Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) by Angela Pepper Page A
Authors: Angela Pepper
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around the moon, hadn’t transpired after all. Rain was a possibility, if the weather shifted a few degrees warmer.
We passed a number of signs warning about mudslide hazards. The first part of the route took us over well-maintained roads. We transitioned onto narrower and rougher roads until we turned onto the last stretch, which was little more than a goat trail.
My car had all-season tires and good below-car clearance, but the trio riding in the lime green Volkswagen Beetle weren’t as lucky. They fell behind and waved for us to pass them while negotiating bumpy sections warped by frost heaves.
I worried about them getting stranded, so we kept stopping to wait for them to catch up. I had a bad feeling there would be six of us crammed into my car by the time we reached the resort, but the Beetle managed to keep up. The three of us would cheer when we saw the round green car crest a rise behind us.
At long last, we came upon our destination. The resort jutted from the side of the mountain like a gargoyle. Rather than being made of the rustic logs I’d been expecting, the Flying Squirrel Lodge was all stone and glass, and more than a little intimidating.
“Swanky,” I said. “But nothing like its name.”
Jessica chimed in, “Nothing like a squirrel, flying or otherwise.”
Christopher said, “Use your imagination. See how she sits, sunk into her haunches, as though she’s about to push off and leap through the valley to that other mountain over yonder?”
“You’re right!” Jessica exclaimed.
I shook my head. Christopher was a master salesman, but I’d built up some immunity. There was no way that glass and stone box resembled a squirrel.
The snowy parking lot didn’t have any parking spaces delineated, so I pulled up alongside a construction trailer. I clicked the button to pop the trunk, and we all stepped out to stretch our legs.
The drive had taken longer than expected—a full three and a half hours—but now we’d arrived at the top of the world. The lodge wasn’t on the very tip of the mountain, but we were still up high enough to look over a good chunk of eastern Oregon.
There are over fifty named mountain ranges in Oregon, and countless named peaks. We stood on Flying Squirrel peak, which wasn’t even in the state’s top hundred for height, but still impressive enough to make the three of us stand in silent awe, taking in the view.
I said to Christopher, “Your cousin Butch has outdone himself. I hope the Fairchilds are proud.”
“If they get too proud, the family will need a new black sheep.”
“You’ll be the black sheep when they hear you’ve been hanging out with the likes of us.”
I stretched, touched my toes, then glanced around for Jessica. She was kneeling and petting a cat who looked an awful lot like Jeffrey. And by an awful lot , I mean exactly like him, from the tip of his nose and shiny dark lips, to the swish of his tail. The cat walked over to me and bunted his head against my shin.
“Aren’t you sweet?” I smiled down. “You could be Jeffrey’s twin.”
The cat bunted my shin again, then got so excited about rubbing my leg, he fell on his side, draping over my boot.
The Russian Blue cat was even more appreciative than my little guy had been a week earlier, when he’d gotten himself shut inside the bathroom cabinet for a whole afternoon and had to meow for me to rescue him.
In fact…
I whipped my head around. The trunk of my car was open, and the Blue Enchantment shopping bag I’d used for extra sweaters lay on its side, my packed clothes rumpled in a makeshift nest.
I stuck my hand in the shopping bag. Just as I suspected, the nest of sweaters was warm.
Jeffrey continued to lavish my shins with affection, feeling oh-so-grateful to be out of the trunk after a long, bumpy ride.
“You naughty stowaway,” I said.
Chapter 8
With Mr. Jeffrey “Stowaway” Blue in my arms, we walked into the glamorous mountain resort.
The lobby pulsed with
We passed a number of signs warning about mudslide hazards. The first part of the route took us over well-maintained roads. We transitioned onto narrower and rougher roads until we turned onto the last stretch, which was little more than a goat trail.
My car had all-season tires and good below-car clearance, but the trio riding in the lime green Volkswagen Beetle weren’t as lucky. They fell behind and waved for us to pass them while negotiating bumpy sections warped by frost heaves.
I worried about them getting stranded, so we kept stopping to wait for them to catch up. I had a bad feeling there would be six of us crammed into my car by the time we reached the resort, but the Beetle managed to keep up. The three of us would cheer when we saw the round green car crest a rise behind us.
At long last, we came upon our destination. The resort jutted from the side of the mountain like a gargoyle. Rather than being made of the rustic logs I’d been expecting, the Flying Squirrel Lodge was all stone and glass, and more than a little intimidating.
“Swanky,” I said. “But nothing like its name.”
Jessica chimed in, “Nothing like a squirrel, flying or otherwise.”
Christopher said, “Use your imagination. See how she sits, sunk into her haunches, as though she’s about to push off and leap through the valley to that other mountain over yonder?”
“You’re right!” Jessica exclaimed.
I shook my head. Christopher was a master salesman, but I’d built up some immunity. There was no way that glass and stone box resembled a squirrel.
The snowy parking lot didn’t have any parking spaces delineated, so I pulled up alongside a construction trailer. I clicked the button to pop the trunk, and we all stepped out to stretch our legs.
The drive had taken longer than expected—a full three and a half hours—but now we’d arrived at the top of the world. The lodge wasn’t on the very tip of the mountain, but we were still up high enough to look over a good chunk of eastern Oregon.
There are over fifty named mountain ranges in Oregon, and countless named peaks. We stood on Flying Squirrel peak, which wasn’t even in the state’s top hundred for height, but still impressive enough to make the three of us stand in silent awe, taking in the view.
I said to Christopher, “Your cousin Butch has outdone himself. I hope the Fairchilds are proud.”
“If they get too proud, the family will need a new black sheep.”
“You’ll be the black sheep when they hear you’ve been hanging out with the likes of us.”
I stretched, touched my toes, then glanced around for Jessica. She was kneeling and petting a cat who looked an awful lot like Jeffrey. And by an awful lot , I mean exactly like him, from the tip of his nose and shiny dark lips, to the swish of his tail. The cat walked over to me and bunted his head against my shin.
“Aren’t you sweet?” I smiled down. “You could be Jeffrey’s twin.”
The cat bunted my shin again, then got so excited about rubbing my leg, he fell on his side, draping over my boot.
The Russian Blue cat was even more appreciative than my little guy had been a week earlier, when he’d gotten himself shut inside the bathroom cabinet for a whole afternoon and had to meow for me to rescue him.
In fact…
I whipped my head around. The trunk of my car was open, and the Blue Enchantment shopping bag I’d used for extra sweaters lay on its side, my packed clothes rumpled in a makeshift nest.
I stuck my hand in the shopping bag. Just as I suspected, the nest of sweaters was warm.
Jeffrey continued to lavish my shins with affection, feeling oh-so-grateful to be out of the trunk after a long, bumpy ride.
“You naughty stowaway,” I said.
Chapter 8
With Mr. Jeffrey “Stowaway” Blue in my arms, we walked into the glamorous mountain resort.
The lobby pulsed with
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