Chapter 1

Chapter

One

T he interior rooms of Dante Cornelio’s Aspen Hill, Colorado home sparkled in the candlelight. Soft lighting filled the old ballroom where the party was in full force, highlighting the old, polished wood that had been darkened by the years. Even though Cat Latimer’s Victorian down the street had been built at the same time, Dante’s house screamed old money while hers gave more of the working professor vibe. The houses had both been built for the faculty and the deans of Covington College. Covington had been started for the wealthy but vulnerable children of families in Dante’s organization. And when Cat thought about that family, she always translated it into a more generic term.

These children, now students, had grown up in mansions much larger than the college president’s house. The college had continued to be an oasis or bunker for these families—a place where their family's standing didn’t put a price on their heads. Over the years, they’d even accepted a few exchange students from the South American cartels. But generally, the families frown on change.

Yes, Covington College, nestled in the Rocky Mountains of Aspen Hills, Colorado was a private college that catered to the mob. Cat didn’t know how a family got a child into the college, but once here, the student was untouchable. It was a rule. For the most part, the unique aspect of the student body protected not only the students from violence but also the residents of the small mountain town that existed mostly to support the college.

Cat had grown up as a local. She hadn’t even known the college’s secret until after she’d graduated with her master's degree from Covington and then signed a teaching contract. All during her childhood, she’d planned on attending Covington, mostly for the full ride the college offered ‘townies’. When she’d married Michael Latimer, her first husband and a Covington star teacher in Economics, she’d met his best friend, Dante, the host of this party.

Michael had come to Covington on scholarship, like her. But his friendship with Dante had gotten him in with the wrong sort. Not Dante, but his brother. She pushed the memory aside. Looking back never helped anyone.

Especially in Aspen Hills.

Tonight, the ballroom was filled with colleagues from the college. A black-tie event that included a string quartet for the music and waiters carrying trays of champagne and appetizers. Food to try to soak up some of the alcohol that was flowing freely between the champagne and the open bar at the other end of the room. Dante, Cat’s handsome neighbor, strolled toward her, decked out in a tuxedo that probably cost more than Cat’s last car. He was holding a glass of champagne for each of them.

She felt uncomfortable standing here in the dress he’d sent to her house early last week. A gift for agreeing to help host this party. According to Shauna Mary Clodagh, her best friend and partner in her writing retreat, the dress was designer and worth enough to restore the floors on the east wing’s second floor. A project they’d been working on saving money for over a year.

All she had to do was not spill something and ruin the dress before Shauna had a chance to sell it on the secondary market—the things she did for the old Victorian she’d inherited from her then ex-husband, Michael.

“You look like you’re facing a firing squad,” Dante said as he handed her the glass. “Get this one down and you can have mine as well. You need to relax. Have I told you how lovely you look?”

“Yes, and that’s not helping,” she responded as she took his advice on downing the wine. “Who should I go talk to? What questions do I ask if I’m trying to find a thief?”

Dante had asked her to host the party with him because he had just found a leak in the school’s extensive money pot. Someone was taking a hefty additional monthly salary from the donors' fund and all the evidence pointed at Dante as the culprit. But it wasn’t true.

He thought the frame job had been set up by one of the other families trying to get him removed from the leadership position he held with his extensive family business. He wasn’t into many of the traditional money-making methods of the group, which made him a target.

Dante’s warm hand settled lightly on her bare back, causing a chill to run up her spine. The man was hot with a capital H, but they’d never been single at the same time. Not to mention that period where she’d hated him. “Just go mingle. You know a lot of these people from your time working at the college. Where are your writer friends?”

Cat pointed over to the bar where four of the five writers for this month’s retreat were sitting at a table, getting to know each other. The fifth, Debra Jennings, a historical mystery author, was currently on a self-tour of Dante’s house, taking pictures of the wainscoting and antique furniture. “They’re bonding. The other one is casing your house. Don’t worry, she won’t steal anything, but she could use one of your rooms for an upcoming murder in her next mystery.”

He chuckled as he nodded to a couple across the room. “I’m sure it’s not the first murder this house has been linked to. Come this way and let me introduce you to President John Martin and his wife, Maggie. Allen Johnson is also with them. He’s the chair of donor fundraising and is on my watch list. I don’t think the president or his wife could have pulled this off.”

“Why is that,” Cat asked but instead of answering, Dante set her empty glass down and moved her quickly across the floor. Probably before she could change her mind, or the alcohol made her loopy. She wasn’t much of a drinker.

Dante introduced them and Cat found Maggie to be a delight to chat with. They’d separated from the men to talk about the house, the party, and life in the small college town. The men, on the other hand, all had their heads huddled together like they were solving the aging process or maybe homelessness. The thing they weren’t doing was socializing.

Maggie caught her glancing at Dante and the other two men. “Don’t mind them. I’ve always said you can dress up an academic and drag them to a party, but you can’t make them enjoy themselves. It leaves more of the delightful champagne for us. Are you the one who runs that writers group that the English department sponsors?”

Cat nodded. She’d love to tell Maggie all about the fight she had to have annually to keep getting funding, but as the woman had said, this was a party. She’d invite her out for coffee sometime the week after the retreat and they could chat about her funding woes. Having the college president’s wife as an ally might not be a bad thing. She pointed to the table where the writers were still seated. “My next monthly retreat starts on Monday. Those four at that table all flew in today for the party. Tomorrow we’ll get everyone settled at the house and they’ll meet with Covington’s librarian on Monday. The writer groups love using the library for research.”

Maggie frowned, looking at them. “You only host four writers a month? How is that cost-effective?”

“This month we have five writers. Another woman is running around Dante’s house getting pictures for her research. We always have a spot for a Covington student to fill so we’ll have six total. Then, every quarter we add another five slots to the schedule for returning retreaters so those months we have a total of eleven guests. The returning participant slots are filled through next year. I may have to start offering that larger session every other month to keep up with demand.” Cat tried to explain how the retreat was making money. But Maggie was right, they needed to increase their available slots for more students. Cat just hated to give up her writing time. Her main job was writing books, not serving as a host for a retreat. It was either to host more events than once a month or increase the number of students. Cat thought both were bad options.

Running author events and attending galas like this one drained her introverted battery. On the other hand, her partner, Shauna, could entertain for months, probably years without a break. Cat needed downtime. Her personal tarot card would be The Hermit.

“I always wanted to write a book. I was an English major and had planned on going back to get my master's of fine arts degree once we got settled. Then I got pregnant and you probably know the rest of that story. Our youngest finally graduated and got a job in Denver last month. Now I’m an empty nester with nothing to do.” Maggie studied the group of writers. “I’d love to be sitting at that table rather than out here, making the small talk rounds.”

Cat wanted to high-five the woman with a loud, ‘Me too, sister’. But she thought it might scare the president’s wife away. Her next words surprised her, but they were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Why don’t you come to a retreat? If you don’t want to stay at the house, we could give you a discount. Or you could take the Covington slot?”

“I’ll pay the full rate. I don’t want to take a slot from a deserving student,” Maggie said, peering at the writers at the table. “I could come tomorrow and join in. I’ll pack up in the morning and be there by noon. If that works?”

Cat blinked. The alcohol must have gotten to her. Shauna was going to murder her. Cat had meant a future retreat, but she could see where she’d made her mistake. Instead of correcting her error, Cat took a breath and said, “Of course, we’d love to have you join in. This group is mostly mystery and thriller writers if that makes a difference. I could slot you into a different genre-specific group at a later time if you’d rather wait.”

“Terrific, mystery is what I love. I’ve started a cozy mystery, but I can’t seem to get past chapter four. Is that common with new writers?” Maggie asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, she nodded to the group. “Do you think they’d mind if I joined them? This is so exciting.”

“I’m sure it would be fine,” Cat started but quickly realized Maggie was already walking over to the group.

Dante moved behind her and touched her shoulder to get her attention. He’d seen Maggie walking away. “What’s going on?”

“This was not my fault,” Cat tried to explain. “You need to tell Shauna that when she asks. Anyway, Mrs. Martin, Maggie, is an aspiring writer and has decided to attend my writer retreat.”

“Don’t you have a waiting list?” Dante asked as the other two men joined them.

“Not if the president’s wife wants a slot, I don’t. Shauna’s going to kill me,” she whispered then turned toward the others. “What were you guys gabbing about? Global warming?”

Allen Johnson had joined their group and smiled at her as he answered her question. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about. Just an issue with a whale donor. Those guys think they should be treated like royalty. I have to always explain that they’re contributing to the education of our young people.”

“Sometimes people would rather know their money is getting their name on a building,” Dante said as he grabbed another two glasses of the champagne being passed and handed one to Cat.

She wondered if he wanted her to be quiet. It wasn’t working. The alcohol was loosening her tongue, not helping her think before speaking. The good thing was she only had to walk a block to get home. No need for a taxi or a car. “As long as deserving kids get their degrees, I don’t care if we name the streets of Aspen Hills after the whale donors.”

President Martin had also joined the group and he reached out and clinked her glass. “I like this one, Dante. She’s a keeper.”

As she and Dante walked away to greet the next group, Dante apologized. “Sorry about Martin implying we were together.”

“You and I know what’s real, so it doesn’t matter,” she hoped what she was saying was true.

“I hope Seth doesn’t deck me after all this is over,” Dante chuckled as they stopped at the next group of partygoers. He introduced Cat to more department heads and their respective spouses. Most of the spouses worked or taught in other departments. Everyone who worked at Covington seemed to be a Nepo Baby or Nepo Spouse, to be more exact.

The night was beginning to wind down. Maggie and the other writers were still over by the bar, talking and drinking. Cat noticed Debra Jennings hadn’t come back from exploring the house yet. She might have to send out a search party soon.

Or maybe she should try to find her now. Cat set down her glass and studied the room. She didn’t need to lose a writer this early in the retreat. Debra might have fallen asleep somewhere or had gone back to the house. She went over to the table, breaking in on a conversation about Hemmingway. “Has anyone seen Debra?”

One of the writers, she thought his name was Jon Booth, peered at her. Then he pointed at Maggie. “I thought you were the other one in our group?”

“Maggie is a late addition, but Debra came over with us from the house,” Cat tried to explain.

“Don’t mind him, he’s on Eastern time and has had one too many,” Nan Berry poked Jon in the side. Nan was in her fifties and a little older than the others. But she and Maggie seemed to have a lot in common. “Debra is tall and blond and too pretty to be an author, but there you go. I haven’t seen her since we got here. I thought maybe she left early and went back to the house.”

Cat was starting to get concerned but she didn’t want the group to know. “Well, I’ll make sure she’s there. I’ll be heading back to the house in about thirty minutes if anyone wants to walk with me. Otherwise, you have your keys to the front door.”

“I’m about ready to go anyway,” Nan glanced around the table and the group grudgingly nodded. “Maggie, will we see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early. Well, maybe not too early,” Maggie laughed as she finished her drink. She started saying goodbye to the writers, one by one.

Cat had just finished a text to Shauna asking about Debra when she found herself wrapped in Maggie’s arms.

“I’m so excited about this. Thank you for letting me attend.” Maggie squeezed Cat and added a little jump to the hug.

“No problem.” The woman was excited. Cat hoped she stayed that way. A high-level supporter at the college just might help during the contracting with the English Department.

Maggie let her go and then went to find her husband. Cat’s phone buzzed with Shauna’s response. Debra was not at the house. Cat went over and stood by Dante who was saying goodbye to a couple she’d met earlier.

The woman grabbed Cat’s hands. “We really must get together soon. I’ll call you for coffee.”

“That would be lovely,” Cat smiled wishing she remembered the woman’s name.

“Then it’s a date. And no, you two gorgeous men can’t come along. Us girls need time alone to talk about you.” The woman kissed Cat on the cheek, then squeezed Dante’s forearm. “You’re such a lucky woman to have caught this one.”

As they left, Dante turned. “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it. At least our plan is working. But I have a problem. I’ve lost a writer.” Cat frowned as she looked around the rapidly emptying room.

Dante glanced around the room and saw the four writers still gathered around the table. “The woman you promised wasn’t stealing the silver?”

“Yeah, her. Tall, blonde, her name is Debra. She’s pretty.” Cat tried to remember what she’d been wearing. “I think she was in a silver dress?”

“I’ll ask the staff, they’ve been all over, trying to keep people from using the bedrooms. You would think this was still a frat house the way our guests have been acting,” Dante headed over to a man who was standing in the hall.

Cat watched as after Dante explained the situation, the man touched his ear and spoke into his lapel. The search was on.

It only took a few minutes before Cat heard a woman screaming. She looked at Dante.

“It sounds like it came from the solarium,” he took her arm and led her down the hall to the room. They stepped inside the glass-walled room filled with plants.

Cat saw Debra standing near a banana tree. She was staring at two legs that were below her on the cobblestone walkway. A man in a tuxedo pants and black shoes with new soles was lying on the ground.