Powdered Murder

"Miss…?" The man searched my chest for a name tag. He immediately stopped when his glance lingered too long on the buttons on my shirt.

"Stratter," I said. The man reached out to shake my hand and I hesitantly accepted. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to speak to the happy couple about an exclusive deal with Starstruck Magazine. I know they will be interested in our very lucrative offer. Can you put me in touch with Miss Clemton's assistant or manager, perhaps?"

"Oh I—"

"I realize you have a lot going on here, Ma’am," he interrupted as if he had rehearsed his argument many times in front of the mirror. "I am only asking for a minute of their time, and I promise the deal I am here to negotiate is nothing short of seven figures. Please, let them know that."

"I will," I responded. "Mister...?"

"Oh." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated badge. "Mr. Thomsen. Here is my identification. You can call the magazine and verify my employee number if you like."

I accepted his badge and stared at the name on his identification card. It said C. Thomsen. I re-read his name a few times. It sparked something inside my head I couldn't let go of. I resorted to saying his name out loud to help my thought process along.

"C. Thomsen," I said quietly. The man watched me curiously as I kept repeating his name. "C. Thomsen. C. Thomsen."

"Yes," the man replied. "That is me. Like I said before."

"Are you okay, Essie?" Eli nudged my shoulder and waited for me to respond.

"C. Thomsen," I said again like a broken record.

"Yeah." The man was begi

"Charles," I whispered. "C. Thomsen. Charles Thomsen. C. Darnay. Charles." My eyes went wide. "Charles Darnay. Charles Dickens."

"You'll have to excuse her," Eli said, ignoring me. "She's had a little too much to drink if you know what I mean."

"Shush, Eli," I said. I faced Charles Thomsen (a.k.a. Robert). "You've read A Tale of Two Cities, haven't you? By Charles Dickens?"

"Is this some kind of trick question?" he looked from me to Eli to see if we were pulling some kind of prank.

"There's a character in that book named Charles Darnay," I stated.

"Um … yeah," he agreed. I looked at Eli.

"No clue." Eli shrugged.

"C. Darnay," I said. "Eli, go upstairs and make sure Lila and Bebe stay in their rooms." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number to the sheriff’s office. No answer. "Oh, for the love of…" I dialed the number again.

"Officer Williams," Murray answered.

"Murray," I shouted. "Where’s the sheriff?"

"He's out on patrol this morning," he answered. "Looking for you-know-who."

"Tell him to get to the resort as soon as possible, got it? As soon as possible!"

"What's the matter?" Murray asked. "You sound like you've seen a ghost or something."

"No." I gripped my phone tight and looked from Eli to the man from Starstruck Magazine. The clue was in front of me this whole time and I couldn't piece it together until now. Franco, the Dickens buff, had ordered and picked up the cupcakes using the name C. Darnay, a fictional character from the book he was currently reading. He texted Do

"Then what's going on?" Murray waited eagerly for me to tell him why I was panting, insisting that the sheriff pay the resort a visit immediately.

I didn't know why Franco wanted to kill Do

"I know who the murderer is."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I changed into my bridesmaid’s dress as I waited for Sheriff Williams to show up. I nervously cracked my knuckles while Bebe talked about how she'd decided to get a manicure with almond-shaped nails. The two of us were in Bebe's suite getting ready. Lila was in her room getting her hair done, and probably downing drinks. Franco was still in his room trying to get over a massive hangover from too much complimentary Scotch.

"Essie," Bebe commented. "Are you even listening?"

"Sorry." I switched to the knuckles on my other hand. "Keep going."

"Aren't you going to give yourself a touch up at least?" she suggested holding up a compact of bronzer. I looked in the mirror at my simple makeup and plain, wintery blue bridesmaid’s dress. It was long and meant to be worn with a shawl. The dresses were well made, but they weren't particularly flattering. It made sense. I was sure Lila didn’t want anyone to outshine her on her big day. My stomach churned. I couldn't force myself to pretend everything was normal. There could be a killer sleeping off his hangover on the other side of the hall.

"Sure." I dug through her makeup kit and pulled out some pink lipstick. I checked the label and gri

"Who knows," Bebe giggled. "She said she wanted to steer clear of bubble gum names whatever that means." She looked down at her wrist at the silver cuff she'd chosen to wear. I was almost certain that underneath the cuff was her usual white wristband. The random snapping was an unusual behavior. One that I had never seen before.

"Nice bracelet," I casually commented. "But it covers the other one."

"What other one?"

"The plain white one you always wear," I added.

Bebe didn't respond. Instead, her cheeks turned rosy and she pressed her lips together. She quickly cleared her throat and turned away. I didn't know her choice of accessories would turn out to be a sensitive subject.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"Don't be," she replied. "You're the first person to notice."

"Really?" The snapping was hard to miss. At least, for me it was.

"It's a … coping mechanism." She slid the silver cuff up her forearm, revealing the plain, white wristband. "I snap it whenever I have negative thoughts. Sounds stupid, I know. My psychiatrist recommended it. You know, an alternative to anxiety meds."

"Does everyone in Hollywood see some sort of therapist?"

"They're like a country gal's sweet tea," she laughed, snapping the wristband jokingly.

"I'll have to try that when I'm craving a doughnut."

Bebe giggled.

I touched up my lips and adjusted the top of my dress.

My muscles tightened every time the floor creaked. The sound of the elevator dinging rang through the room. There was a light knock on the door and I jumped to my feet to answer it. I was relieved when Sheriff Williams and Murray stared back at me. Joy stood behind them anxiously tapping her heel.