Powdered Murder

I thought about pushing the call button, but thinking about it made my heart race so fast I started to feel dizzy. But my natural curiosity wouldn't let it go. It ticked away in my head like a clock counting down to my very destruction. I pressed call.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

When her answering machine beeped I panicked, wondering what to say. I hadn't thought this far ahead. I hadn't come up with a plan that involved getting Bev, a woman I've never met, to trust me enough to divulge her greatest secrets about Do

"Hi, Bev," I said. "Uh, you don't know me. My name is Essie. I'm a friend of Patrick's and I'm replacing you in the wedding." I took a deep breath. "I'm sure by now that you've heard about Do

The minutes seemed to pass in slow motion as I tried on my dress, double checking my phone every time a ray of light shone through the window and bounced of the screen. The red dress fit perfectly, but it was too showy. Lila might have a heart attack if she saw me in it because it accentuated all of my curves. All of them. Besides that, I was most comfortable in my workout gear where my tops weren't so tight you could see what I had to eat for breakfast that day. I took the dress off and laid it on my bed.

My bedroom is plain and ordinary compared to my childhood room at my parents’ house. The walls are beige and the wooden floors make it look clean and modern. I have a large, puffy, white comforter and a few green and baby blue throw pillows. Unlike Joy's room, all my clothes fit neatly in my closet and my dresser isn't jammed so tight with clothes that sleeves and shirt tails are sticking out. Back home, I covered my walls with posters and collages of celebrities. I made the collages with old magazines. That's how I used to spend my time. In my Canyon Street apartment, my bedroom walls are blank. A representation of what my life has really been like the past couple of years. Until now.

Clean but sometimes empty.

As soon as I zipped up my jeans, the door slammed. Wade must have finally left. I guess nothing good was on right now. I shrugged and grabbed a pair of shoes and tights to go along with my wedding di

"Essie!" The sound of Joy's voice made me jump. My eyes went wide as I grabbed my things and ran to the front room. I found Wade still on the couch and Joy fuming at the front door scowling at her ex. "Who let this rat in?"

"Wade," I shouted. "You said you were leaving."

"That's just great," Joy said through her teeth. She clenched her jaw firmly, biting back her anger. Her cheeks went red and she briskly threw off her coat like she was about to start round one of a caged match. "Put your dirty boots all over our new coffee table, why don't you."

"Calm down," Wade responded with a smirk on his face. "Tables can be cleaned."

"By who? You?" She laughed uncomfortably. "Ha!"

"I can drag a rag across a counter, you know." Wade stood up and began inching towards Joy. The closer he got, the more her cheeks went ruby red. Wade kept a smirk on his face. He knew he was getting under her skin and it gave him satisfaction to watch her squirm.

"Then why don't you? Why don’t you ever clean up after yourself?" she argued.

"I don't clean up after myself?" He chuckled. "Look at this place. Your stuff is everywhere. Need I remind you who unclogged the drains in the bathroom on a daily basis?" He raised his eyebrows and looked at me. "You should have seen the size of the hairballs I pulled out, Essie."

"Wade!" Joy shouted. Their voices were gradually getting louder like whoever shouted the loudest was the wi

"You started it, sweetheart." He winked and it was just the thing that sent Joy over the edge.

"What are you even still doing here?" she shouted. "Get out! I'm supposed to be relaxing before I have to go back to work, not talking to the one person who makes me want to light myself on fire."

"Careful," Wade laughed. "Those are fightin' words."

"Oh shut up." Joy dropped her purse and took off her shoes. She left the front open, letting in a draft that might cause the pipes to freeze up if it persisted. "And leave." She stamped her foot.

"Yeah, I'll leave," he agreed. "But only if you show me your left forearm."

Joy held her wrist and kept the scowl on her face.

"No."

"Oh, so you lied?" He folded his arms. "You swore last time I saw you that you were getting that tattoo removed."

"I did!"

"Well then, let me see," he urged her on, taking a step close to her. "Show me that it's gone and I'll leave."

"What is he talking about, Joy?" Joy had so many tattoos that I'd lost track of all of them. They weren't tattoos that could be seen when she wore a pencil skirt and a blazer, but when she wore a swimsuit she looked like an entirely different person.

"She didn't tell you?" Wade looked at me. "Last year she tattooed my face—"

"Wade!" Joy yelled at him. She rolled her eyes and paused to take a deep breath. "Essie, will you give us a minute?"

"I'll give you more than that," I answered, grabbing my things and heading for the door. "I have a few errands to run. I'll see you back at the resort."

"Yeah, okay." Joy nodded, attempting to change her a

"Don't light the place on fire," I muttered. "Oh and Wade, good luck." I carefully closed the door and walked as far away from my apartment as possible. If I didn't hear any more shouting I could act oblivious when Mrs. Tankle knocked on my door in the morning to complain about the noise.

I looked up and down the street. I didn't get the chance to tell Joy about the letter and the weight from the gym missing my head by inches. Judging by the fact that she didn't address it when she came home meant that news of my almost accident hadn't spread across the entire resort yet. For now, I'm sure the killer was content and sipping lattes at the Canyon Street coffee shop or having a swim in the hotel's lap pool. My first stop was the sheriff’s. I wasn't going to end up like Do

CHAPTER TWELVE

The sheriff’s office is off of Canyon Street away from Pinecliffe Mountain. It used to be the old firehouse until a new one was built closer to the vacation condos and luxury lodges on the other end of town. Sheriff Williams and his son Murray live only a few blocks away from the station. The lights stay on day and night and the Williams' moved half their stuff into the old firefighters’ bunks. I think last Thanksgiving Mrs. Williams fixed their family di

Murray stood up when I entered the room. He'd been reclining back in his chair with his latest sci-fi novel and a half-eaten bagel was next to his computer. I glanced around the room. No sign of the Sheriff.