing up his hands and quitting. “Honestly, Ben. You’re a bigger man than both of them for putting all that aside and doing such excellent work here.”

He shrugged, but the hints of a proud smile tugged at his lips. “I owe my father that much. And I owe this house. Guys like Cameron and Wendell can’t begin to understand what it means to build something with your own two hands. They’re too busy building big bank accounts.” He gazed up at the house. “I look at this place, and I see my grandfather’s craftsmanship, and my father’s, and now mine.”

I followed his gaze. “I’m sure the fact that Chiffon’s ghastly gingerbread façade doesn’t cover every square inch of the house must make you feel better. We can still see its elegant siding from this angle.”

He chuckled. “True.”

“At least nobody can accuse Chiffon’s design of being too understated.”

“You can say that again. But I gotta admit, I like the Santa’s sleigh. It’s just like the one folks are always drawing in picture books and everything.”

“I like the sleigh, too. It looks so perfect with its cherry red paint. I just wish they hadn’t knocked over half a dozen snowmen when they delivered it yesterday. All of which reminds me, thank you for getting it so nicely secured.” His equanimity seemed to have been restored, but for extra measure, I told him, “Like I keep saying, Ben, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Tell that to Henry,” Ben muttered.

“Henry?” I repeated.

Ben winced a little. “Cameron, I meant.”

Steve and I rode in the backseat of Cam’s Mercedes
, Audrey gaily keeping up a steady patter of pleasant conversation with Cameron and, occasionally, me. Clearly, Steve was not doing a very good job of masking his resentment of Cameron’s interference; otherwise, Audrey wouldn’t have been ignoring him like this.

Immediately after I’d filled Steve in on what was said while he’d been waiting in the kitchen, he had launched into yet another lecture about Cameron. My saying “Let it go, Sullivan! The problem’s fixed, so let it
stay
fixed!” had only darkened his funk. It was strange how I seemed to have endless patience for my clients but next to none for my boyfriend.

“You two are sure quiet back there,” Cameron said, eyeing us in the rearview mirror. “Everything all right?”

“Yep,” Steve replied, while I simultaneously answered, “Just peachy.”

“Awesome,” Cam said. He pulled into the valet parking for the one four-star restaurant—but with
five-star
prices—in Snowcap Village. “You’ll like this place.”

We stepped into the enclosed front porch of this regal, converted Victorian-style house. The space featured gray slate floors and paned windows above the pale green wainscot. Tasteful pine boughs and ribbons were on subtle display throughout the room. Cameron strode ahead of us and held open the inner door. The bar was overflowing,
and at least a dozen people were awaiting tables in front of the maître d’s oak stand. “Are reservations required for lunch?” Audrey asked Cameron.

“It won’t be a problem,” he replied. “Wait here a moment.”

He spoke quietly to the maître d’, and moments later, a hostess in a black dress said, “This way, please.” We were whisked ahead of the long line, past the main room of diners, and toward a set of paneled pocket doors. Audrey, leading the way, hesitated as we stepped inside a private room. An instant later, we learned that our party was actually five members, not four; Wendell Barton was seated at a round, elegantly set table.

“Wendell,” Audrey said. “This is a surprise.” He smiled broadly at her and rose. They bussed each other’s cheeks, and he pulled out a chair for her next to his. I detected a hint of stiffness in her demeanor; she had to be wondering why he’d been so scarce since the party. I allowed the hostess to seat me on Wendell’s other side. Steve greeted Wendell and sat beside me. Cam wound up seated between Steve and Audrey.

“What’s this all about?” Audrey asked Wendell as soon as we were situated.

“It’s my way of apologizing to you for voting to let Chiffon go all hog-wild on the holiday display.”

“Heavens, Wendell,” she exclaimed. “An apology lunch for Sullivan and Gilbert Designs and myself was hardly necessary! All that you owe us is a simple acknowledgment that we were right and
you
were wrong.” She paused, but he held his tongue. “In fact, I’ve been wondering what was taking you so long to admit to your mistake.
After all, you saw the results of Chiffon’s design at our housewarming party. I would think that the tawdry appearance of the inn when you look at it from the street speaks for itself.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Wendell said with a nod. “That’s why I felt a primo meal was appropriate.”

“Ah. So you admit you were wrong and we were right,” Audrey prompted.

“Yes, dear.” He rolled his eyes, but took Audrey’s chiding in good fun. “I was wrong. You were right.”

“Thank you.” Audrey patted his hand. “Now, was that so hard?”

Wendell had already ordered a couple of bottles of a truly delicious white wine; I was too distracted to catch the vintage. Truth be told, I’d entertained hopes that with Audrey’s social skills, Steve would get past his unfounded suspicions about Cameron, and the four of us could form an alliance. That was unlikely to happen now that the endlessly pompous Wendell had thrown himself into the mix. Cameron managed to draw Steve into conversation, however, and by the time we’d ordered our meals, Steve began to relax.

Wendell was being quite personable and treated Audrey like a queen. Yet, even after half a glass of wine (by my best estimation; the waiter was dangerously skillful at filling my glass unobtrusively), there was something about Wendell that grated on me.

Just when I was on the verge of admitting to myself that I was being unduly harsh to the man, he turned to Cameron and said, “Congratulations again for getting things all cleared up with the new building inspector.”

Cameron grimaced. “I didn’t have time to fill you in on the latest. The handicapped-access ramp has to be rebuilt. No big deal, but technically, the inn still hasn’t got the green light till the ramp passes its third inspection.”

“At
this
late date! What the hell am I paying you for if you can’t get a simple ramp inspected?!” Wendell erupted. “In all the assignments I’ve given you over the years, you’ve never been this sloppy before.”

Cameron spread his arms. “We’ve never had a building inspector get murdered on our property. I’m working with a whole new set of rules this time.”

“That was a coincidence. Bad luck. It has nothing to do with me or with Barton Enterprises. It
certainly
shouldn’t affect what the new building inspector says.”

“Human nature being what it is,” Audrey interjected, “knowing that someone’s been murdered
has
to impact the poor person assigned to complete the victim’s job.”

“Sure, but the ‘impact’ should have helped us,” Wendell retorted. “Not to be callous, but after the original inspector was killed, you’d think that the new guy would just give everything an automatic thumbs-up.”

Audrey arched an eyebrow. “It’s rather impossible not to sound callous when you make a remark like that.”

“All I’m saying is, that’s what
I’d
have done in his shoes. Wouldn’t you? Inspecting buildings is just a job. It’s not worth risking your life over.”

“You think the new inspector should have been in fear for his life when he told us the ramp wasn’t up to code?” Steve asked pointedly.

“Not literally, no. We’re all speaking in hypotheticals here, right? I’m sure Amy …Angie …whatever …was
killed by an ex-lover or something. I’m just saying, purely hypothetically, like Audrey said before, human nature being what it is, wouldn’t you think a murder victim’s replacement
wouldn’t
want to follow exactly in his predecessor’s footprints?”

Audrey set down her wineglass with a thump, sloshing a small amount onto the immaculate white tablecloth. “Let’s talk about something less depressing, such as global warming.”

Cameron chuckled sarcastically and guzzled his glass of wine. Wendell glared at him, but then said, “Fine,” to Audrey. He shifted his attention to Steve. “So, Mr. Sullivan. Tell us how a macho guy like yourself wound up choosing to become an interior decorator.”

There’s no accounting for taste
ran through my mind as I looked at Audrey complacently sitting beside her boor of a boyfriend. Steve, however, was well used to this line of questioning and immediately replied, “I knew it’d be a great way to meet women.” He gave my hand a squeeze and added, “And I was right.”

I wanted to kiss him, but settled for giving him a loving smile.

Wendell chuckled. “How’d you wind up in this profession, though? Seriously.”

“I started out wanting to be an artist, but interior design was something I naturally gravitated toward.”

“Why not architecture, then?” Wendell asked. “Something more masculine?” He suddenly flinched, and I was certain that Audrey had kicked him.

I felt like clocking the guy myself and searched desperately for the perfect witticism on Steve’s behalf, but my
mind was unable to get past the thought that Wendell Barton was a total ass.

“Hard to say,” Steve replied evenly. “Maybe it had something to do with being the only boy in a family with five kids.”

Three waiters arrived, providing a natural—and much-needed—break in the conversation. I gave Steve’s hand a quick squeeze, and we all turned our attention to our scrumptious meals.

A minute later, however, Cameron’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the phone’s screen, announced, “I’ve got to take this,” and left the room.

“I’ll bet that’s one of his inside connections,” Wendell said as he watched Cameron slip out the door, “letting us know to watch out for Ben Orlin.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Just thinking out loud, is all,” Wendell replied.

“Wendell,” I snapped, “Ben is a highly capable craftsman and can be trusted implicitly.”

“I wish I could agree with you, Erin. But I think he’s pulled the wool over your eyes.”

“In what way?”

“Before Cameron arrived at the inn, he did some poking around. According to his sources in City Planning, Ben Orlin was behind their taking a closer look at the front steps.”

“What?!” I cried.

“Evidently, he called Angie Woolf and suggested she take a look at the code for business property and check the measurements of the steps.”

“That can’t be true,” I retorted.

Wendell swirled his wine as though it were port brandy in a snifter. “In other words, you don’t think your builder has plenty of reason to drag his feet right before Christmas? Maybe contrive to get a hefty check for lots of overtime …?”

My mind raced.
Was
that something Ben would do? He certainly detested Wendell and probably felt no guilt over taking the man’s money. Heck, neither did I, even though, with Audrey a part owner, thirty percent of my salary was basically coming from her. Still, Ben was a hard worker, and he was such a nice guy! The Goodwin estate was such a source of honor and pride for him. And had been for his ancestors.

I eyed Wendell, disliking him more than ever, try as I might to give him a fair chance for Audrey’s sake. “You’re saying that Ben deliberately built the ramp wrong? After which he blew the whistle on himself?”

Wendell made a slight gesture with one hand. A tacit:
What do you think?

A wave of frustration washed over me. I really didn’t know
what
to think, or who to trust.

W
ith a purposeful stride, Cameron returned to the room. He glanced at me, then at Barton. “Erin, Wendell, everybody, I’m afraid there’s trouble at the ski resort. I have to run.”

“What
kind
of trouble?” Wendell asked.

“Apparently, a twelve-year-old girl panicked when she got on the chairlift, jumped off, and broke her leg. The parents are screaming their heads off that the operator should have shut down the lift sooner. They’re threatening to sue Barton Enterprises for every penny you’ve got.”

“That’s the first thing everyone threatens me with after an injury,” Wendell scoffed. “It’s a
ski
resort. Stuff like this happens every couple of months. And it’s what I pay my ski lodge managers and my lawyers to handle.” He gestured at Cameron’s empty chair. “Sit down. There’s no need for you to interrupt your lunch.”

Cam shook his head. “This one sounds like something that could explode in our faces. I’m nipping it in the bud.”

Wendell gave him a long stare. “You’re micromanaging. Let my team at the resort handle it.”

“I’m just doing my job, Wendell.”

“But I’m your boss, and I want you to stay and enjoy your meal.” He forced a smile. “That’s an order.”

“I can’t do that. You pay me to decide when a work problem is more important than lunch. If you can’t trust me to do that, my salary is way too high.”

Wendell appeared to be grinding his teeth. He gave Audrey a little glance before returning his gaze to Cameron. “Fine. Suit yourself, then.”

I couldn’t tell if this power struggle between the two men was for Audrey’s benefit—and maybe, to a small extent on Cam’s part, for mine—or if Wendell was embarrassed to be arguing with his employee in front of us.

Cameron scanned our faces. “I apologize for having to leave. Don’t let my rushing off like this put a damper on things.” His gaze settled on me. “Take care, Erin.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, and I could feel Steve cringe as Cameron walked away.

Audrey cleared her throat and asked Wendell, “You’ll be able to give us all a ride back to the inn after lunch, won’t you?”

Wendell winced slightly at the question, and it dawned on me why he’d tried so hard to prevent Cameron from deserting us—Wendell must have had romantic plans for Audrey this afternoon. He’d probably prearranged for Cameron to give Steve and me a ride back without her.

“Certainly,” he said. “I’ll make sure that you all get back …no thanks to my overly eager employee. That boy’s becoming a workaholic. You’d think he could take one little lunch off.”