Murder at the Lone Peak Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Constance remained perched on the stairwell, looking down at the solo traveler in the yellow raincoat as he slowly, almost purposefully, turned and closed the door behind him. This simple act allowed for Constance to sigh in relief as she was really starting to fret over the rain that was blowing in through the open door and saturating the carpet and walls both.

  She continued to watch as the solo traveler in the raincoat then wiped his shoes off on the carpet – an act which caused Constance to near bite her tongue off lest she shriek in hysterics at the guest – and slowly stalk deeper into the foyer.

  Seizing her moment, Constance hurried down the stairs to meet the solo traveler and break the tension that he had brought with him. “Good afternoon,” she began with caution as she approached him. “Welcome to The Lone Peak Hotel. I’m Constance Aberfield, the proprietor of said establishment.”

  With the hood to his yellow raincoat still firmly pulled up over his head, the solo traveler paused as he turned to stare at Constance. In only his early twenties, his thick black beard – literally still dripping with water – was the first thing that caught her eye. After that it was his piercing blue eyes, followed by his very tanned, leathery skin and finally the tiny scar positioned just above his right eyebrow. There was something off-putting about him too, as if his goal was to look menacing and unapproachable.

  He stared at Constance with confusion, as if she were some crazy lady in the street asking for spare change. He then offered a scowl before turning back and staring at reception again.

  “Can I take your raincoat?” she continued in her usual, jubilant manner.

  He ignored her, stalking the length of the foyer toward reception. The other single male in the room – the shabby one in the old suit with the worn shoes and aged briefcase – looked positively terrified at the sight of the solo traveler. He hastily snatched the key that Sydney was in the midst of offering him, held his briefcase firm against his chest like it were a shield, and walked with his back to the wall as he skirted the foyer and made for the stairs.

  Really, Constance couldn’t blame the shabby man for the way he was acting. The solo traveler was offering him the most menacing of looks, literally glaring at him, unblinking, until he was out of sight. And it wasn’t until the shabby man with the briefcase was up the stairs and out of sight that the solo traveler finally broke his gaze, turned back toward reception and smiled; although even that seemed like an alien action, as unnatural as it was off-putting.

  “Welcome to The Lone Peak Hotel,” Sydney said pleasantly, as if she hadn’t just witnessed the most bizarre of entrances. “How may we help you?”

  “One room please,” the solo traveler said. His voice was about as rough as one would expect; like he’d spent a lifetime chewing gravel.

  “And for how many nights?” Sydney continued, head tilted to the side as she spoke.

  “To be determined,” he responded.

  “We can certainly accommodate you...”

  Having been watching the confrontation with absolute curiosity Constance shook her head as she pulled herself back to reality. With the moment over, and the solo traveler now taken care of – despite how odd he may have been and how uncomfortable she felt with him staying under the same roof as she – she could go about the rest of her day’s duties in relative peace. And as the manager and owner of a now reasonably busy hotel, she had quite a few duties to take care of.

  Not that Constance minded. The hum-drum of life was what Constance lived for.

  ***

  “I don’t know,” Eleanor mused to herself as she ran her very dirty rag over the credenza. “I mean, sure he’s a little short… and yes, he is a little round in both stomach and chin… and obviously he has to do something about that comb over… but I think he’s kind of cute.”

  Constance sat on the edge of the bed as she watched Eleanor work. Face dropped, expression disbelieving, she struggled to decide what it was she should chastise her only cleaner for; her awful taste in men, or her apparent inability to clean?

  Constance’s first task of the afternoon, was to double check on her cleaner Eleanor and remind her to clean the rooms that were checked out of the previous night, and to double check the ones that had been checked in to today.

  Although Eleanor wasn’t as much of a space cadet as Sydney – not by a long shot – she did have a nasty habit of getting distracted by men; even when they weren’t in the room. This was such a problem that if there were any men in the room – despite their age or relationship status -- Eleanor became all but useless.

  Eleanor was in her early thirties, standing at six feet in height, and with a lithe body and legs that defied convention, Eleanor was undeniably a prize to be won. She also had lush blonde hair, dazzling green eyes and a stunning smile that she used to great effect whenever she was able. But for reasons unknown to Constance, she dressed like a turn-of-the-century bordello worker, prancing around in fishnet stocking, audacious corsets and hair-do’s that looked like something one would see in a 1950’s western. This, paired with the stench of desperation she carried with her, and the total lack of men in town, meant that she was always on the prowl, but always slept alone.

  “I think...” Constance began slowly, choosing to ignore the way that Eleanor wiped the credenza over and over again with a rag so brown that it left a literal stain on anything it touched, “… that you’ve been single for just a touch too long.”

  “What do you mean?” Eleanor pouted, dropping her hip in a way that no doubt sent men wild with desire.

  “You are talking about The Loner … and I just want to be absolutely clear here, Eustace Barrow? Owner of, Eustace Barrow? Short, fat, balding and also my mortal enemy, Eustace Barrow? Is that right?”

  “He’s not that short,” Eleanor protested, choosing to ignore the laundry list of other terrible qualities given to her.

  When The Lone Peak Hotel was first built, it came with a bar built right into the foyer. But some time ago—no one can say when exactly—it lost its liquor license which gave the Burrow family leave to build the town’s very first bar. This bar was literally built right next door to The Lone Peak Hotel; even sharing an alleyway and side-wall with it. This bar was aptly named The Loner and was and still is the only bar in town.

  Constance never begrudged the actual bar itself, as the two establishments shared business and benefited from one another’s presence in more ways than one. What she did hate about The Loner—and perhaps despised is a better word—was its owner, Eustace Burrow. There are some people you just hate on instinct. You can’t describe it, you can’t explain it, but for some reason a hate so deep runs between the two of you that it defies logic. This was what Constance and Eustace had.

  “Fine, he’s not that short,” Constance sighed, throwing her hands up as she got to her feet. “But please, promise me you won’t do anything with Eustace Burrow. OK? I might have to fire you if you do.”

  “Fiiiiine,” Eleanor responded, drawing the word out as if to emphasize the trial this was going to take on her. “I’ll die alone if that’s what you want?”

  “That’s all I ask,” Constance chuckled as she made for the door to the room. “Oh, and wipe that credenza over again, will you? A clean rag this time.” And she exited the room.

  From there, Constance made her way down the stairs and to the back of the hotel where the kitchen and restaurant were located.

  The restaurant was a modern affair, currently headed by the chef Alberto Gustavo. Born in Chicago to WASP parents, Gustavo liked to pretend that he was Italian; going so far as to grow a thick black mustache curled at both ends, and occasionally dropping in ‘Italian sounding’ words; most of which weren’t at all Italian. A colorful character that yelled and shouted as much as he danced and sang, he ran a tight kitchen and was renowned in town for making the best spaghetti bolognese in the state – claimed by him but promoted by Constance.

  “Ah, la bella, there she is!” Gustavo ann
ounced in a sing song manner as Constance made her way through the kitchen. He was wearing his usual chef’s apron with chef’s hat combination, while also kneading a big wad of dough that Constance knew to be freshly made pasta. “The one and only Constance Aberfield! How is my most gorgeous employer doing on this most bellissimo of days?”

  “As gorgeous as always,” Constance flushed. She had always liked Gustavo and it had a lot to do with how complimentary he was. “I’m just here to double check that you’re all ready for the Fair this week? I’ve already been to the Lone Aisle but if there’s anything you need or...”

  “Just give me a kitchen, some ingredients, and of course that beautiful face to inspire me, and I’ll be as ready as I can be,” he assured her, offering a wink as he did so.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” Constance beamed. “Because you know that The Lone Peak has won the last three years in a row and I’m hoping for four.”

  Every year The Lone Peak Hotel competed in the Best in Town Series; particularly the Cook-off. They always won, and this year Gustavo’s pasta was a shoe-in to take home the gold.

  “And four you will have!” Gustavo announced. “If not, I’ll cut off my own arms and exile myself to the far reaches of the desert!” He waved his arms in the air in a dramatic fashion.

  “There’ll be no need for that.” Constance frowned as she looked the enigmatic chef up and down. She loved the man, but he really was over the top sometimes. “How many today?”

  “Just the two,” Gustavo responded. “A lovely Australian bella, and a man in a yellow raincoat.”

  “And the verdict?”

  “The Australian adored my bolognese, as to be expected. And the man in the raincoat will surely be falling in love within the next five minutes., once I plate and serve.”

  “That’s what I want to hear!” Constance cheered with delight. The restaurant served arguably the best fare in town; a place for locals as well as travelers and Constance prided herself in staying that way.

  From the kitchen, Constance made her way through the restaurant in order to spy on the two guests currently seated. She wasn’t the type of manager that felt the need to stop in and chat to each guest individually, but if she saw them and sensed something was amiss, she would step in without hesitation

  As Gustavo mentioned, there were but two people currently seated in the restaurant. The solo traveler was there, sipping on what looked to be a glass of sherry – very odd, Constance noted – as he waited for his food. And just two tables away from him, already eating, was the Australian backpacker.

  The Australian backpacker went by the name Sheila. In her early twenties, she had vivid blond hair, tanned skin and an infectious smile that she was always wearing. As Constance passed her by, she frowned at the Australian who had abandoned her half-eaten meal in order to take a photo of it.

  And it wasn’t just a normal photo either. Rather she had the food arranged so that the pasta was half-spun into the fork. She also had a half-full glass of wine positioned just behind it, and a candle – not usually lit as it was still early in the afternoon – had been lit and placed in between these. To add to this extravagance, she was also standing on her chair and leaning over the food to get the best shot.

  Although Constance found this rather amusing, she could see almost immediately that the solo traveler in the yellow raincoat did not. Rather he glared at Sheila with a venom and hate that Constance could not comprehend. She had never seen someone get so offended over a simple photo being taken.

  Constance continued to watch as Sheila then climbed down from the chair and crouched down to get yet another angle. It was a perfectly innocent act, but a bridge too far for the solo traveler.

  “Will you just eat the damn food!” he bellowed from two tables down.

  Sheila, caught totally by surprise, jumped in the air before finding her feet and spinning on her heel. “Excuse me?” She could not have looked more confused, as if she were certain she had somehow misheard the outburst.

  “The food!” the solo traveler continued, his tenor still firm and full of venom. “It’s there to be eaten! Not admired!”

  “I’ll eat it when I’m ready, thank you,” Sheila responded rather pleasantly. Even in the face of confrontation, she managed to beam and smile. “But thank you for your concern.”

  “There’s no concern, sweetheart!” he barked. He then took a sip of his sherry, wiping away the droplets that clung to his beard. “Just a man whose had had it up to here with you lot.”

  “Us lot?” Sheila frowned and tilted her head, still acting as if the conversation were the most normal thing in the world. “Who is ‘us lot?’”

  “You know,” he waved vaguely in her direction. “People like you who care more about their phones than the world and what’s happening in it. So just shut up and eat your food.”

  Now, Constance had been watching this mild confrontation from across the room, frozen in total shock and awe. Where the initial outburst caused her body to freeze, its continuance seemed to glue her feet to the ground.

  It wasn’t until the solo traveler used language unbecoming to any person, let alone in the presence of and directed toward a woman, that she finally snapped to it; all but ready to intervene and tell the solo traveler in a far nicer manner than he was deserving of, that this kind of behavior would not be accepted.

  But before she got the chance to so much as breathe in his direction, Gustavo the chef suddenly burst into the room like a hurricane, plate of spaghetti bolognese in one hand, napkin in the other. Always a presence, he practically danced through the room as he made for the solo traveler. This broke the tension almost immediately as the solo traveler, turned back from Sheila and eyed his plate of food hungrily. So lost was he in that plate of food that one would think he hadn’t just snapped at an innocent bystander for no good reason.

  And Sheila, frowning to herself at what had just happened, shook her head as if to dispel it from memory, fell back into her seat and decided to do what the solo traveler had suggested; that being eat her food.

  Constance breathed a sigh of relief as all this transpired before her. She was never a fan of reprimanding guests – worried what such an act would do for her hotel – and was content to forget the little scuffle took place and move on to the rest of her duties.

  But as she left the restaurant, making her way back to the foyer, she couldn’t help but glance at the solo traveler one last time. There was definitely something off about this man and she made a mental note to keep an eye on him from now on.

  The remainder of her duties for the day really just pertained to double checking and going over the running of the hotel. From walking through all the empty rooms, to checking stocks, adding up payments and the like, it was enough to keep Constance busy for the remainder of the afternoon. And so engrossed in her chores was she, that by the time the sun began to set, Constance had all but forgotten about the confrontation in the restaurant… well that was until she went outside to watch the sunset, that is.

  Almost every afternoon Constance tried to make it outside for the setting of the sun. From the front door of The Lone Peak Hotel, she was gifted the most spectacular view of the sun sinking behind the mountain range. And as the storm had now passed and the clouds had now cleared, this promised to be the most perfect of evenings and one that anyone would be lucky to witness.

  Unfortunately, no sooner had Constance stepped outside, did she become aware of yelling and shouting coming from around the side of the hotel; in the parking lot.

  Frowning to herself and wondering what on earth could be the matter, she hurried in the direction of the noise, coming to a halt when she spied its source.

  There were only three vehicles in the parking lot that afternoon; two cars and a Winnebago and it was right beside the Winnebago that the commotion was taking place.

  The Winnebago belonged to a married couple in their late twenties. They had arrived the previous evening and although Constance had had little
to do with them, they seemed pleasant enough as far as she could tell. Both with shock-red hair, glasses and more freckles than unmarked skin, they were one of those couples that looked more brother and sister, than husband and wife.

  They stood by the Winnebago, the husband with his arm around his wife, as they spoke to… or rather yelled at, the solo traveler. And although Constance never condoned yelling, she had to admit that right now it was really the only option available to them as the solo traveler screamed and berated them with verve and gusto the likes of which Constance had never seen… save a few hours earlier in the restaurant.

  “I tell ya, I wasn’t tryin’ nothin’!” the solo traveler exploded. “You need to get ya head checked!”

  “I know what I saw!” the husband yelled back, pulling his wife in tighter as if to protect her.

  “You don’t know Jack!” the solo traveler screamed. “And if you touch me again, you’ll wish you hadn’t!”

  This time Constance was ready for it. Indeed, the moment she saw what exactly was taking place, she jumped to it and hurried across the lot, determined to put a stop to this before it got out of hand. Fortunately there was no need, as no sooner had the solo traveler finished his verbal tirade did he turn and stalk back across the parking lot.

  “Excuse me, Sir? I really must —” Constance began as the two made to cross paths.

  Rather than slowing down at the sound and sight of being addressed, the solo traveler glared daggers at Constance as he continued on his way, past the entrance to the hotel and right into the bar next door.

  Constance pulled up and turned to watch him go, curling her lip up in confusion at what she had again just seen transpire. She was a little glad to see him enter Eustace Burrow’s establishment. No doubt he would spend the remainder of his evening there, gracing it with his own brand of pleasantness. Let Eustace deal with it.

  Pulling her gaze from the entrance to The Loner, she turned back to instead confront the married couple. Although she didn’t see how the argument had begun, she did not doubt that they were the victims in the onslaught and deigned to make sure they were All right. But by the time she turned back the two had disappeared into the innards of their Winnebago. As such, she decided to let it lie.