Powdered Murder

The Grizzly was the local bar in Bison Creek where the majority of the seats were filled by residents rather than tourists. It was the place to stop after work to wind down. It was also the place to go to hear what your neighbor was up to. The noise of the bar grew louder and the glow from inside brightened up the night sky.

"I know what I have to do," Patrick said quietly. "I've been too afraid to do it."

"Whatever you decide, do it for yourself. I don't want to be the cause of anything."

"My mom was so excited at the thought of being a grandma," he admitted. "I thought that I could at least give her that before she dies. Lila's temper … she's so fragile sometimes that—"

"You only want what's best for everyone," I interrupted. "Who knows, maybe Lila feels the same way?"

"Maybe."

I glanced down at our hands. It pained me to break what we had, but I had to be realistic. He was engaged and I was in the midst of a witch hunt. Just because Joy had gotten a second chance at her promotion, that didn't mean the hotel wasn't still in jeopardy. If this town truly would be swarming with media tomorrow than I needed to clear the resort's name once and for all. Otherwise, their reputation could be stained on a national level. The people of Bison Creek would be the ones suffering the consequences of the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort's lost business. People of importance don't vacation in places with poor reputations.

"Good luck, Patrick." I broke our grip and reached out to shake his hand, showing him we were nothing more than good friends taking life one step at a time.

"Thanks," he replied. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would still figure things out. You have a guardian angel cat named Snowflake, remember?"

"Thanks." He placed his hands in his pockets and glanced at the pathway leading towards the resort. "I'll see you in the morning. You take care of yourself until then."

"Yeah," I responded.

I watched him walk down the street and make the climb up the hill towards the guest parking lot. Ten years ago, letting him go off and marry someone else might have killed me. My chest was heavy like a weight was sitting on it and a tiny tear ran down my cheek. But if Patrick wanted to be more than friends, he needed to choose me. I wasn't about to become the girl who sabotaged the famous Lila Clemton.

When Patrick's figure disappeared into the snow, I looked at the front door of the Grizzly. It beckoned me to come in and have a drink. After the night I'd had, I was seriously considering it. I touched the door and pushed it open, realizing that I had another excuse to stay and have a chat with some the bar's regulars. The rumor had it that John Slagger was here last night.

The Grizzly looked as it normally did. It was set up to look like an old saloon for the tourists, but not many tourists came here. The bar hadn't changed much since it opened back in the early 1900's. The actual bar area consisted of a long, wooden counter in front of a framed mirror. Antique bottles were displayed along a shelf hanging in front of the mirror and the bottle's reflections made it look as if there were far more bottles than there actually were. There were wooden tables matching the color of the bar set up tightly around the room. All of them were for two to four people. An arched doorway was in the corner with stairs leading down to the cellar and a couple of private rooms. Joy and I had this theory in high school that a secret cult held meetings down there during full moons.

"Look who it is." A man tapped his shot glass on the counter and laughed a wheezy laugh when I approached the bar. He was in here every night, and if he missed it was because he had a deadline to meet at work. Booney was a columnist for the BC Gazette. The whole operation was run by him and about two other people. I was amazed at his ability to find interesting things to write about in such a small town. My favorite piece of his was the article he wrote on my high school principal's haunted shed. It had half the kids in town sneaking around her place at night to see if it was true. Judging by the way I'd seen Booney cower when she was around I suspected she once rejected him, and he wrote the article as payback. No single, middle-aged woman with men like Booney as dating prospects wanted teenagers trying to hold séances in her backyard.

"Hey, Booney," I greeted him. "How are you?" I took a seat next to him and Stella Binsby, the woman who ran the corner market. Stella had a glass of red wine and Booney was already half way through his craft beer.

"I haven't seen you in here for years," he stated. Booney usually smelled strongly of aftershave and spearmint. He used an excessive amount of it to hide the scent of his smoking and drinking habits.

"Well, I was training for a marathon, and then—"

"Always excuses," he butted in, his speech was already begi

"Actually I'm not here to stay," I replied. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about last night."

"Last night?" he repeated, confused. "What happened last night?"

"A man came in here with Ada." I ignored his question. "Did you see him?"

"Oh yes," he responded right away. He glanced at Stella and chuckled. Stella returned his look and let out a small laugh of her own. Her frizzy hair had streaks of gray in it that was the same color as the stubble on Booney's chin. "He was here."

"For how long?"

"His date didn't last too long," he answered. "He's not exactly a smooth talker with the ladies."

"Like you're such an expert," Stella joked. "He asked just as many questions as you." Stella nodded at me. "You should have seen it, Essie. He gave Booney here a run for his money."

"Is that a fact?" I responded.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say that he was a fellow journalist," he muttered.

"He is a journalist," Stella confirmed. "Probably doing a story on that wedding at the resort tomorrow."

"You all know about that too?" I asked.

"Of course we do," she continued. "It's happening on our front doorstep."

"Did John tell you that's why he is here?" I asked Stella. She wrinkled her nose.

"That's what his name was. I was trying to remember it." She took a tiny sip of her wine. "No, but he didn't have to. He asked Booney a bunch of questions about Patrick and the Jaye's."

"What did you tell him?" I turned back to Booney who was passing his empty beer bottle to the bartender.

"Just the usual," he chuckled. "All about Patrick's rise to fame and how all the little fellas in town want to be pro boarders just like him." The bartender, one of the Collins' boys who was on his semester break from college, raised his eyebrows as he passed Booney another. "He wrote it all down."

"And you didn't think to ask why?" I exhaled, frustrated.

"He did it secretly." Booney sensed my disappointment and gave me a light slap on the shoulder. "These young’uns think they have the world figured out. I may be old, but I still know a reporter when I see one typing his notes into his phone like he was checking missed calls. I knew what he was doing the whole time!" He chuckled again and his laugh quickly grew louder and louder. He held up his beer to Stella with a mischievous smirk on his face.