The Case Of The Cupid Caper

Chapter 6

The town council was made up of six council members, four men and two women, plus Mayor Frank White. Mayor White didn’t vote unless there was a tie, and then he provided the tie-breaking vote, which in my mind, gave him a lot more power than I would like to see. Of course, I was new to town, and he had been elected, so there seemed to be reason to believe he was a better person and better mayor that I’d observed so far.

As for the council as a whole, since I’d been back, I’d noticed a lot of infighting, which, as far as I could tell, was getting them nowhere fast. The current hot topic was a philosophical one having to do with growth. There were residents and members of the council who felt that it was important to maintain the small-town culture of Foxtail Lake, while other residents, as well as certain council members, wanted to see growth and prosperity and had been campaigning hard to court large resort chains to build in the area.

Personally, I thought Colorado already had plenty of upscale communities like Vail and Aspen, and while I did understand that it was getting harder and harder to make a living in tiny Foxtail Lake, I hated to see the mom and pop shops and family feel of the place replaced by five-star restaurants and high-end shopping. I also hated the idea that our local inns and B&B’s might go by the wayside should large hotel chains get their feet in the door.

But my job today wasn’t to offer an opinion. My job today was to report the events of the meeting as they unfolded. Being an impartial observer wasn’t easy for me, but I knew if I wanted to make it as a journalist, impartial was what I was going to learn to be.

The entire two-hour meeting seemed to consist of one hotly debated topic followed by another. By the time the meeting was over, I felt like I’d been through the ringer and I’d only been observing the exchange. I didn’t see how these folks did this on a regular basis. It was obvious that the council members were a passionate group who cared deeply one way or the other about the issues they came together to discuss. I really wasn’t sure how this particular debate was going to play out, but I suspected a resolution wasn’t going to be evident anytime soon.

After the meeting adjourned, I approached a couple of the council members I knew better than some of the others, hoping for a quote or two to add to my story. While I was speaking with our mayor, Frank White, he said something shocking.

“Guess you must be the new reporter I’ve heard about.”

“Yes, sir. Callie Collins. We’ve actually met once. Deputy Wylander introduced us a while back.”

“Yes. I see. I can’t rightly remember the conversation we had, but I would like to take this opportunity to offer you a word of caution.”

“Caution?”

“As a reporter, it’s your job to report the truth and only the truth. I know there has been talk around town that Dale Conover was murdered and that the fire at his home was intentionally set, but I can assure you that those rumors are far from the truth and shouldn’t be reported.”

“But the man appears to have been shot, and the fire appears to have been the result of a small explosion,” I argued. “That sounds like murder to me.”

“The reality is that the remains were burnt to the point where it was pretty much impossible to say anything conclusively,” White reminded me. “What the coroner actually said is that he found skeletal evidence consistent with the idea that Dale Conover might have suffered from a gunshot wound at some point. He doesn’t know whether or not the man had been shot just before the fire. For all we know, the fire was started by something like an electrical short, and the man simply died due to a terrible accident.”

“But...”

“There is no but about it, young lady. The facts are unclear in this case, and I won’t have that newspaper of yours printing speculation that is sure to bring a sense of panic to the town. Haven’t we already had more than our share of tragedy to deal with in the past six months?”

“Well, yes, I guess the town has suffered from an abnormally high murder rate lately. But just because it’s inconvenient for Dale Conover to have been murdered, doesn’t mean he wasn’t.”

“Like I said, everything you think you know is based on nothing more than speculation. I suggest that you remember that when you write your story.”

This guy was a real piece of work. I understood that he wouldn’t want to cause panic amongst the town folk for no reason, but since I’d known him, he’d demonstrated a consistent willingness to ignore evidence that would point toward murder, even when that outcome seemed likely. “Actually, I’m not writing the piece about the fire. Brock Green is.”

He frowned. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I really need to go. I have an appointment to get to. It was nice chatting with you.” Or not, I thought to myself. Of course, as much as the guy annoyed me, I did wonder if he was right. Cass said that it looked as if Dale had been shot and had probably died as a result of the gunshot wound to the chest and not as a result of the fire, but I also remembered the gunshot wound was based on a bone fragment, which in my mind, made the whole scenario far from conclusive.

When I last spoke to Cass, he’d shared that he was going to look into it further, but I wasn’t sure if he’d had the time to do so. I wasn’t writing that particular story, so while I didn’t need to gain clarity concerning the cause of death, I really wanted to call Cass and ask him about Mayor White’s assertions. The thing was, I had an interview to get to, which seemed to be time-sensitive, so I supposed it could wait until I saw him later in the day.

I headed toward my car and then headed toward the area referred to by many as the downtown area of Foxtail Lake. The downtown area was about four square blocks, but it was the general geographic location where many of the local businesses were housed. My first interview of the two I’d set up for today was with a woman named Constance Long. She was a recent match who’d apparently found true love with a man named Steve Winston. I didn’t know either Constance or Steve, but I had spoken to both briefly on the phone. Constance expressed a willingness to speak to me, but Steve told me to get lost. At first, I was irritated by his rude reply and abrasive attitude, but then I realized that an interview with half the couple was better than no interview at all.

Constance was a hairdresser who owned her own salon, so I arranged to meet her between clients. She was booked fairly solid, but she had found a twenty-minute break this afternoon and informed me that if I could work with that twenty minutes, she’d take the time to speak to me. It seemed tight, but twenty minutes was better than nothing, so I agreed.

“Constance?” I asked the redheaded woman who was standing at the cash register, chatting with a blond with streaks of blue in her hair.

“Yes, I’m Constance. You must be Callie.” The redheaded woman turned toward the blond. “This is Kim. She is a client of mine who was also matched by Ms. Cupid. She came in for a blowout, and I asked her to stay. I figured you might want to speak to both of us as long as you are here.”

I frowned. “Kim? I don’t think your name has come up to this point.”

“It probably hasn’t come up because, unlike most of the matches, mine was a bust. Constance thought you should have both sides of the story, so I agreed to stay and meet you.”

“I appreciate that.” I glanced at Constance. “And thank you for asking Kim to stay.” I looked around the salon. “Do you want to talk here or would you prefer to move to another location where we can sit down?”

“Here is fine,” Constance said. “I need to listen for the phone, and since our conversation is going to brief, there is no reason to get too comfortable.”

“Okay, then.” I took out my notepad and set it down on the counter. I supposed I could just use it to write on if we were going to stand. I would think Constance, who probably spent most of the day on her feet, would want to sit down, but whatever. I glanced at Kim. “Since we haven’t spoken, I’d like to start by getting your full name, the full name of the man you were matched with, and the reason you felt the match was a dud.”

She twirled one of her blue streaks with the index finger of her left hand. “My name is Kim Cromwell. I prefer not to mention the name of the man I was matched with since I don’t have his permission to do so. The guy was a really nice guy with a great sense of humor and a fantastic job. I can see why Ms. Cupid thought he’d be a good match, but the truth is, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. We had a lot of fun, but after the first date with my one true love, I could see that he had marriage and kids on his mind. I’m only thirty-two. Much too young to settle down.”

“I see.” I paused and then continued. “Had you been ready to settle down, do you feel the man you were matched with would have been a good fit?”

She nodded. “Totally. He’s handsome and athletic. He loves to travel and had a lot of stories to tell. In many ways, he would have been the perfect life mate if I’d been looking for something like that, which I’m not.”

“So if you weren’t looking for happily ever after, why did you sign up with Ms. Cupid, who is known for making matches of the forever kind?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was curious about who Ms. Cupid would come up with. I’ve done other dating sites in the past. I recently did this one program with apps that allowed you to track the movements of the men you’d indicated that you were interested in. At first, it was fun to see where these men went during the day, but then someone pointed out that I’d basically become a stalker, so I quit the service. I’ve joined other dating sites that rely less on technology, but most of the guys were losers. Ms. Cupid has a reputation for weeding out the losers, which appealed to me, so I decided to answer the questions and see what happened. Looking back, I guess I should have thought it through before I agreed to go on a date with a guy who really is perfect for me.”

“Seems to me instead of dumping Mr. Right, you might want to reexamine your attitude about settling down,” Constance said.

Kim crossed her arms across her chest. “Just because you seem to be ready for babies and stretch marks doesn’t mean we all are.”

I turned to Constance. “So tell me about your first date with Steve Winston.”

Her face softened. “It was magical and absolutely perfect. I love fishing, which you may not guess by looking at me, but I do. My first date with Steve was a fishing date on Foxtail Lake, followed by a romantic picnic with some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. It was a gorgeous fall day, and the mountainside was rich with color. I really did feel like I was in some sort of Hallmark movie.” She took a breath and then continued. “We spent the day fishing, eating, and getting to know each other. We laughed and talked and shared our dreams for the future, and by the end of the date, I knew I’d just met the man I would marry.” Constance looked at Kim. “No, I wasn’t sure I was ready for that level of commitment before meeting Steve. Like Kim, I suppose I was curious and willing to give it a try and see how things worked out, but unlike Kim, I have no intention of throwing back the perfect guy just because my timeline had been moved up a bit.”

Kim shot Constance a look of annoyance. I suspected that Constance arranged for Kim to be here for our interview, hoping that hearing us talk about Ms. Cupid’s perfect matches would somehow demonstrate to Kim how ridiculous it was to walk away from love rather than adapting her timeline. I suspected that Constance expected me to back her up, but the truth of the matter was that I wasn’t certain Kim was wrong about sticking to a timeline she felt was right for her.

“I don’t suppose either of you has any idea as to who Ms. Cupid actually is?” I asked.

“It has to be someone I know,” Constance said. “The questions asked when I filled out the application were ridiculous. There is no way that the answers to those questions would lead Ms. Cupid to match me with Steve unless she already knew both of us. The date was tailor-made. The food provided by Ms. Cupid in our picnic basket included all our favorites. Nowhere on the application did it ask what my favorite dessert was.”

“And what is your favorite dessert?”

“Cheesecake. Not the fancy kind with caramel topping or chocolate swirls, but plain cheesecake.”

“So knowing that Ms. Cupid has to be someone known to you, do you have any guesses as to who it might be?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I guess. But I’m not telling. The whole anonymity thing adds a romantic element that would be lost if everyone knew who was making the matches.”

I supposed that Constance had a point. The fact that Ms. Cupid really could be anyone did lend a certain mystique to the experience.

The three of us spoke a bit longer, and then I headed toward my interview with a couple who’d been matched just a month ago. As far as I could tell, they were Ms. Cupid’s most recent match. Like the others I’d spoken to, they’d filled out the application and then waited for over a month before being contacted. When they received a reply, they were told that a date had been arranged for a movie and dinner. A movie and dinner seemed to me to be a vanilla sort of date until I found out that the movie was a black and white film from the forties that was being shown as part of a movie festival, and both matched applicants were classic movie fans.

After hearing all the details, it really did sound like the perfect date. I had to wonder how it was that Ms. Cupid had enough information to arrange all these perfect dates. Constance said she was certain the person doing the matching knew her well. Did Ms. Cupid know all these individuals well? Based on what I’d learned so far, if you were lucky enough to go on a Ms. Cupid date, by the end of that date, you were good and hooked up. It seemed to me that there had to be some sort of dating magic at play.