Fire and Ice

Book 10: Locust Point Mystery

by Libby Howard

Genres: Ghost; Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Like small town cozy mysteries with a hint of paranormal? Welcome to Locust Point!

On a wintery vacation with the kids, Kay and the judge stumble across a barn fire. What appeared to be an accidental blaze turns out to be arson, with the charred timbers hiding a dead body.

Adding sleuthing to her holiday itinerary, Kay finds herself investigating and ghost-hunting the murder with two new kindred spirits. Surrounded by mountains and snow, she'll juggle solving the crime as well as facing her fears on the slopes-and making some decisions about the future of her relationship with the judge and his children.

Release date: October 14, 2020

Publisher: Debra Dunbar LLC

Print pages: 196

Sample

“Welcome to Foxdancer Lodge!”

The man greeted us with the booming voice of someone announcing circus performers. His dark hair was slicked back from a tanned and weathered face that appeared old enough to have had a little salt mixed in with the pepper. He was wearing dark-wash blue jeans, a light green shirt with mother of pearl buttons, and cowboy boots that looked as if they’d just come out of a box. Blue eyes danced with jolly humor as he smiled widely at us, gesturing for one of the porters to unload our bags from our vehicle.

We’d flown into the airport in Aspen, rented an SUV, and driven the short distance to a little town called Crow Creek. Both the town and the lodge were a quick drive to all the bigger ski resorts. According to the brochures we’d poured over for weeks before we left, Foxdancer Lodge exuded a cozy intimacy that the larger resorts lacked. The town seemed too good to be true from the marketing literature—wholesome and sleepy with a colorful history and dozens of boutique craft and artisan shops.

In addition to the main lodge, there were several cabins scattered around the edge of the parking lot. Behind the line of buildings was a small terrain park as well as a chair lift that led up to what the literature said were six trails—some groomed and some more suitable for cross-country skiing. Judge Beck had booked us into a suite in the main lodge. Our suite had a private hot tub on the deck outside the common area, overlooking the activities on the terrain park. I knew the kids were eager to hit the slopes, but I was looking forward to unpacking and checking out the accommodations. Yes, we were here to ski and snowboard, but I hoped to get in a few other, less physically taxing, activities on this vacation as well.

“I’m Rocky Forrest.” The man who’d greeted us spread his arms wide. “I’m the owner and manager. Let’s get you folks checked in and get you out there on the snow.”

The kids went ahead with Rocky into the main lodge while the judge and I waited for the porters. We made our way to the front desk while Madison and Henry stared out the huge two-story glass windows that revealed a scene straight from a snow globe.

“The chair lift operator is on duty from seven in the morning until noon, then again from four in the evening until six—or seven if we’re busy,” Rocky told me as Judge Beck dealt with the checking-in process. “There’s a J-bar lift you can turn on if you want to go up on off hours, or you can just ask here at the front desk, and we’ll send someone out to fire up the chair lift for you.”

From the number of folks lined up at the lift, it looked like many people took advantage of the ski trails as well as the terrain park. “Are the slopes just for lodge guests, or do locals use them as well?” I wondered, thinking there couldn’t be a large enough number of guests, even at full capacity, for the lodge to make the money needed to run and maintain a small ski resort.

“Town residents can purchase lift tickets or passes, as can the guests from the other, larger resorts.” Rocky motioned toward a rack full of brochures. “People staying in Aspen come out to Crow Creek for our events and often will get in a little bit of skiing while here. Our slopes are less crowded than those at the big resorts, and our trails have been written up in several magazines. We’re gaining quite a reputation for cross country skiing.”

It sounded lovely. It all sounded lovely. This was going to be an amazing trip. Honestly, I’d been excited since the judge had told me he’d included me in his family vacation plans, and I’d been on cloud nine since leaving early this morning.

“How difficult are the slopes?” It was something that had been worrying me since the judge had invited me to come along. I hadn’t been skiing in decades, and even then, I hadn’t been all that good. I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s vacation by ending up in the hospital.

“We’ve got one intermediate and one easy slope on either side of the terrain park,” Rocky indicated with a wave of his hand, “then one harder slope along with two trails where the chair lift lets you off. The trails are suitable for either cross-country or downhill skiing. They aren’t really that challenging, but the views are stunning. The Easy Stroll is our most popular trail.”

“Easy Stroll?” That sounded right up my alley.

He grinned and nodded. “Just like the name. It’s a long path that loops back and forth across the side of the mountain. It’s a long, gentle downward slope. We’re expanding it on the one side to make it even longer and add on a third trail geared specifically toward cross-country skiers, but that section won’t be ready for another few weeks.”

The Easy Stroll. I was definitely making a note of that.

“Are we ready?” Judge Beck turned to me, keycards in hand. “They went ahead and sent our luggage up, so if you want to check out the gift shop first, we can do that.”

“Let’s get settled in our room first,” I suggested. With the time difference, it was only late morning. We’d have plenty of time to explore and shop later.

The judge called to the kids, and we headed up the stairs. The lodge was partially built on a slope, so even though we were heading to the second floor, we’d have a door off the common room that led outside. From there, it would be an easy downhill to get to where the chair lift was.

A short walk down a wide hallway, and we’d found the door marked two-two-one. Judge Beck swiped his card, opened the door, and we walked in.

 “Wow.”

The word came softly from Henry’s lips as he stepped away from the door and surveyed our suite. Madison was equally impressed, but far too much the teenage girl to show it. Instead she glanced around, gave the common room with its huge fireplace an approving nod, then turned to her father.

“Which is Kay’s and my room?”

Judge Beck smiled. “You and Henry work out who gets which room. No fighting,” he added as the pair took off.

I’ll admit I was gawking at the room much like Henry. I’d been gawking since we landed. Everywhere I turned, I felt like I was in the middle of a Bob Ross painting. Stands of evergreens with blobs of snow weighing down their branches. Black jagged mountains with thick white swaths where the ski resorts had groomed their trails. Warm yellow lights in the valley, humanizing the beautifully harsh, towering nature. Snow was everywhere, like icing liberally applied to every rooftop and handrail. And it was cold—so cold I felt my nose hairs freeze with every inhalation.

 “Think that’s real?” Judge Beck pointed to the bear-skin rug on the floor.

“I doubt it.” I knelt down, eyeing the huge teeth. “I’m pretty sure the deer head is real, though.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about dead animals watching me while I’m on vacation.” The judge took a stroll around the room, opening a curtain and revealing a gorgeous view of the slopes.

A firm knock sounded. Henry shouted that he’d get it and raced to beat Madison to the door. In the hallway was a middle-aged woman with a steeply asymmetrical bob of blonde hair and a clipboard in her hands. She wore a pair of dark wash jeans with a knife-pleat down the front and a crisp salmon-colored button-down shirt. A barcoded tag hung from a lanyard at her neck.

“Welcome to Foxdancer Lodge, I’m Cheryl,” she announced as I was wondering if she’d actually ironed her jeans. “I’ve got your itinerary, including the times you’re scheduled to be fitted for your rentals. Before you head over, make sure you stop and get your badges at the kiosk in the gift shop.”

Madison and Henry hopped with excitement as Cheryl handed me a folder.

“You signed up for the all-inclusive package, so your badges will let you on not only our lift, but the lifts at the other two resorts in Aspen,” Cheryl continued. “You can also use the badges to buy stuff in the restaurant, the snack bar, and in the gift shop.”

“We pick up the badges in the lodge’s gift shop?” I asked, just to clarify.

She nodded. “Just ask the employee working the register. He’s the badge guy.”

I grinned, amused that it sounded like a title. The Badge Guy.

“We need to hustle up,” Judge Beck told the kids. “Put all your things away. If we hurry at the rental place, we’ll have time to play on the slopes before dinner.”

That got the kids moving. The judge followed Henry into the room, leaving me with Cheryl who was pulling some brochures from under a paper on her clipboard. “I’m not sure if Rocky told you about any of this, but Crow Creek has a Wednesday night bonfire down on the town square.”

I took the brochures. “His name is really Rocky Forrest?”

She chuckled. “It’s Richard Forrest, but don’t let him know I told you that. He goes by Rocky.”

My boss called himself “Gator” Pierson on his YouTube videos, so it wasn’t exactly a shock to hear our host had come up with a more interesting moniker than Richard.

“There’s free hot cocoa, and the shops offer ten percent off any purchases,” Cheryl continued. “Thursdays there are arts and crafts—for adults as well as kids! And each week our very own Peabody Mann gives a talk at the library on local history. It’s very interesting. Guests say it’s one of their favorite activities. He has wonderful stories about the local mine, notable ranches of the last century, and the notorious naughty-house that was next door to the church in the late nineteenth century.”

Cheryl giggled infectiously at the last, and I couldn’t help but join in. I loved quirky local history. The kids might be able to snowboard for twelve hours, but I’d probably be worn out after half a day of skiing. It was nice to know there were other interesting activities I could occupy my time with.

Crow Creek was a cute place. It reminded me a lot of Locust Point in a way. “I’m surprised you all have managed to stay apart from Aspen,” I told her.

Cheryl straightened her shoulders. “We’re an incorporated town, and we pride ourselves on keeping our own history and culture. Aspen can be as big-city as they want. We’re the place people come to when they want that clean wholesome small-town experience, with friendly people who know your name.”

Big city? Aspen had a population of under eight thousand, last time I’d checked. That was hardly what I’d call big city, but then again, Crow Creek was probably less than a third of that. It was a cute town. I had no doubt that Cheryl did know every one of our names and had memorized pertinent facts about each of us.

“Thank you.” I waved the brochures. “We’ll definitely take the kids to some of these to give them a break, and I’m looking forward to hearing Peabody Mann talk about the history of the town.”

“If there’s anything I can help you with, please give me a call,” Cheryl told me, pointing out the phone number on our agenda.

I closed the door behind her, setting the brochures and papers on a side table.

“Quite the Julie McCoy.” Judge Beck came back into the main room, a pair of sturdy hiking shoes in hand.

“I’m surprised you know who Julie McCoy is,” I teased. “Aren’t you a little young for that show?”

“No one is too young for the Love Boat.” He stuck the hiking shoes in the closet with our heavy jackets, then turned to me. “I watched a lot of reruns growing up. My Mom was in charge of the television, and you watched what she wanted, or you didn’t watch anything at all.”

“Those were the days when there were all of five channels to choose from,” I mused.

“And the broadcast actually ended at midnight,” he added.

“Leaving only a test pattern and that horrible loud tone until six in the morning.” I smiled, remembering how I’d wake up early some mornings, get my bowl of Cheerios, and sit on the couch, staring at that test pattern as I waited for the early programming.

“Broadcasting started and ended with a still photo of the flag and the national anthem.” Judge Beck shook his head. “And cartoons were only on Saturdays.”

“Ah, the eagerly anticipated Scooby Doo. And Josie and the Pussycats.”

“Y’all are old,” Madison drawled, coming into the main room with her iPad. “I’ll bet you watched the original Scooby Doo and not the new ones.”

“Those were the best. Nothing beats original Scooby Doo,” I told her. “What cartoons did you watch when you were little?”

I wasn’t sure what cartoons were popular now or had been popular a decade ago when Madison had been young.

“Teen Titans.” She shrugged. “Johnny Test.”

Henry snorted as he came out of his room. “Right. Mom said you watched Peppa Pig nonstop.”

Madison threw a decorative pillow at her brother. “Well, at least I wasn’t watching Dinosaur Train. That show sucked.”

“All I can say is that the Thundercats of my childhood definitely did not suck,” Judge Beck announced. “Now, hurry up and unpack so we can get our badges, then head over to be fitted for snowboards and skis.”

Once we were all settled into our rooms, we went downstairs and made our way to see The Badge Guy.

The Badge Guy was a short, portly, middle-aged man who was also running the cash register in the gift shop. He ushered us to a kiosk next to a display rack full of Foxdancer Lodge logo-emblazoned postcards and pulled a stack of plastic cards from a lockbox.

“Now, don’t lose these,” he warned Madison and Henry. “There’s a ten-dollar fee to replace them. This is what gets you on all the lifts as well as allows you to charge stuff to your room.”

“Do I want Madison and Henry to be able to charge stuff to the room?” the judge asked me as he eyed the stuffed animals, mugs, and t-shirts.

“We’re all going to be off on our own,” I reminded him. “They’ll want to be able to grab something to eat or drink without needing to carry around cash. Besides, it’s not like you’d say no if they wanted a t-shirt.”

“True.” He glanced over to The Badge Guy. “Cheryl said that these get us on all the lifts, right? Not just the ones here at the lodge?”

“Yep. You paid for the all-inclusive package. The first time you go to a resort, you’ll need to wait in the lift ticket line. They’ll scan the badge, put a sticker on it, then off you go. Next time you can go straight to the lifts.”

“That’s really convenient,” I commented.

He nodded. “That’s the idea. The accountants work out the costs behind the scenes, so you don’t have to. We’ve even started doing it for staff and instructors. Foxdancer Lodge employees get access to the other resort’s amenities, even outside of work, and the same with the other resort’s employees. Makes it feel like one giant resort instead of four or five.”

He gestured for Madison to step up to the camera, took her picture, then printed out a badge. Before he handed it to her, he strung it on a red lanyard and again warned her not to lose it. The judge went next while Madison and I inspected the badge.

The picture must have been for verification in case she needed to replace it, because her badge had nothing on it besides a blue stripe, the lodge’s logo, and a bar code with a number under it. There was a lot of white space along the sides, I supposed for the other resorts to put their stickers.

Judge Beck’s card came back just like Madison’s, only with a different number and without the blue stripe across the upper right corner.

“What’s the stripe for?” I asked The Badge Guy.

“It means you’re under twenty-one and can’t drink.” He shot Henry a grin. “And before you think about switching with your dad and ordering a beer, know that the pictures I’m taking go into a database and pull up on the screen when the badge is scanned.”

“I don’t like beer,” Henry announced.

“I know you’d never try something like that,” his father said. “But it’s reassuring to know that if we lose our badge, someone isn’t going to go hog wild on our account.”

“The pictures help, but still report a missing badge right away,” The Badge Guy reminded us. “We’ll lock the number down and reissue a new one so that sort of thing doesn’t happen.”

“I take it you have to replace a lot of missing badges?” I asked as I stepped up to the camera.

“Mostly instructors and staff,” he said. “They’re wearing a badge every day, five days a week, all season, so there’s more opportunity for one to fall out of a coat pocket or catch on something and come off.” He held up my badge in one hand and the lanyard in another and pulled. They came apart with snap. “Safety feature. But safety means sometimes one pops off and the owner doesn’t realize it until they go to grab a hot chocolate.”

“Wouldn’t the lift attendant notice it was missing?” I watched as he threaded my badge onto another lanyard.

“They should, but once they see you a few times in a day, they don’t worry as much about looking at your badge every ride up the mountain.” He handed me the plastic card. “People tuck them in their jackets so they don’t flap around when they’re flying down the slopes. They’re supposed to pull them out and show them every time they take a lift up, but like I said, if the operator recognizes you, sometimes they don’t bother to ask. My aunt works one of the lifts at Snowmass on weekends. They get busy. Plus, they don’t want to annoy customers by pestering them over and over for their badge.”

I believed that customers shouldn’t be getting annoyed at employees doing their jobs, but I’d seen enough cashiers being yelled at over the years to completely sympathize.

My badge, just like the judge’s, was minus a blue stripe across the corner. I quickly realized that figuring out whose badge was whose was going to be an issue. We’d most likely be tossing belongings all over the common area of our suite, and it was entirely likely that the adults and the kids might end up with the wrong badges.

“Can we put our initials on the back in Sharpie or something to keep them straight?” I asked The Badge Guy.

“You can, but we’ve come up with a better idea.” He pulled out a tray full of stickers and set it on the counter. “Choose carefully because these have the same glue the resorts use on their stickers. Once you put them on, they’re not coming off.”

Choosing was definitely hard. They were all animal stickers, and there must have been twenty different kinds.

“Am I a trout or a mountain lion?” I asked as we all huddled over the tray.

“How about a moose?” Henry suggested. “Or this wolf? I like the wolf.”

“You get the wolf,” I told him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking this bighorn sheep.”

“Bison or bear. Bison or bear,” Judge Beck mused.

“Bison,” I told him. “Definitely bison.”

“I can’t decide between the hawk or the wild horse. Ooh! What’s this? It looks like a prairie dog or something.”

The Badge Guy leaned over the counter. “It’s a pika. They’re like little rabbits with short round ears. You find them up in the mountains, usually in the boulder fields. That’s the last pika sticker we’ve got. I’ll have to remember to order more.”

“It’s adorable.” Madison picked up the pika sticker, then bit her lip. “But the hawk…and the mustang.”

The Badge Guy laughed. “Take all three. You won’t be the first one with the back of your badge loaded in stickers.”

She gave the man a bright smile, thanked him, then put the stickers in her coat pocket. “I’ll decide which one to use later. Maybe I’ll put the other two on my school notebooks.”

“We sell whole sets of these stickers without the industrial strength glue.” The Badge Guy gestured toward the front of the store and yet another display case.

Madison ended up buying a book of stickers, then a second book to give to a friend, while Henry picked up a t-shirt and a mug. We browsed for a while, then Judge Beck herded us out of the gift shop before we went crazy with the purchases.

“Come on. We need to get going or we’ll be late for our rental fittings,” he said.

Glancing at the lobby clock, I realized he was right. I followed them out into the parking lot, fingering my new badge and marveling at how technology had made the whole process so convenient.

One badge for everything. Linked to a database with my name, our room number, all of our personal information, and the judge’s credit card. So much information on one little piece of plastic.