Snow Place to Die : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

there’d been fingerprints, more were to come. People, even

corporate executives, tended to congregate in the kitchen.

The crime scene was bound to be disturbed. This was a

working kitchen, and Judith had mouths to feed.

“…So much competition in the industry these days,” she

overheard Renie say to Ava. “Which reminds me, what’s

going on with the Alien Tel lawsuit? I did a project for them

last October, and I heard their suits were going up against

your suits in court.”

Ava shook her head, a despairing gesture that sent her

long, dark hair rippling around her shoulders. “I’m keeping

my mouth shut on that one. But you’re right. It’s a matter

of record. The case comes up in superior court next month.”

“It sounded kind of cut-and-dried,” Renie remarked,

96 / Mary Daheim

loading dirty cocktail glasses into the dishwasher. “Alien Tel

likes to call itself ‘An Out of This World Telecommunications

Company,’ but they got caught poaching off of some of

OTIOSE’s microwave towers. Maybe they should have

launched a space satellite instead.”

“They’re small, they’re new, they thought they could get

away with it.” Ava shrugged.

“I heard from one of their p.r. types,” Renie continued,

unwilling to let the topic rest, “that Alien Tel agreed to pay

for usage along with any fines or penalties. But OTIOSE

wants to make a public example of Alien Tel.”

“That’s possible.” Ava had turned her back on Renie and

was putting a couple of empty liquor bottles into the recycling

bin.

“I never heard of Alien Tel,” Judith said, feeling left out of

the conversation. “Are they located around here?”

“Their customer base is mostly east of the mountains,”

Renie replied. “That’s where they butted heads with OTIOSE.

As I recall, one of the towers was up here near the summit.”

Ava didn’t respond directly. “I think we’ve got everything

cleared away,” she said, dusting off her hands. “I’ll make one

last check of the lobby, then I’m heading for bed. Good

night.”

The cousins watched her leave. “Touchy, touchy,” murmured Renie.

“I didn’t think so,” Judith said. “You can’t blame her for

not tattling about a big lawsuit.”

Renie opened the refrigerator door and took out two carrot

sticks and a radish. “It’s no secret, coz. It’s been in the paper.

You know, the business section, which you only use to line

the bird cage. Except you don’t have a bird cage because you

don’t have a bird.”

“I think I call it my mother’s apartment,” Judith remarked

absently.

“Anyway, the whole thing should have been settled out of

court months ago,” Renie went on, popping the radish

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in her mouth. “But OTIOSE refused to deal. The Alien folks

told me it was a personal vendetta.”

Judith, who hadn’t been terribly interested in the court

case, now focused her full attention on Renie. “You mean

Frank Killegrew?”

Renie shook her head. “I mean Gene Jarman. His ex-wife,

Sabine Bristow-Jarman, is the attorney for Alien Tel. He’s

out to get her, and damn the expense. Gene’s not really a

trial attorney, but he’s had some experience and intends to

try the case himself.”

“Killegrew must support the suit,” Judith said, taking one

last look around the kitchen.

“Publicly, yes,” Renie replied, following Judith through the

laundry room to the back stairs. “Now I want to know why

Ava wouldn’t talk.”

“Are you referring to motive?” Judith asked over her

shoulder.

“There’s got to be one, right?” Renie said as they ascended

the stairs. “You got any better ideas?”

Judith made a frustrated gesture with her hands. “That’s

where I feel at a loss. I don’t know these people, and I certainly don’t know anything about the business world.”

The cousins stopped talking as they proceeded down the

hall. It seemed to Judith that an unnatural calm had settled

over the lodge. Not only had the wind died down, but there

were no noises coming from any of the guest rooms. Yet Judith had a feeling that behind the closed doors, none of the

guests were sleeping soundly.

“You forgot your snack,” Renie said after they got to their

own room.

“I lost my appetite,” Judith admitted. “Finding a dead body

on the kitchen counter will do that.”

Judith and Renie decided to sleep in the bathrobes

provided by the lodge. They rinsed out their underwear, then

realized that the garments probably wouldn’t dry in the chilly

room. Renie suggested that they take their things down to

the laundry room and put them in the dryer; Judith

98 / Mary Daheim

told her she wasn’t going back downstairs for a million

bucks.

“There’s no telling what—or who—we’d find this time,”

she said, piling kindling and logs into the fireplace. “Let’s

hang the stuff next to the hearth and hope for the best.”

“I’m game,” said Renie, flopping down on one of the twin

beds and lighting a cigarette. “Gamy, too, if we have to stay

here very long.”

“We can wear the robes and do another load of laundry

tomorrow,” Judith said, wishing Renie hadn’t decided to

smoke just before they retired for the night. “But we only do

it when other people are around.”

“Good thinking.” Renie, who had unearthed a glass ashtray

bearing the imprint of the old Milwaukee Road railway

company, tapped her cigarette. “Bad thinking,” she added.

“About what?” Judith had slipped under the covers and

already had her eyes closed. “I really wish you wouldn’t

smoke in bed.”

“Motive. If Gene’s on the spot, he should have been one

of the victims,” Renie reasoned. “Why kill a lowly staff assistant like Barry?”

“You are watching that cigarette, aren’t you?” Judith

opened one eye.

“Leon Mooney I could understand,” Renie continued. “He

controls the budget. If he went to Gene—or Frank Killegrew—and said ‘The window is closed on wasteful litigation’, then Gene might want him out of the way. But that

would only be a temporary stop-gap. Someone would be

promoted almost immediately, and the funds would still be

cut off.”

“Once when Dan was smoking in bed, he melted his DingDong.” Judith rolled over, her back to Renie.

“Promotions!” Renie exclaimed. “Who’ll get Leon’s job?

Nobody here. It’ll be some assistant vice president from

treasury or accounting.”

“Coz…” Judith’s voice was pleading. “Will you shut

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up, put your cigarette out, and turn off the damned light?”

“Okay, okay,” Renie sighed. “It’s not like you to avoid a

guessing game involving murder.”

“It is at one o’clock in the morning when I’m exhausted.

Good night.”

Renie not only put her cigarette out, she threw it into the

grate, checked the lingerie hanging from the fireplace tools,

took one last look at the falling snow, and clicked off the

bedside lamp.

“Good night,” she said to Judith.

Judith was already asleep.

Seven A.M. came far too early. Neither Judith nor Renie

felt fully rested. Indeed, the vigor Renie had shown the previous night had degenerated into grouchiness.

“Don’t talk to me, and you’ll be okay,” she snarled when

Judith came out of the bathroom.

Judith opened her mouth to express agreement, saw the

black look on Renie’s face, and clamped her lips shut. The

cousins dressed in silence, though Judith had to fight down

an urge to complain when Renie lighted her first cigarette of

the day.

The sun was almost up, but it was hidden behind heavy

gray clouds. The snow was still falling, though not as heavily,

and the wind had died down. That was not necessarily good

news as far as Judith was concerned. If the wind changed,

perhaps coming in from the west, the snow clouds might

blow away.

It was Renie who finally spoke, just as they were about to

go downstairs. “Don’t forget to give Frank or Nadia those

items that belong to Barry,” she said.

“Right.” Judith opened her big shoulder bag while Renie

unlocked the door and stepped into the corridor.

“Well?” said Renie, fists on hips. “Let’s hit it.”

Judith turned a hapless face to her cousin. “They’re gone.”

“What’s gone?” Renie had virtually shouted. She gave

100 / Mary Daheim

a quick look down the hall, then lowered her voice. “What

are you talking about? Barry’s ID?”

“All of it,” Judith whispered. “Credit cards, notebook, the

whole bit.”

“Jeez.” Renie reeled around the corridor, then shoved Judith

back up against the door. “Did you lock up when we left last

night to go downstairs?” she asked under her breath.

“No. Did you?”

“No.” Renie grimaced. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Who knew I had the stuff in my purse?”

Renie appeared to concentrate. “Everybody. You mentioned it in the lobby while Gene Jarman was questioning

you.”

“So I did.” Judith slumped against the door. “What’s the

point?”

Renie grabbed her by the arm. “Who knows? But we can’t

stand out in the hall and talk about it. Let’s go.”

The kitchen looked exactly as they had left it the previous

night. Judith had planned a simple self-serve breakfast of

cereal, toast, fruit, juice, and coffee. But there were eggs in

the refrigerator and bacon in the freezer. She decided she

might as well improvise.

“It had to be the notebook,” Judith said, filling the big

coffee urn. “The rest was all the usual plastic.”

“But there was nothing in the notebook,” Renie noted,

apparently jolted out of her early morning mood by the theft.

“The pages had been ruined.”

“Whoever took it didn’t know that,” Judith said, measuring

coffee into the urn’s big metal basket. “I don’t think I mentioned how the damp had ruined the notebook.”

“You didn’t.” Renie put two pounds of bacon into the

microwave and hit the defroster button.

Judith carried the urn into the dining room. “Tell me

everything you know about these people,” she said when she

got back to the kitchen.

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“You didn’t want to hear it last night,” Renie said in a

contrary tone.

“That’s because my brain had died of exhaustion. Give,

coz.”

Renie removed the bacon from the microwave and began

laying strips in a big skillet. “I don’t know that much. You’ve

already heard about Frank Killegrew—he was a former Bell

System vice president who decided to start up his own

company. While he claims to be from Billings, Montana, he

was actually born and raised in some itty-bitty town about

thirty miles away. His background was hard-scrabble, a fact

he likes to hide. To his credit, Frank went to college, in Butte,

I think, then straight to the phone company after he graduated with an engineering degree. His rise wasn’t exactly

meteoric, but it was steady. He and his wife—I think her

name is Patrice—have two grown children. Patrice is a typical

corporate wife—pampered and spoiled. More so than most,

because I think her family had money. Frank golfs, skis, and

has a big cruiser. They live in one of those plush neighborhoods on the lake and have a summer home on another lake

in Montana.”

“Good work,” Judith said approvingly. “You seem to know

Mr. Killegrew quite well.”

“Not really.” Renie was opening cereal boxes. “I’ve designed some brochures that featured his bio. Some of the

other, more personal stuff I’ve picked up from the downtown

grapevine.”

“How about Ward Haugland?” Judith asked as she began

to cut up a big Crenshaw melon.

“A native Texan, another engineering degree, another guy

who rose through the Bell System ranks,” Renie said. “He

served as an assistant vice president under Frank, then left

with him to form the new company. He also golfs, skis, and

has a boat.”

“Is that required at the executive level?” Judith asked with

a little smile.

102 / Mary Daheim

“In a way,” Renie replied, quite serious. “It’s part of the

old boy network. If, for example, you play golf with the boss,

you’re more inclined to get the next promotion. If you golf,

ski, and have a boat, you’re a shoo-in. Or so the passed-over,

non-sports enthusiasts would have you believe.”

“Is Ward married?” Judith inquired, tackling a cantaloupe.

“Definitely, to a world-class hypochondriac. Helen Haugland has suffered more diseases than the AMA allows.”

“Is she also spoiled and pampered?”

“Not to mention coddled and overprotected. I’ve never

met her—she never goes anywhere except to the doctor—though come to think of it, I did meet Patrice Killegrew

once,” Renie said as she turned the heat on under the bacon.

“It was a couple of years ago, at some graphic design awards

banquet. She was a stuck-up pill.”

“Somebody said Leon had lived with his mother,” Judith

remarked. “What else?”

Renie shook her head. “Nothing. I think she died not long

ago. Leon kept himself to himself, as they say.”

“Except when he was keeping company with Andrea Piccoloni-Roth,” Judith pointed out.

“So it seems. The odd couple.” Renie paused, apparently

conjecturing about the unlikely pair. “Andrea and—what’s

his name? Alan Roth—have a couple of teenaged boys. Roth

stays home on the pretext of being a house-husband, as well

as the aforementioned computer genius. I saw his picture on

her desk once. He’s rather good looking, in a lean, pedantic

kind of way.”

“More of a hunk than Leon Mooney?” Judith started to

smile, glanced at the counter where she’d last seen Leon,

and immediately regretted the impulsive remark.

“Not a hunk,” Renie replied. “Just…more attractive.”

“How about Gene Jarman? I know he’s divorced and his

ex-wife works for Alien Tel.”

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“That’s about all I know, too,” Renie said. “Gene strikes

me as one of those black guys who doesn’t want to admit

he is black. He’s very careful about his background, which

I gather was an Oakland ghetto.”

“That doesn’t sound much different than Frank Killegrew

hiding the fact that he grew up in Destitute, Montana, or

whatever podunk name the town is called.”

“No, you’re right. As usual, people are people. Maybe

Gene seems touchier, because he’s an attorney instead of an

engineer.”

Judith was about to inquire into Margo Chang’s background when Margo entered the kitchen. She had come

through the dining room and was carrying a mug of hot

coffee.

“Thank God,” she murmured. “The lifeline is open.”

“Dig in,” Renie urged, indicating the fruit and the cereal

boxes.

Margo shook her head. “Right now, all I need is coffee.

God, I was awake half the night. I kept thinking I heard

someone trying to get into my room. It was just nerves, but

it didn’t make for decent rest.”

Judith finished culling strawberries and leaned against the

counter across from Margo, who’d sat down on one of the

tall stools. “My cousin was just filling me in on who’s who

in the company. How long have you been with OTIOSE,

Margo?”

Taking a deep, satisfying swig of coffee, Margo eyed Judith

warily. “What is this—a grilling of suspects?”

“No, no,” Judith said in her most self-deprecating manner.

“I feel lost in this group. Which is kind of scary, all things

considered. I’m just curious. You can’t blame me for wondering what I’ve gotten into.”

“That’s what we’re all wondering.” Margo made a face.

“At the first sign of clear weather, I’m walking out of here,

heading for the summit, and ordering a car to collect me.

Then I’m going straight home to write my letter of resignation. This is one terrifying phone company.”

104 / Mary Daheim

“I don’t blame you,” Renie put in. “I wouldn’t want to be

in your shoes trying to explain all this to the media.”

Margo’s plain face looked drawn. “The worst is yet to

come.”

Judith tensed. “What do you mean?”

Margo had set the coffee mug down on the counter, almost

in the exact spot where the cousins had found Leon. “I mean,

when the killer is unmasked, or whatever they call it in

mystery novels.” The almond-shaped eyes darted from Judith

to Renie. “Until last night, I honestly believed that some

outsider murdered Barry. But it’s different now that Leon’s

dead. Nobody could have gotten into the lodge.” Her lower

lip trembled. “Don’t you see? It has to be one of us.”

EIGHT

IN THE STRAINED atmosphere of the kitchen, Judith felt the

full impact of being sealed off from the rest of the world. Yet

all three women carried on, perhaps in the hope that their

mundane tasks could keep terror at bay. Margo drank more

coffee, Judith took a fruit platter out to the dining room, and

Renie flipped bacon. The snow continued to fall.

“It was seven years ago,” Margo said suddenly when Judith

returned to the kitchen. “That’s when I joined OTIOSE. I’d

been working in p.r. for a public utility company in California. I wanted a change, and L.A. was turning into a zoo.”

She uttered a brittle laugh. “I should have stayed there. I

didn’t know when I was well off.”

“Were you hired in at the officer level?” Renie asked.

“No. I went to work for Herb Oldman, who had the good

sense to die of a heart attack three years later. I got his job,

and thought I was on top of the world. Now I feel as if it’s

caved in on me.” Margo held her head in her hands.

“Excuse me.” The uncertain voice came from the doorway

where Russell Craven stood, his fair hair even more unruly

than usual. “May I please have some cream? Real cream, if

you have it.”

105

106 / Mary Daheim

Judith went to the refrigerator. “How are you doing, Mr.

Craven?” she asked with an encouraging smile.

“Doing?” He patted the bump on his head. “Not very well.

This hasn’t been a congenial experience so far.”

Judith poured cream into a ceramic pitcher. “No one can

be feeling good this morning,” she commiserated. “Are you

really going to continue with your meetings?”

Russell exchanged a questioning look with Margo. “I

suppose,” he said. “What else is there to do? We can’t leave.

I went to the front door just now and when I opened it, a

pile of snow fell on me. I could barely close it again.”

“Great.” Margo set her mug down with a thump. “We

should have paid more attention to the forecast. Why do we

always assume the weatherman is off-base? And why doesn’t

somebody come get us? Aren’t there search and rescue people

around here?”

“They’re probably having enough trouble with people

stranded on the highway and at the ski areas,” Judith said,

then went to the phone. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try…”

The line was still dead. The spark of hope that had appeared in the eyes of the others flickered and died. Judith

gave them a rueful look.

“Sorry. But breakfast is almost ready.”

Russell and Margo didn’t budge. It occurred to Judith that

they preferred staying in a group. As if to underscore the

conferees’ feelings, Max Agasias and Ward Haugland appeared next, entering from the laundry room.

Max went straight to Russell and put a hand on the other

man’s shoulder. “Hey, no hard feelings about last night. I

lost my temper, that’s all. Sometimes I get pretty damned

frustrated with the second-class way my marketing people

are treated.”

Russell recoiled slightly, but managed a small smile. “We’re

all protective of our own shops,” he said simply.

“Coffee’s ready in the dining room,” Judith announced as

a furtive Nadia Weiss slipped into the kitchen.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 107

“I saw it,” she said in a nervous voice. “But I…well, I

thought I’d wait.” Her blue eyes darted every which way,

then came to rest on Russell. “Shall we get coffee now?

Or…?”

“We’ll all go,” Max said.

“I need a refill,” Margo chimed in. The five of them trooped

off to the dining room.

Judith began cracking eggs in a frying pan. “Take that

toaster out and plug it into the outlet with the coffee urn,”

she said to Renie. “It’s almost eight. They’ll be here in a few

minutes.”

They were, except for Andrea. As Judith dished fried eggs

directly onto the conferees’ plates, Frank Killegrew opined

that his vice president-human resources was probably too

upset to come down for breakfast.

“Andrea was fond of Leon,” Killegrew said, passing the

toast around the table. “I mean, really fond of him. She took

his death pretty hard.”

“Oh, Frank.” Margo was shaking her head.

“What?” Killegrew stared at Margo.

“We’re all taking it hard,” Margo asserted. “Don’t you get

it, Frank? Somebody is out to kill us.”

“That’s extreme,” Gene Jarman said quietly. “We mustn’t

jump to conclusions. Nobody knows for certain what

happened to Barry Newcombe.”

“We know he’s dead,” said Ava Aunuu. “That’s not a good

sign.”

Gene’s calm brown eyes rested on Ava. “It could have

been an accident. Think it through, consider the exigencies.

Barry went off to the store or wherever just before a storm

like this one hit. He could have returned in the middle of it,

lost his way, and sought refuge in that cave or whatever it

was. He froze to death. It happens.”

“With a leather strap around his neck?” Ava sneered at

Gene. “So what happened to Leon? He smothered himself

in angel food cake?”

108 / Mary Daheim

“I thought he was hit on the head,” put in Russell, who

again fingered his own skull and winced.

“Afraid so,” Ward mumbled. “It’s a nasty business, all

right.”

“The point is,” Killegrew said between mouthfuls of fried

egg, “we might as well carry on. We can’t leave, and there

are plenty of items left on our agenda. As long as the cabin’s

still airtight, we can fly.”

“You’re right, Frank,” Ward agreed. “Besides, it’ll keep our

minds off…this other stuff.” The second-in-command lowered

his eyes to his breakfast plate.

Judith, who was reaching between Nadia and Gene to set

a coffee carafe on the table, summoned up her courage.

“Excuse me. I have a small announcement.”

All eyes veered in her direction. To her acute embarrassment, she blushed. “Someone took Barry’s items out of my

handbag last night.”

“Cripes!” exclaimed Ward.

“Oh no!” cried Nadia.

“Ridiculous,” murmured Gene.

“That does it!” Margo threw down her napkin and stood

up. “Isn’t there some way we can get help? This is a nightmare!”

“Now, now,” Killegrew said, though he sounded shaken.

“Has anybody tried the phone this morning?”

“I did,” Judith responded. “It still doesn’t work.”

Max Agasias sat far back in his chair, balancing his burly

body in what struck Judith as a precarious position. “You

see? What do we tell our customers? Go cellular, go wireless—and never leave home without it. I guess only OTIOSE

people are too damned dumb to take marketing’s advice.”

Margo, who was pacing back and forth in front of the

buffet, swung around. “Well? Did you bring your cell phone,

Max? Did you take your own bright-eyed advice?”

Max locked his hands behind his head and grinned.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 109

“Hell, no. I followed Frank’s orders here, like a good little

Nazi.”

Russell Craven was shaking his head. “My, my. No cell

phones, no laptops, no pagers, no…” He stopped and looked

somewhat diffidently at Killegrew. “Wouldn’t you think,”

Russell said quietly, “that there would be a battery-powered

two-way radio around this lodge?”

“Dubious,” Max responded dryly. “Why would they need

it? We sell complete communications systems, and oldfashioned battery-driven radios are dinosaurs.”

“We could look,” Gene put in. “They might have one stored

in the basement.”

“It’s an idea,” Killegrew allowed, though he, too, sounded

dubious.

“Forget the damned radio,” Margo implored. “I want to

know how somebody got into Ms. Flynn’s handbag.”

Judith explained how she had left the bag in their room

when the cousins had come down to get a snack. “I didn’t

discover the theft until this morning,” she added, “but it

probably occurred before Ms. Jones and I finally retired some

time after midnight.”

“You said you didn’t lock the door?” Gene Jarman had

assumed his role of witness interrogator.

“No,” Judith replied. “It didn’t seem so important to keep

people out when we weren’t inside.”

A silence fell over the dining room. Margo began to pace

again, Ward toyed with his food, Russell sat with his chin

on his hand, Ava stared off into space, Gene sipped coffee,

Nadia twisted her hands in her lap, Max twirled a piece of

melon on his fork, and Frank Killegrew grabbed the coffee

carafe. Judith went back into the kitchen.

“I eavesdropped,” Renie admitted. “Do I detect a note of

desperation?”

“Several,” Judith said. “Some are louder than others.”

The cousins remained on kitchen duty for another halfhour, eating their own breakfasts between treks into the

110 / Mary Daheim

dining room. Shortly before ten, the conferees headed in a

body to the lobby. Apparently, it was business as usual.

Judith and Renie were clearing the table when Ava and

Nadia reappeared. “We’ve formed a buddy system,” Ava

announced. “Nobody goes anywhere alone, including to the

bathroom. In fact, we’re thinking about sharing bedrooms

tonight. If we’re still here.”

It was unclear if Ava’s reference was literal or—really literal. “Good idea,” Judith remarked. “My cousin and I are

sticking together like glue.”

“If only,” Nadia sighed, “Leon had taken Andrea with him

last night when he came down to get the cake. Or if Barry

had asked one of us to go with him a year ago. I would gladly

have accompanied him on his errand. I’m used to fetching

and carrying.” Only a hint of bitterness was evident in her

voice.

“You couldn’t guess what would happen to either of them,”

Ava said, not unkindly.

“I enjoyed talking to Barry,” Nadia went on as if she hadn’t

heard the other woman. “He always had all the news.”

“Gossip, you mean.” Ava’s tone was good-natured. Judith

noticed that she looked reasonably rested. Or perhaps it was

the rich blue high-necked sweater and slacks ensemble she

was wearing. It was the one that Judith had seen in the suitcase, and it was definitely a becoming color with Ava’s dark

complexion.

“Yes, gossip.” Nadia smiled, producing a rather charming

effect despite the obvious strain on her thin face. “You see,”

she said to Judith and Renie, “Barry heard everything. Staff

assistants usually do. And he had this most ingenious way

about him. If he had an interesting piece of news—”

“Gossip,” Ava interjected.

“If you like.” Nadia darted Ava an amused glance. “Anyway, when he heard something truly interesting, he’d

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 111

call around and ask if whoever he was speaking to had any

recent tidbit. If that person—”

“You,” put in Ava.

“Possibly,” Nadia agreed, “but by no means just me. If

you—”

“He never called me with gossip,” Ava asserted.

“You know what I mean.” Nadia was growing impatient

at the interruptions. “If you had something worthwhile to

tell, then he’d reveal what he knew. It was like a game.”

A deadly game, Judith thought, with a quick look at Renie.

“From what I’ve heard,” Ava said, nibbling at one of the

leftover strawberries, “most of his so-called news was about

who used the Cloud Room.”

“The Cloud Room?” Judith echoed.

“Now, Ava,” Nadia began with a reproachful expression.

“Don’t go telling tales out…”

“Come on, Nadia, you started it.” Ava waved a contemptuous hand. “I don’t think so-called Cloud Rooms are exclusive to OTIOSE these days. In this case, there are actually

two of them, the men’s and women’s rest rooms on the

twenty-ninth floor. It’s where employees go to do cocaine.”

“Oh!” Judith was shocked, even though she knew she

shouldn’t have been. Joe constantly railed against the onslaught of drug traffic in the city. “Is this a big problem?”

“That depends on the individual,” Ava replied, despite a

warning glare from Nadia. “In some cases, it doesn’t appear

to affect a person’s work. In others, it’s ruinous. I had to recommend the firing of two people in the past year, and authorize rehab for another half dozen. OTIOSE contracts out

with a firm that deals in addiction among corporate employees.”

Leaning against the counter, Renie nodded. “Newer Resolutions, isn’t it? I did some design work for them two years

ago. As I recall, in most companies, it’s a three-strikes-andyou’re-out program.”

112 / Mary Daheim

“That’s right,” Ava agreed. “At least it is with OTIOSE.

The company will pay for two rehab sessions, but after that,

you’re gone and on your own.”

“Why,” Judith asked, “can’t they nip it in the bud? That

is, if they know where employees go—to this so-called Cloud

Room—why don’t they stop the drug use right there?”

“Because,” Ava answered, “they’d simply go somewhere

else. Our headquarters is a thirty-story building. There are

lots and lots of places to do drugs. And that’s just during

office hours.”

“Sad,” Judith murmured.

“But true.” Ava gave Nadia a gentle shove. “Let’s go, we’re

holding up progress. Frank wants to start the meeting in ten

minutes, and we’ve got to get Andrea down here.”

The two women went off through the laundry room to the

back stairs. Judith eyed Renie. “What floor are the executives

on at headquarters?”

“Thirty.” Renie’s lips twitched.

“That’s what I thought,” said Judith.

Judith had just turned on the dishwasher when she heard

the screams. Renie jumped and knocked a cereal box off the

counter. An eerie silence ensued.

“What was that?” Renie asked in a startled voice.

“It was a scream. Or screams.” Judith was trembling.

“Where did it come from? And,” she gulped, “why did it

stop?”

Cautiously, the cousins went into the laundry room, then

as far as the bottom of the back stairs. They heard nothing.

“Maybe it wasn’t upstairs,” Renie whispered. “Maybe it

was downstairs, in the basement.”

Judith glanced around the small hallway where the top of

the basement stairs could be seen near the rear entrance.

“Maybe. But I’m not going down there. Let’s go into the

lobby and find out if anybody else heard anything.”

If the others hadn’t heard the screams, they now saw a

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 113

most alarming sight. Ava and Nadia were huddled in the

open elevator, seemingly paralyzed by fear. Just as the door

automatically started to close, Ava hurtled into the lobby.

Nadia stumbled behind her.

Gene and Max rushed to meet the women. “What the

hell…?” shouted Max, grabbing Nadia before she fell.

“It’s Andrea,” Ava gasped, leaning against Gene. “She killed

herself! Andrea’s dead!”

NINE

AVA BURIED HER face against Gene’s shoulder. Max halfcarried Nadia to the nearest sofa, almost bumping into a

dazed Russell Craven, who was wandering around the wide

hearth, glassy-eyed and muttering to himself. Frank Killegrew

and Ward Haugland simply stared at one another. Margo

Chang picked up her black suede bag and pulled out a

Ladysmith .38 Special revolver.

“If anybody comes near me, they’re dead!” she shrieked.

“Nobody’s going to kill me, nobody’s going to drive me to

suicide! I’m getting out of here alive!”

“Margo!” Killegrew turned white. “Is that thing loaded?”

“You bet!” Margo swung the gun around the room, taking

aim at each of the others in turn. “I know how to use it, too!

I go to the range once a month!”

“My God!” Killegrew sank down on the sofa next to Nadia.

“You know,” Russell said, no longer wandering around

the hearth but edging nervously away from Margo, “firearms

are very dangerous. Do you realize you should never point

a gun at anyone unless you intend to use it?”

“Shut up, Russell!” She pointed the gun straight at him.

“Of course I know that! Furthermore, I’ve got a

114

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 115

concealed weapons permit, a federal firearms license, a longstanding membership in the NRA, and I belong to the local

chapter of OFF, the Organization of Firearms for Females.”

“Then you’re legal.” Gene Jarman shrugged.

“Now, now,” Killegrew said without his usual hearty reassurance, “let’s not get excited. Andrea’s the problem here. I

can hardly believe she’d kill herself.”

With a wary eye on Margo, Gene led Ava to one of the

other sofas. “Brandy would be in order,” he said to no one

in particular.

Judith started to bolt out of the room, then looked at

Margo. “May I?” she asked, feeling childlike and stupid.

Margo lowered the gun. “Go ahead. But don’t anybody

forget I won’t hesitate to use this.” She patted the weapon,

then slipped it back into her suede bag.

Renie went into the dining room with Judith, where they

found two half-empty bottles of brandy. “I don’t blame

Margo,” Renie said in a tense voice. “This is absolutely horrible.”

“It sure is,” Judith agreed, gathering up some of the other

liquor bottles and motioning for Renie to get some glasses.

“I’m beginning to feel as anxious to get out of here as Margo

is.”

“At least she’s armed,” Renie said. “I wouldn’t mind having

an AK-47 about now.”

Judith gave a little snort. “You’d be lucky not to shoot

yourself. Or me.”

Giving Judith a hapless look, Renie led the way back into

the lobby. Once again, Gene had taken over the questioning,

but his manner had become slightly more deferential.

No one refused the brandy. Indeed, Killegrew swallowed

his in a gulp, and Nadia inhaled the fumes for such a long

time that Judith thought she’d suck the liquor right up her

nose.

“Let’s begin,” Gene said calmly, “with you, Ava. You

116 / Mary Daheim

mentioned that Andrea’s door was unlocked?”

“It was.” Ava gave a short, grim nod. “We knocked, of

course, but she didn’t respond. We thought maybe she was

in the bathroom, so we went in.” Ava hesitated, lifted her

chin, and continued. “Andrea was in bed, and we assumed

she was asleep.”

“What did you do then?” Gene asked quietly.

Ava glanced at Nadia, as if for confirmation. “I called to

her. Nadia had stayed in the doorway.”

“And?” Gene prompted.

“Nothing. I knew Andrea was upset about Leon,” Ava went

on, speaking more rapidly, “so I thought maybe she’d taken

something to help her sleep and was really out of it. Frank

was anxious to start the meeting, so I went to the bed and

gave Andrea a little shake. I couldn’t rouse her. Then I saw

the pill bottle and the note.”

Gene cleared his throat. “Let’s back up a moment, please.”

He turned to Nadia, whose eyes seemed to have grown as

large as the big glasses she wore over them. “Does this account agree with what you recall so far?”

“Yes.” Nadia’s voice was toneless.

“All right.” Gene offered Ava a slight smile of encouragement. “Do you have the note with you?”

Ava shook her head. “I remembered what you said last

night about not touching anything. I left it on the nightstand.”

“What did it say?”

Ava swallowed hard. “It said, ‘Leon, I’m coming to join

you.’”

“Did you recognize Andrea’s handwriting?”

“Not really,” Ava admitted, “but Nadia did. She’d come

all the way into the room when she saw I had trouble waking

Andrea.”

Gene turned again to Nadia. “You’re certain it was Andrea’s writing?”

“Yes,” Nadia answered, still without inflection. “I’ve

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 117

seen it many times. She often sent Frank handwritten notes.”

“What did you do next?” Gene asked Ava.

Ava put a hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure. I think we

both realized at the same time that Andrea was dead. We

ran out of the room and came down here.”

Gene sought corroboration from Nadia, who nodded. “We

may have screamed,” she said. “It was so…ghastly.” Nadia

shuddered at the memory.

“In other words,” Gene mused, “Andrea is still lying up

there in bed…dead.”

“I haven’t heard her walking around,” Margo snapped.

“What’s wrong with everybody? Can’t this crew accept the

facts? ”

“Sleeping pills,” murmured Russell. “Did you say Andrea

took sleeping pills?”

“Sometimes she did,” Nadia said. “Last night she offered

me one, but I have my own prescription. I can hardly blame

Andrea for taking something to help her sleep. She was so

upset.”

Ward stretched out his long legs. “Could it have been an

accident?” he asked.

“Not with that note,” Killegrew put in. “My God, I had no

idea she and Leon were…so close. Sometimes,” he added

darkly, “I wonder what really goes on behind my back in

this company. Sometimes I think the caboose is running this

ship.”

“I think you mean ‘train.’” Margo’s tone was mocking.

Killegrew glowered at her, but said nothing. Indeed, no

one responded until Gene spoke again. “Someone will have

to go up there and check things out. I suppose I should do

it, since I’m the legal counsel.” He grimaced, then uttered a

choked little laugh. “Max, would you come along? We’d

better stick to the buddy system.”

Max, however, demurred. “I already helped cart Leon upstairs, for which the cops are going to jump me. Count me

out on this one.”

118 / Mary Daheim

“Remember,” said Russell in a small voice, “I’m squeamish.”

“I wouldn’t go near that room for a billion dollars,” Margo

declared.

“I’ll go.” Judith was so surprised by her impulsive announcement that she hardly recognized her own voice.

“I don’t think that’s a…” Ward began.

“Good idea,” interrupted Killegrew. “It’s probably smart

to have an outsider on hand for something like this.”

In other words, Judith thought with a sinking feeling,

there’d be someone else to blame. But she’d opened her mouth

and put her foot into it. As a flummoxed Renie watched,

Judith accompanied Gene to the elevator.

“This might not be pleasant,” Gene said as they moved up

to the second floor.

“I’ve done it before,” Judith said without thinking.

“Of course. Leon. And Barry.” Mournfully, Gene shook

his head.

“Yes,” Judith agreed hastily. “Leon and Barry.” It wouldn’t

do to enumerate a few other corpses she’d stumbled across

in the past.

The door to Andrea’s room was wide open. Judith quickly

calculated that it was the same room she and Renie had first

tried the previous night. As they had guessed, Andrea had

been waiting for Leon in his room.

Gene stepped aside to let Judith enter first. She found

herself tiptoeing, but stopped abruptly when she saw Andrea

lying peacefully on the bed. The dead woman could have

been asleep; only her head and shoulders were exposed.

Andrea was on her back, with the silver hair splayed out on

the pillow. Her plump face seemed blotchy, perhaps bruised.

Remembering that Andrea was a fellow Catholic, Judith

crossed herself and said a silent prayer.

“Poor woman,” Gene said softly. “Suicide’s such a desperate act.”

Judith turned sharply. “It is. Andrea didn’t strike me as a

desperate woman.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 119

“You never know what people are really like,” Gene remarked, coming around to study the nightstand that stood

between the twin beds. “Ah—here’s the note and the empty

pill bottle. Halcion, made out to Andrea Piccoloni-Roth last

month. It’s a popular prescription sleeping drug, I believe.”

“Yes.” Judith’s mind was racing. On the other bed lay the

extra pillow, which had been removed from under the spread.

“What do you think of that note?” Judith asked, coming

around to join Gene.

The company attorney kept his hands carefully pressed

against his sides. “It’s clear, isn’t it?”

“In what way?” Judith queried.

Judging from the scowl on Gene’s face, he didn’t like being

on the other end of questions. “Andrea couldn’t live without

Leon. What else could it mean?”

Judith said nothing. She stared again at the pillow on the

empty bed. “Where’s the water glass?” she asked.

“What water glass?” Gene sounded annoyed.

Judith pointed to the pill bottle. “There’s no sign of a glass

on the nightstand. Why would anyone take a bunch of

sleeping tablets without water?” Judith didn’t wait for a response, but went into the bathroom. “The glass is in here,”

she called. “Two glasses, in fact. One’s clean, the other has

a bit of water in the bottom.”

Gene had moved to the bathroom door. The scowl was

gone, but he looked puzzled. “What’s your point?”

A sudden, paralyzing fear gripped Judith. She didn’t know

Gene Jarman. He seemed like a diligent, somewhat stiffnecked man who had brought himself up by the bootstraps.

Yet his very success was evidence of not just ambition and

determination, but perhaps ruthlessness as well. The same

might be said of all the OTIOSE executives. And one of them

was a killer. It could be Eugene Jarman, Jr.

“Nothing,” Judith said in a careless voice. “I was just

speculating.”

120 / Mary Daheim

“Is there anything unusual in the bathroom?” he inquired,

gazing around the small but economical space.

“No.” Judith started to come back into the other room;

Gene stepped aside. “Have you noticed anything we should

report on?” Judith asked in an unusually meek voice.

Gene didn’t answer right away. He was standing at the

foot of the bed, staring morosely at Andrea. “She was a nice

woman, if you didn’t cross swords with her. Then she could

be a real tiger.” He moved between the beds. “I shouldn’t do

this, but I feel I must.” Carefully, he lifted the sheet and pulled

it over Andrea’s face.

“That’s…better,” Judith said, relieved that Gene hadn’t

suggested they move Andrea upstairs with Leon. “Finished?”

Gene said he was. In silence, they returned to the lobby.

The brandy bottles had been emptied, replaced by gin,

rum, vodka, and whiskey. The mood, however, was scarcely

festive. When Judith got out of the elevator, she noticed the

look of relief on Renie’s face.

“I think we should make more coffee,” Renie whispered.

“These people are going to need it once they kill all the

booze.”

“Don’t use that term,” Judith urged, but was quick to follow Renie out of the lobby. “Did anything happen in my

absence?” she asked when they reached the dining room.

“No, just a lot of maundering about poor Andrea,” Renie

replied, unplugging the big urn on the buffet table. “Her

husband was a lazy dreamer, she was the breadwinner, all

Alan Roth ever wanted was a meal ticket, she wouldn’t divorce him because she was Catholic.”

“Sounds familiar,” Judith murmured, heading for the kitchen. “After nineteen years of marriage to Dan, I can sympathize with Andrea.”

“I’ll bet you can,” Renie said as Judith firmly shut the door

behind them.

“That’s not all,” Judith said, pressing her back against

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 121

the door. “Much as I hate to say this, coz, I think Andrea

was murdered.”

Renie winced. “I hate to hear you say that,” she breathed,

“but why am I not surprised?”

“Because we’re in the middle of a bloodbath, that’s why.”

Judith closed her eyes for a moment, then squared her

shoulders and walked over to the counter where she sat down

on one of the tall stools. “First of all, Andrea wasn’t the type

to commit suicide. Even if she was in love with Leon

Mooney—and we don’t know that for sure—the Andrea

Piccoloni-Roths of this world do not kill themselves.”

Renie perched on one of the other stools. “It didn’t sound

right to me from the start.”

“This isn’t just amateur psychology,” Judith went on.

“I hope not. Bill hates competition,” Renie said, referring

to her husband’s staff position at the university. “Bill says

that besides being simplistic and superficial, most non-professionals…”

Judith held up both hands. “Stop! Your husband’s brilliant,

but this isn’t the time for one of your long-winded wifely

essays. I’m talking facts here, coz. As in fact number

one—there was an empty Halcion bottle on the nightstand

next to the bed. Fact number two—the water glass, which

you gave Andrea last night, was in the bathroom. Now who

swallows pills in the bathroom with the water glass, and

then takes the bottle with them into the bedroom?”

“Is ‘nobody’ the right answer?” Renie had assumed her

middle-aged ingenue’s air.

“Right. Fact number three,” Judith continued. “The note

said what Ava told us—‘Leon, I’m coming to join you.’ Andrea undoubtedly wrote that, but I’ll bet she wrote it last

night to slip under Leon’s door. It simply meant that she

was going to meet him in his room, which is where we found

her when we went to tell her about Leon. But now she’s in

her own room, next door. My guess is that the killer found

that note—probably on Leon—and used it to fake a suicide.”

122 / Mary Daheim

“Clever,” Renie remarked. “And fortuitous.”

“Exactly. Then we get to fact number four—which isn’t

really a fact, but a conjecture.” Judith gave Renie an apologetic look. “The extra pillow that I’d put under Andrea was

lying on the empty twin bed. Now it’s possible that she removed the pillow herself. But I’m thinking that she came

back to her room and simply flopped onto the bed. Under

the circumstances, wouldn’t you? She was worn out, she

was upset, she very well may have taken Halcion to help

herself sleep. Why remove the pillow?”

“She didn’t.” Renie’s face was expressionless.

“Of course she didn’t,” Judith continued, “because…”

“Because she wasn’t in Leon’s room.”

“What?” Judith made a face at Renie.

“You said so yourself.” Renie lifted her hands, palms up.

“The water glass and the pillow you’re talking about were

in Leon’s room, not Andrea’s. So what are you trying to

say?”

Judith looked blank, then exhilarated. “What I was saying

all along. Except that now I’m sure I’m right. The killer removed the extra pillow from under the spread of the other

twin bed. Andrea didn’t die from an overdose of sleeping

pills. She was smothered.”

Judith and Renie weren’t sure how to break the news to

the others. It hadn’t seemed to Judith that Gene Jarman was

suspicious. On the other hand, he wasn’t the type to reveal

what he was thinking. As the cousins made fresh coffee, they

mulled over the problem.

“Andrea must have let in whoever killed her,” Renie pointed out, running water from the tap into the urn.

“Of course she would,” Judith agreed. “Despite Leon’s

death, she must have trusted whoever came to her door.”

“Which could be anybody,” Renie noted. “The only person

she really seemed on the outs with was Margo.”

“Andrea had probably already taken the Halcion,” Ju- SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 123

dith said, opening the kitchen door for Renie, who was carrying the urn back to the dining room. “She was probably

drowsy. Maybe whoever called on her offered to sit with her

until she nodded off. Then he—or she—applied the pillow.”

Judith winced. “I thought her face looked sort of bruised, but

then I don’t know what effects an overdose of Halcion has

on a person.”

“I don’t know, either,” Renie admitted, plugging in the

urn. “Didn’t somebody say they heard noises during the

night?”

Judith stared at Renie. “You’re right. It was Margo. She

thought someone was trying to get into her room. I’ll bet

Leon was on one side of Andrea’s room and Margo was on

the other.”

“That’s right,” Renie responded. “I saw Margo come from

that room last night when everybody heard the commotion.”

The cousins gazed at each other. “Shall we?” Judith finally

said.

“I suppose,” Renie said reluctantly. “Our popularity is

about to plummet to minus zero.”

“Our popularity isn’t the issue,” Judith said bluntly. “Trying

to stop a killer from striking again is what matters.”

While not exactly drunk, the OTIOSE crew wasn’t quite

sober, either. Ava was curled up against Gene; Nadia appeared to be asleep; Ward and Max were arguing goodnaturedly; Russell was talking to himself; Margo was sitting

with her suede bag—and Ladysmith .38 Special—in her lap;

Frank Killegrew was clutching his slide rule and staring off

into space.

“Well, well,” said Ward as the cousins entered the lobby,

“here come the little ladies.”

“Persons,” Margo shouted, fingers digging into the suede

bag.

“Lady persons,” Ward chuckled. “Hey, at least they’re still

alive.”

124 / Mary Daheim

“That is not funny,” Nadia declared, opening her eyes and

glaring at Ward.

Renie had been delegated by Judith to break the news.

She lighted a cigarette, took a few puffs, blew smoke in

Margo’s direction, remembered the gun, and apologized.

“Sorry, I’m kind of nervous. We don’t bring good news.”

“Oh, my God!” cried Margo. “Is someone else dead?” She

glanced around the room, taking a head count. “We’re all

here,” she announced on a sigh of relief.

“It’s about Andrea,” Renie began, nervously teetering on

the flagstone hearth. “We don’t believe she committed suicide. We think she was smothered with a pillow.”

“My God!” Killegrew seemed incredulous.

“That’s ridiculous,” Gene said with a faint sneer.

“Don’t Catholics go to hell if they kill themselves?” Russell

asked in a mild voice.

“Of course she didn’t kill herself,” Margo asserted. “Andrea

was too tough for that kind of cowardly act. And even if she

and Leon had something going, I wouldn’t exactly call it

grand passion.”

“What would you call it, Margo?” Ava asked with a smirk.

Color crept into Margo’s plain face. “What do you mean?

All I’m saying is that Leon was probably looking for a substitute mother. Andrea had a maternal air, I’ll give her that.

But she’d never do anything to ruin her marriage. Hanging

on to Alan Roth was her priority.” A note of bitterness had

surfaced in Margo’s voice.

“That’s because she was a Catholic,” Russell said doggedly.

“They don’t divorce, either.”

“Bull,” snapped Margo. “It’s because she didn’t want anybody else to have Alan.”

“Now, now,” Killegrew injected. “Let’s stop boring holes

in this ship’s hull.” He gazed up at Renie from his place on

the sofa. “Excuse me, but I don’t see where your opinions

come into this situation.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 125

Gene was on his feet. “I don’t see how you came to this

conclusion, Ms. Jones.” He turned to Judith. “I assume this

was actually your idea, Ms. Flynn?”

“Well, yes,” Judith admitted as all eyes turned in her direction. With scrupulous attention to detail, she went over her

reasoning. “The pillow is the key,” she said after enumerating

her deductions. “If you turned it over,” Judith said directly

to Gene, “I suspect you’d find traces of lipstick and other

makeup on the pillowcase.”

Nadia blanched at the implied violence. “That’s awful!

Who would do such a thing?”

All eyes avoided Nadia. “We could check,” Gene said, his

usual self-confidence slipping a notch.

“Then do it,” Killegrew ordered. “We’ll all go this time.”

He stood up. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“No!” Nadia cried. “I’m not going back to that room!”

“Neither am I,” Ava declared.

“Dead people make me throw up,” Margo asserted.

“I’m squeamish,” said Russell.

In the end, Killegrew, Gene, Max, and Ward headed upstairs. The others retreated into the library, apparently in

search of a different venue. Judith had tried to prod Renie

into joining the upstairs contingent, but there wasn’t room

for a fifth person in the elevator. Renie suggested that she

and Judith take a look at the room later.

“How do we get in?” Judith asked, putting another log on

the fire.

“Good question,” Renie replied. “Ava said Andrea’s door

wasn’t locked when she and Nadia went up there this

morning. As far as we know, the key is still in Andrea’s room.

I assume someone will look for it now. We’ll have to ask.”

“With Gene on hand, they won’t search the place,” Judith

pointed out. “Which means they’ll have to leave the door

unlocked.”

“Good point,” said Renie, taking a cigarette from her

126 / Mary Daheim

purse and indicating the bottles on the coffee table. “Dare

we?”

“At ten A.M.?” Judith gave a little shake of her head.

“It’s ten-thirty,” Renie said dryly. “Anyway, who’s counting? This isn’t exactly a typical Saturday morning in January.”

“It sure isn’t,” Judith began, and then stopped. A strange

buzzing noise sounded from somewhere close by. “What is

that? A timer?”

“It sounds like my new oven,” Renie said. “It beeps at me

when the temperature gets up to whatever I’ve set it for.”

The noise stopped. Judith went to the big front windows,

gazing out at the snow. “It’s drifted so that I can hardly see

anything,” she said. “I wonder how much fell during the

night.”

“Three, four feet maybe? Can you tell if it’s still snowing?”

“Not from this part of the lodge,” Judith responded, glancing toward the big windows where the snow had piled up

almost to the top frame. “I don’t suppose I dare open the

door.”

“I wouldn’t.” Renie finished her cigarette and threw it into

the grate. “It’s sure quiet around here. At least it is between

murders.”

But the quiet was broken by the buzzing noise. Judith came

back to the sofa, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is it a

clock? The electrical system? An intercom?”

The cousins gazed around the lobby. There was nothing

to suggest what had caused the sound. “Maybe it came from

one of the conference rooms,” Renie offered as the noise

stopped again. “Somebody might have left a microphone

on.”

Judith didn’t agree. “It’s closer than that. It’s right here,

in this part of the room.”

“Weird.” Renie stared at the collection of bottles. “To

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 127

hell with it,” she said, and reached for a fifth of Canadian

Club. “I’ve had too much coffee and I’m not in the mood

for my usual daily half-gallon of Pepsi.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith sighed. “Pour me some of the Dewar’s

scotch. How’s the ice holding up?”

Renie shot Judith an ironic glance. “I don’t think ice is a

problem around this place, coz. What did you make of

Margo’s comments regarding Andrea and her husband,

Alan?”

“It sounded as if Margo has the hots for Alan Roth,” Judith

replied, examining her fingernails. “Drat, I wrecked a nail

somewhere along the line.” She dug into her shoulder bag

for an emery board, then continued speaking. “That would

explain the flare-up between Margo and Andrea at lunch

yesterday. Just now I got the impression that Margo wanted

to marry the guy. I mean, why else would she care if Andrea

wouldn’t divorce him?”

“Exactly,” Renie agreed. “Margo may be painfully plain,

but she doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting men. A

regular boudoir bawd, goes the rumor mill.”

“She’s not all that plain,” Judith noted, filing her snagged

nail. “She has lovely eyes and perfect skin. Not to mention

a vivid personality.”

“She dresses well, despite the fact she has no figure,” Renie

said, then tensed as the mysterious noise sounded again.

“Damn! What is that? It’s really close by.”

Judith looked all around the sofa where she was sitting.

She dug among the cushions, feeling deep into the sides and

back. “Maybe somebody dropped something down here,”

she said, her voice muffled.

Renie was on her hands and knees, searching under the

sofas, chairs, and coffee table. “I don’t see anything. Maybe

we should get that flashlight.” She started to stand up and

accidentally knocked over Judith’s shoulder bag. Some of

the contents spilled out onto the floor. Renie let

128 / Mary Daheim

out a little yip. “It’s your pager, you moron! Somebody’s

trying to reach you!”

At that moment, the elevator opened, and Max, Gene, and

Ward entered the lobby. Between them, they were awkwardly

carrying an unconscious Frank Killegrew.

TEN

“HE PASSED OUT upstairs,” Max announced in a tense voice.

“We think he may have had a heart attack.”

Russell, Nadia, Ava, and Margo emerged from the library.

Nadia in particular looked stricken, a thin hand at her throat

and her skin suddenly turning ash-gray. “Not Frank!” she

gasped.

Ava, however, seemed less affected. “Is he dead?” she asked

in a manner that suggested her CEO’s demise wasn’t unappealing.

“No,” Ward responded, as they carefully placed Killegrew

on one of the sofas. “Frank’s going to be just fine. He’s one

tough customer.”

“Really,” Russell squeaked, “if he isn’t, I’d rather be

somewhere else. Terminally ill people upset me.”

“Buck up, Russell,” said Ward. “I’ve seen Helen through

worse crises than this. My wife once had three heart attacks

in one day.”

“I’ll bet,” murmured Margo.

Nadia had rushed to Frank’s side. “Frank! Frank! Wake

up! I’m here, I’ll help, I’ll do anything! Just say something!”

Frank’s eyes remained shut. Nadia started to shake him,

gently at first, then with more vigor. “Frank!

129

130 / Mary Daheim

Please, please, tell me you’re all right! What would I—what

would we—do without you?”

Gene put a hand on Nadia’s shoulder and firmly pulled

her away. “Does anyone know CPR?” he inquired.

“Isn’t that for people who are drowning?” Russell said in

his usual vague tone.

“I’m not certain,” Gene admitted. “We wouldn’t want to

do the wrong thing and have Frank’s heirs sue us.”

“Andrea’d know if she weren’t dead,” Ward murmured.

“Her human resources folks are the ones who handle firstaid classes.”

Judith, who had learned emergency measures to treat

guests, started to speak up just as Killegrew appeared to

come around. “Am I all right?” he demanded, blinking rapidly. “Did someone hit me on the head with an Eskimo?”

“No, Frank, certainly not,” Nadia responded, her slim

shoulders slumping in relief. The antidote to her attack of

nerves appeared to consist of making herself busy. She deftly

poured out a shot of Scotch and offered it to Frank. “Drink

this,” she urged. “It’s a stimulant.”

“It’s Scotch,” Killegrew murmured, but he accepted the

tumbler. “Oh, my God! What’s happening to us? This can’t

be real!” He attempted to sit up; Nadia and Ward each supported his effort.

“What happened?” Judith asked Ward, as the pager went

off again in her purse.

No one seemed to hear the sound. “We were sort of moseying around Andrea’s room, checking things out—without

touching, mind you,” Ward added with a quick glance at

Gene Jarman, “and then we finally decided we’d better have

a look at that pillowcase. Gene allowed as how it probably

would be okay as long as we sort of held it up by the corners.

Sure enough, there were some marks on it—kind of a reddish

one and sort of a blackish one. When Frank saw that, he just

keeled over.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Killegrew grumbled. “My entire

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 131

staff is being wiped out!” Regaining his usual jocund manner,

he gave Margo a belligerent look. “If I knew which one of

you was doing this, I’d use that gun of yours and take matters

into my own hands!”

“If you knew,” Margo said between clenched teeth, “I’d let

you.”

Nadia was leaning into Killegrew. “Are you all right? You

shouldn’t get so upset. It’s bad for your digestion.”

“Screw my digestion,” Killegrew growled. Then he put a

hand on his chest. “If I had a heart attack, I’m over it.

Whatever it was, nobody can blame me for a collapse.” He

glanced at Ward. “You’re right. I’m one tough customer.

Everybody knows that Frank Killegrew is fit as a fiddle and

still captain of the good ship OTIOSE!”

“Yes, sir,” Ward replied with a crooked grin. “I mean, aye,

aye.” He saluted his superior.

“I think,” Gene said slowly, “that one of us has to try to

get out of here and seek help.”

“How?” Margo demanded with a sneer. “The good ship

OTIOSE doesn’t have wings.”

“I looked outside from upstairs,” Gene went on, ignoring

Margo. “The snow is letting up and the wind is down. There

are skis in this lodge. There might even be a snowmobile

around here someplace. If we could dig a path from one of

the entrances, we could get somebody out. Who skis besides

Frank?”

“I do,” Ward responded, “but it’d take hours to shovel the

snow away from the doors.”

“If a path can be cleared, I can get out of here,” Ava volunteered. “I ski, so does Margo.”

Margo was still sneering. “It’s at least a mile to the highway. The snow’s covered all the landmarks. We’d get lost.

Count me out, I’m not going on any suicide mission.”

Russell quivered. “Don’t use that word.”

“Put a sock in it, Russell,” Margo snapped. “Andrea didn’t

commit suicide. She was murdered. Just like everybody else.”

All of Margo’s bravado evaporated, and she

132 / Mary Daheim

swayed slightly, but caught herself on the mantelpiece.

“At least we could try,” Gene persisted. “This situation has

gotten completely out of control.”

“You might say that,” Ward said, acknowledging the understatement.

“Accidents,” Killegrew muttered. “We’ll say they were accidents.”

“For Chrissake!” Max burst out. “Are you talking about a

coverup? That’s crazy, Frank!”

“Let’s talk about it,” Ward said in a calm voice. “It’s about

time we considered damage control.”

“Holy cats!” Renie said under her breath. “Let me out of

here. I can’t listen to this bilge.” She stomped off to the library.

Judith followed, closing the door behind her. “Killegrew

can’t be serious,” she said.

Renie had flopped into a leather wingback chair. “Yes, he

can. You’d be shocked by the things that CEOs and other

executive types think they can get away with. Have you forgotten Watergate?”

“This is far worse,” Judith asserted, sitting down in the

mate to Renie’s chair. “People are being murdered. If they

attempt a coverup, the killer will go free.”

Renie rolled her eyes. “You still don’t get it, do you? The

people—excuse me, the persons in the corner offices don’t

think like the rest of us. They live by a different set of rules

and ethics. Try looking at it from Frank’s point of view. If

they get out of here with most of them still alive, and can

actually pass off the three deaths as accidents, then allowing

the murderer to go unscathed is a small price to pay to preserve not only OTIOSE’s public image, but the company itself. The others would keep their mouths shut in order to

keep their jobs. That’s the way it works—or can—on the

executive floor.”

“Margo’s already said she’s going to quit,” Judith pointed

out. “She won’t keep quiet.”

“Maybe not, but it might depend on the package they

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 133

offer her when she leaves. It could be very lucrative—and

very tempting. Besides,” Renie went on, “you’ll notice she

didn’t mention quitting in front of the others. As far as we

know, she only talked about it to us.”

Judith mulled over Renie’s words of corporate wisdom. It

was peaceful in the library, especially to Judith, who had always sought solace among books. Someone had built a fire

in the small grate. For the briefest of moments, Judith tried

to imagine that she and Renie were having a cozy chat on a

wintry weekend in the mountains.

The pager went off again, shattering the illusory respite.

“Damn!” Judith exclaimed. “I forgot about that thing! How

do I make it stop?”

Renie sighed. “First off, you look in the little window to

see who’s calling you. Then you press a button that’ll keep

it from reringing. Those things are set up so that they keep

going off until you acknowledge that you’ve taken the call.”

“Oh.” Judith fished the pager out of her purse. “This is

hard to read.” She held the little device under the table lamp

next to her chair. “Drat. It’s my home number. It could be

Mother. I wonder what’s wrong? How do I answer this?”

“You can’t, without a phone,” Renie said, then brightened.

“This might be a good thing, coz. If it really is an emergency,

then maybe somebody will figure out that you can’t call

back.”

Judith looked askance. “Meanwhile, Mother is lying on the

floor of the toolshed with her dentures wedged in her gullet?”

“Something like that,” Renie murmured. “Now if it were

my mother, she would already have tried to page me about

fifty times. It’s a wonder she hasn’t given me a pager for my

birthday or Christmas. I keep hoping she won’t figure out

how they work. Her half-dozen phone calls a day are already

enough to make me nuts.”

Judith was well aware that Aunt Deb’s obsession with

134 / Mary Daheim

the telephone—and with Renie—went to extremes. But

Gertrude abhorred the phone and disdained the pager. She

wouldn’t try to contact Judith unless something serious had

happened.

“Now I’m worried,” Judith said, getting up and starting to

pace around the library.

“That makes a lot of sense,” said Renie. “You’re worried

about something that may or may not have happened and

about which you can do absolutely nothing. In the meantime,

we’re sitting here like…sitting ducks.”

Judith stopped pacing. “Meaning what?”

Renie laid her head back against the soft brown leather.

“Meaning that you and I are not OTIOSE employees. We

have nothing to gain by keeping our mouths shut. That, in

turn, means that the killer has nothing to lose by getting rid

of us. Now do you get it?”

Judith got it.

Lunch was a moribund meal. Judith and Renie served

sliced ham and turkey, three kinds of bread, four varieties of

cheese, what was left of the fresh fruit, and a pasta salad

prepared beforehand at Hillside Manor. For the most part,

the conferees picked at their food and kept conversation to

a minimum. Whatever had gone on during the damage

control meeting had markedly dampened their spirits.

“Poison,” Judith heard Nadia whisper. “What if we’re all

being poisoned?”

“We’d have keeled over by now,” Ward said, but he closely

inspected his ham.

“I don’t feel so good,” Russell said, and spit out a strawberry.

“Don’t be silly,” Margo remonstrated. “You’re imagining

things.”

“We have to eat to keep up our strength,” Killegrew declared. “Look at me, I’m not afraid.” He took a big bite out

of his sandwich to prove the point.

Judith returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later, after

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 135

the cousins had eaten their own turkey sandwiches, she

suggested that they check out Andrea’s room.

Renie grimaced. “Must we?”

“It’ll be okay. Gene covered Andrea with a sheet. We might

as well do it now. When I went into the dining room the

last time, it didn’t look as if anybody intended to stir for a

while.”

The cousins used the back stairs. As they’d guessed, Andrea’s door was unlocked. Upon entering, Judith and Renie

both paused, lost in morbid thought.

“Gruesome,” Renie whispered, gazing at the figure in the

bed.

Judith was examining the extra pillow, which had been

turned over to show the cosmetics smudges. “Andrea had

put on fresh makeup for Leon and some of it had gotten

smeared when she found out he was dead. But I knew there’d

be enough left to make a mark on the pillowcase. This is a

vital piece of evidence. I hate to see it left lying out in the

open with an unlocked door.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Renie said faintly.

Judith folded her arms across her bosom. “I would, if I

thought it would help convict a killer.”

“Aren’t we in enough trouble already?”

“Not quite.” Gingerly, Judith slipped the case off the pillow.

“Oh, great!” Renie reeled around the room, accidentally

knocking Andrea’s briefcase off a shelf by the bathroom door.

Hastily, she bent down to pick it up.

“Keep that briefcase,” Judith ordered.

Renie stared. “You are deranged.”

“Endangered, not deranged. You said so yourself.” Judith

began to pull out drawers, then go through the small closet.

“We’re buying life insurance,” she said, opening Andrea’s

suitcase. “We’re taking whatever evidence we can find and

we’re going to stash it and then we’re going to threaten the

OTIOSE crew.”

“Good grief.” Renie had sat down on the spare twin

136 / Mary Daheim

bed. “What with? Margo’s gun, which we’ll wrestle away

from her in a dazzling display of martial arts?”

“No, of course not.” Finding nothing of interest in the

suitcase, Judith put it back in the closet. “We threaten them

with the evidence.”

“Which consists of one smudged pillowcase.” Renie shook

her head in a forlorn manner.

“So far.” Judith pointed to the briefcase. “We might find

something in there. Come on, help me collect the water

glasses and the sleeping pill bottle.”

“Fingerprints,” Renie said doggedly. “You’ll ruin any fingerprints.”

“No, I won’t,” Judith replied from the bathroom. “I’m very

carefully putting the glasses back in the paper wrappers they

were set out in by the staff. I’m also going through the

wastebasket.”

“I’m going through the window,” Renie said. “I wish I’d

never mentioned that we were about to be killed.”

The wastebasket yielded nothing except the paper covers

for the glassware and an empty plastic garbage bag. “Let’s

go,” Judith said, grabbing Andrea’s purse. “I’ve checked out

everything I can think of.”

Renie was still on the bed. “I think it’s safer to stay here

with Andrea. At least she’s not babbling like a self-destructive

idiot.”

“That’s because she already self-destructed.” Seeing Renie’s

curious look, Judith clarified her statement. “I don’t mean

suicide. I mean that something she did—or more likely

something she knew—caused her death. I’m guessing that

the same holds true for Barry and Leon.”

Reluctantly, Renie stood up. “If you’re referring to the exchange of gossip, I can see that with Andrea and Barry. But

not with Leon. Did he strike you as someone who would sit

around savoring juicy corporate tidbits?”

“No,” Judith admitted, “he didn’t. But I keep thinking of

that phrase somebody mentioned—‘Mooney’s Money.’

Money is always an excellent motive.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 137

The cousins went out into the hall. “We’ve got to find a

good hiding place,” Judith said when they were in their own

room. “It’s too obvious to hide anything in here. Think, coz.”

“How about the safe?” Renie said off the top of her head.

“You can change the combination. Nobody will know.”

Judith beamed at Renie. “Perfect. Let’s check out the

briefcase and purse before we go back downstairs. If there’s

nothing of interest, we can put them back in Andrea’s room.”

They went through the black leather handbag first. Andrea’s wallet contained a great many credit cards and even

more business cards. There were also several receipts, apparently saved for the purpose of possible returns or for income

tax records.

“She hadn’t cleaned this out for a while,” Judith remarked.

“Most of this stuff goes back to November and December.

Wow!” She held up a small piece of paper. “Andrea bought

somebody a Rolex watch! A Christmas present for Alan,

maybe?”

“A bribe’s more like it,” Renie said, sorting through the

rest of the handbag. “Maybe Andrea was trying to buy her

husband’s fidelity.”

“This is kind of interesting,” Judith said, holding up another

receipt. “It’s from Thursday, and it’s for lunch at the Manhattan Grill. Andrea filled in all the tax-required info. Apparently, she treated Patrice Killegrew.”

“So? I imagine it doesn’t hurt to butter up the boss’s wife

now and then.” Renie dug deep into the leather handbag.

“Hey, I found another wallet. More keys, too. No wonder

this sucker’s so heavy…” Renie stared at the items in her

hand. “This is Barry’s stuff!”

Judith put Andrea’s wallet down on the bed. “I’ll be

darned. What about the notebook and the rest of it?”

“It’s all here.” Renie handed the weathered notebook to

Judith.

138 / Mary Daheim

For a few moments, Judith was silent. “These things were

meant to be found,” she said at last. “If Andrea was a suicide,

and the Leon Mooney affair story didn’t wash, then we were

supposed to believe that Andrea had killed Barry. Let me see

those keys.”

Renie handed over the ring that Judith had found in the

cave. “Six keys,” Judith said, spreading them out on the

counterpane. She pointed to the first key on the ring. “House

or apartment key, right? The next one’s the same type,

probably for a second lock. The big one’s a car key. It looks

a lot like the one to my Subaru. These three smaller ones

are—what? A gym locker? A filing cabinet? Luggage?”

“They could be any of those things,” said Renie, looking

puzzled. “What’s your point?”

“Did Barry have a car?”

“How would I know?” Renie sounded mildly annoyed,

then snapped her fingers. “He must have. How else could

he transport his catering supplies?”

“Okay.” Judith seemed satisfied. “So that big key would be

his. Where then is the key to the company van he drove to

Mountain Goat Lodge?”

“Maybe it’s still in the cave,” Renie suggested. “You might

have missed it.”

Judith shook her head. “Not possible. They left in that van,

with Nadia driving, remember?”

“Ah.” Enlightened, Renie smiled at Judith. “Good thinking.

So what you’re saying is that the killer made sure he—or

she—retrieved the van key from Barry after he was dead.”

“That’s right. Now we have to find out from Nadia who

gave her that key. And why.”

“Why what?” The puzzled expression returned to Renie’s

round face.

“If Barry had supposedly run off, he wouldn’t have left the

key behind,” Judith reasoned. “So how did the killer explain

having the key in his—or her—possession?”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 139

“Maybe,” Renie said, “we should go downstairs and leave

the rest of this stuff until later.”

“You mean we should get to Nadia while she’s still alive?”

Judith thought for a moment. “That’s not a bad idea, but I’d

like to finish our search so we can return this stuff in case

somebody else comes looking for it.”

The briefcase was full of what looked like personnel folders

along with Andrea’s notes, many of which had been taken

at the previous day’s meetings. “See what you make of these,”

Judith said, handing the notes to Renie. “I don’t speak corporate lingo.”

Renie scanned the handwritten pages. “Most of the references are about planning for the future. Frank’s vision for

OTIOSE, comments from the others, suggestions, ideas, all

that sort of thing. It’s pretty bland, if you ask me.”

“I did,” Judith replied absently, flipping through a fat daily

planner. Since it started with January first, there weren’t

many entries, and most of them struck Judith as routine. She

did, however, find Patrice Killegrew’s name written in three

times.

“Isn’t this too much buttering up?” she asked of Renie.

“Here’s dinner with Patrice on Wednesday, January third,

lunch on Friday, the fifth, and again last Thursday.” Judith

sifted through the receipts again. “I can find only the one

from the Manhattan Grill. Patrice must have treated on the

other two occasions. They lunched both times at that bistro

in the public market.”

“It might have something to do with Frank’s retirement,”

Renie said, removing several folders from the briefcase. “You

know, planning a big bash to honor the occasion.”

“Wouldn’t Nadia be involved in that?” Judith inquired.

“Well—yes, but sometimes human resources people get

sucked in, too.” Renie opened one of the folders. It was the

same one she had found on the podium in the conference

room. “Andrea played the horses?”

140 / Mary Daheim

“Why not? We do when we get the chance.” Judith put

the receipts back in Andrea’s wallet.

“I suppose she needed a vice besides Leon Mooney,” Renie

allowed. “He wouldn’t make me feel steeped in sin. Hey,

this is weird.” Renie had turned to the second page of material in the folder. “There’s another list, but it’s names and

titles and companies, along with a bunch of other really

strange stuff.”

Judith took the sheet of paper from Renie. The first listing

read, “Charles E. Fisher, vice president—customer services,

S.W. Com.; Oct. 8–10, Cascadia Hotel, Room 608, bouncy

blonde or redhead, no S&M.”

The cousins stared at each other. “Hookers.” Judith formed

the word silently. “Look at this—James L. blah-blah, assistant

vice present, blah-blah, Plymouth Hotel, blah-blah, Asian or

Hispanic, plumpish, into bondage. Here’s one that says,

African-American dressed as Little Miss Muffet, and right

below it is some guy who wants a tall Scandinavian wheatthrasher.”

Renie started to giggle. “Somebody was running a hooker

ring out of OTIOSE? That’s rich!”

Judith wasn’t laughing. “Andrea?” She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s possible, I suppose. In another life, she could have been

a madam.”

“No.” Renie grew serious. “Not Andrea, not any of these

top level female executives. They wouldn’t exploit other

women. I know I said that the sisterhood is a myth, but there

is a code. Prostitution isn’t part of it.”

“So this was planted along with Barry’s stuff?” Judith was

puzzled.

“Maybe.” Renie, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed,

rocked back and forth. “Or Andrea found it on the coffee

table where we left it and was going to take somebody to

task.”

Judith leafed through the remaining four pages in the

folder. There were more names and descriptions, similar to

the ones they’d originally thought belonged to race horses.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 141

“Bronze Beauty—long-legged, aloof, can dominate”;

“Crinkles—nicely padded, fun-loving, extensive costume

wardrobe, wigs, undergarments, etc.”; “Frangipani—exotic,

erotic, no funny stuff.”

The cousins, however, didn’t recognize any of the supposed clients’ names. They all appeared to be from out of

town, mostly from the officer corps, and almost exclusively

connected to the communications business.

“Who?” Judith demanded, handing the folder back to

Renie.

“In this bunch? I could only guess, which would get me

nowhere, because I wouldn’t put it past any of the men.”

Renie hesitated before putting the folder back into the

briefcase. “Evidence? Or not?”

Judith considered. “That folder seems to have a life of its

own. Let’s leave it and see what happens to it next. As long

as we know where it is now, maybe we can learn something

if it turns up somewhere else.”

Renie complied. “I might exclude Killegrew,” she said as

they headed back into the hall. “He wouldn’t dare dirty his

hands with this sort of thing.”

“He must know about it,” Judith said as they approached

Andrea’s door.

“Maybe not,” said Renie. “Maybe that was Andrea’s fatal

mistake. Maybe Frank Killegrew was about to find out.”

After creeping downstairs, the only items the cousins put

into the safe were the pillowcase, the water glasses, the pill

bottle, and Barry’s belongings. Inside the safe, the Eskimo

carving still lay on the towel. Judith breathed a sigh of relief.

The remainder of their pilfered collection had been returned

to Andrea’s room.

The OTIOSE staff, or what was left of them, had retired

to the library. “If any more of them get bumped off,” Renie

said as they cleared away the lunch plates in the

142 / Mary Daheim

dining room, “they can start meeting in the elevator.”

“That’s not funny, coz,” Judith snapped. “You’re the one

who thinks we’re next on the hit list.”

Renie sobered. “Not next. Last.”

“Swell.” Judith paused, holding several coffee mugs against

her chest. “We’ve got to figure this out, coz. I really want to

know who is going to try to do us in.”

“That’d be nice,” Renie admitted, then gave Judith an

apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. I just

don’t know how else to keep the horror at bay.”

“Margo’s gun might do that,” said Judith as they returned

to the kitchen. “Maybe we can eliminate some of these

people.”

Renie was startled. “With Margo’s gun?”

“No.” Judith gave her cousin a twisted smile. “I mean, as

suspects. Russell, for example. Can you see him as a coldblooded killer?”

“He’d be very cunning,” Renie said, again quite serious.

“Devious, too. Under that supposedly squeamish, vague exterior lurks genius. He’s the R&D man, remember. I never

put anything past people who sit around and just think.”

“Okay, we leave Russell in,” Judith said with reluctance.

“If Margo was the killer, would she brandish that gun?”

“Why not? It’s a great cover. No one’s been shot. Yet.”

“I like Ava,” Judith said, putting away the uneaten ham

and turkey. “Maybe it’s because she lent me her clothes.

Couldn’t we cross her off the list?”

This time, Renie’s response didn’t come so promptly.

When it finally did, it was qualified. “I like her, too, but she’s

ambitious. Don’t you remember what she said about how

she could be running WaCom if she’d stayed on? That implies she’d like to be running OTIOSE.”

“I thought you said Ward Haugland was a shoo-in for

Killegrew’s job.”

“There are no shoo-ins in the corporate world,” Renie

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 143

responded. “He’s the heir apparent. The key word is ‘apparent.’”

Judith began unloading the dishwasher. “How about

Ward?”

“Ward’s viable. Under that ‘aw-shucks’ manner there’s

big-time drive and determination. Of course,” Renie added,

“he’s been very loyal to Frank. I’ve heard that Ward has

turned down a couple of other offers this past year.”

“I suppose we can’t rule out Max, if only because he has

a hot temper and a lot of resentment,” said Judith.

“He’s strong, too,” Renie noted.

“Which Nadia isn’t. Could we skip her?” Judith’s tone was

hopeful.

“She’s thin, but wiry. Like me, before I got fat. I’d never

trust me. I can be vicious when aroused.” Renie finished

clearing off the counter. “Nadia’s another one who’s very

loyal to Frank. I could see her committing a crime not for

herself, but for him.”

Judith stared at Renie. “Is she in love with Frank?”

“I don’t know. Naturally, there have been rumors. A man

and a woman don’t work that closely together without having

people talk about them.”

“There’s Gene,” Judith said disconsolately. “Too prudent,

too cautious, right?”

“Precisely the kind that can snap,” Renie said. “Pressure—you don’t understand what it can do at the executive

level.”

“So we’re left with Frank Killegrew.” Judith picked up a

dish towel, gave it a frustrated yank, and tossed it onto the

counter. “He founded OTIOSE. Why would he ruin it by

killing off his employees?”

“Good question. To be honest, I can’t think of an answer.

He is OTIOSE. The perfect solution is that someone is out

to get him, indirectly. If there was an outsider in this bunch,

everything would make sense. But that’s not the case, and

we’re up a stump.” Renie heaved a big sigh just as Max and

Ward entered the kitchen.

144 / Mary Daheim

“We’re looking for shovels,” Max announced. “Crazy as it

sounds, we’re going to try to tunnel our way out.”

“The snow stopped,” Ward said on a note of optimism.

“We may get a thaw.” The two men headed for the basement.

Judith and Renie exchanged curious glances. “Tunnel?”

said Judith.

“Thaw?” said Renie. “Don’t count on it.”

“They can’t tunnel for a mile,” said Judith. “That’s crazy.”

“They’re desperate,” Renie responded.

Judith gave a slight shake of her head. “Aren’t we all?”

ELEVEN

MAX AND WARD had decided to go out through the front

entrance because it faced west and the snow might not be

as deep. Judith and Renie joined the others in the lobby as

Gene and Russell attempted to open the big double doors.

“One at a time!” Killegrew shouted. “We don’t want an

avalanche in here!”

The knotty pine door on the left slowly swung inward. As

feared, the snow came with it, spilling onto the flagstones

and showering the onlookers with frozen particles.

“Eeek!” cried Nadia. “We’ll be buried alive!”

But the pile of snow only reached about four feet into the

lodge. Near the top of the open door, they could see daylight.

Max, with hands on hips, surveyed the task that lay ahead.

“We’re snowed in, all right,” he said, stating the obvious.

“This is going to take some time.”

“Better bundle up,” said Killegrew, going over to the coffee

table. “Say, Nadia, could you fix me a Scotch and soda?”

Nadia busied herself with bottles and glasses. Judith noticed that the liquor supply was getting low. She wondered

if there was more in the basement. Given all that

145

146 / Mary Daheim

had happened so far, it wouldn’t do to run out of booze.

Max and Ward headed for the elevator, presumably to put

on their all-weather gear. Gene and Ava wandered back into

the library. Margo and Russell followed Judith and Renie

into the kitchen.

“Do we have enough food?” Margo inquired.

“We’re fine,” Judith assured her. “In fact, I was just wondering about the liquor. Maybe we could all go downstairs

and see if there’s a backup supply.”

“They should have a wine cellar,” Margo said. “Come on,

Russell. It’ll give us something to do.”

Russell trailed Margo like a well-behaved pup. Judith and

Renie joined them, carefully going down the narrow stairway.

The basement wasn’t quite what Judith had expected. It was

partitioned into rooms. They passed the storage area for

outdoor equipment, the game room with billiard and pingpong tables, a large, well-stocked woodpile, a much larger

laundry room than the small alcove off the kitchen, a heating

and furnace room, another storage room where extra furniture was kept, and finally what passed for a wine cellar.

The bottles were stored in their original cases. To Judith’s

relief, there were also boxes filled with every imaginable liquor as well as two kegs containing beer, light and dark.

Each member of the foursome grabbed as many bottles as

possible and returned upstairs.

The lobby was empty and quite cold. The snow was

melting on the flagstones, creating puddles of water. Judith

and Renie went in search of a mop and some rags.

“When do we make our big threat?” Renie asked after they

were in the supply room.

“I’d like to have more evidence first,” Judith replied. “The

pillowcase might prove that Andrea was murdered, but except

for possible DNA results, it doesn’t tell us who smothered

her.”

They didn’t find any rags in the cupboards, so they had

to make do with towels. Renie piled such a tall stack in her

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 147

arms that only her eyes and hair showed. “Hold it. You said

we had a life insurance policy. Show them, tell them.” Renie

bit off the words. “Now, before we expire, right along with

your stupid policy. Come on, coz—we can’t wait to get more

evidence.”

“I didn’t say get,” Judith responded, carrying a mop and

a bucket. “I said have more evidence. Which isn’t exactly

right, either. What I meant was…um…”

“You haven’t made up the evidence.” Renie sighed, balancing the towels and following Judith out of the supply room.

“In other words, you’re going to tell one of your monster

lies.”

“I never lie,” Judith said, indignant. “I might fib, but only

when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“So what’s the fib?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m stalling. You got any bright

ideas?”

They were back in the lobby before Renie could come up

with an answer. Ava and Nadia were exiting the women’s

rest room; Russell and Gene were standing in the doorway

to the library; Frank Killegrew and Margo were nowhere in

sight; Ward and Max hadn’t yet returned from upstairs.

The cousins began wiping up the wet floor. Nadia offered

to help. The heat from the lobby was causing the snow to

melt fairly fast. It was almost impossible to get the flagstones

dry.

“I suppose the snow that was up against the building was

fairly soft anyway,” Judith murmured, more to herself than

to Renie or Nadia. “I’m not sure that opening the front door

was a good idea.”

“It’s the only way to get help,” Nadia said, down on her

hands and knees.

“How’s Frank?” Renie asked, wringing out a towel in the

bucket.

“He’s fine, he’s really fine,” Nadia replied. “We went to

check on one of the smaller conference rooms. Margo’s

148 / Mary Daheim

with him now. We may move our meeting there. It’s a bit

chilly in the lobby with the door open.”

“What about the library?” Judith inquired. “Isn’t that where

you were earlier?”

Nadia made a face. “Yes. But those big leather chairs are

so…comfortable. Russell in particular tended to nod off.”

Renie, who had also been kneeling, stood up. “This is a

losing battle. Between the warmer temperature outside and

the heat from the lodge, we’re getting a regular little stream

across the floor. Look,” she said, pointing to the top of the

open entrance way, “we could see barely six inches of daylight when the door was first open. Now it’s nearly a foot.”

Judith followed Renie’s finger. Her cousin was right. She

could make out a fallen tree branch across the drifted snow,

or perhaps it was a piece of the roof that had blown off

during the blizzard. From what Judith could tell, the afternoon was overcast, but there was neither snow nor rain

falling on the mountainside. Perhaps their prospects were

looking up.

“Where the hell is Ward?” Max demanded as he exited

from the elevator.

Everyone turned to stare at the marketing vice president

who was bundled up in a red and black hooded lumber

jacket.

“He went upstairs with you,” Ava said. “Isn’t he in his

room?”

“If he is, he’s in the can,” Max retorted, then pushed back

a heavy glove to look at his watch. “It’s almost two-thirty.

We went up to change just before two. What’s taking him

so long?”

Killegrew and Margo were coming from the conference

room area. “Now, now,” said Killegrew, “what’s going on?

I thought you and Ward were going to start digging.” He

gave Max an accusing look.

The vice president of marketing’s slightly simian features

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 149

always looked pugnacious, but now they turned obstinate.

“I’m not starting alone. I’ll wait for Ward if it takes all afternoon. What’s he doing in his room? Taking a nap?” Suddenly Max’s big, burly body sagged. “What is he doing?” he

mumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Killegrew demanded, taking

a step forward and looking as if he wanted to shake Max.

“Didn’t you two stay together?”

Max paled. “We couldn’t. Not the whole time. We had to

get our gear from our separate rooms. It seemed pointless

to change clothes together. Hell, we locked our doors. I

mean, I did, and Ward’s was locked when I tried it just now.

Otherwise, I’d have gone in to see if he was in the can.”

“Oh, dear!” Nadia’s exclamation was very faint.

“Ward!” Ava clutched at the rolled-up collar of her blue

sweater.

Frank Killegrew seemed to be at war with himself. The

muscles in his face worked, his strapping body twitched, his

eyes darted around the lobby. “We’d better all go,” he finally

said in a thick, uncertain voice.

Nadia pressed both of her small hands against his chest.

“Not you, Frank! You’ve already had one terrible shock

today. Please, stay here. I’ll wait with you.”

“So will I,” Russell chimed in. “I’m squeam…ooof!”

Margo had belted Russell in the stomach. “Don’t you dare

say that again, you chicken! Go ahead, stay down here and

cower in the corner. I’m going.” She lifted her chin at Ava.

“How about you?”

Ava shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

In the end, it was Max, Margo, and Gene who got into

the elevator. The cousins would join them in the hallway,

but they’d get there via the back stairs. They’d also bring an

ax.

“I don’t really want to do this,” an unenthusiastic Renie

said as they went down to the basement. “What we find isn’t

going to be nice.”

150 / Mary Daheim

“Probably not,” Judith sighed, “but we should be there as

witnesses.”

“Why?” Renie asked as they headed for the alcove that

housed the woodpile.

“Why?” Judith hesitated. “Well, because we need to know

everything if we’re going to figure out whodunit. More

evidence, that’s the ticket.”

“I thought you were going to make some up,” Renie replied

in a peevish voice.

“I was, but real evidence would be better.” Judith found

two axes, but chose the one with the longer handle. “Let’s

go.”

When Judith and Renie got back to the second floor, they

saw Margo trying to turn the lock with a paper clip. She

wasn’t having much luck. Max and Gene hovered behind

her. Judith had considered offering her expertise, but thought

better of it; perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to admit that she

could not only crack a safe, but pick a lock.

“I could push it in,” Max said. He had taken off his lumber

jacket to reveal a heavy olive-green flannel shirt.

“No,” Gene said, avoiding Max’s gaze. “We don’t want a

gaping hole. That is, in case…” His voice trailed off.

Max saw the ax in Judith’s hand. “Then we’ll chop around

the lock.”

Gene nodded. “Go ahead. Let’s hope Ward didn’t shoot

the dead bolt.”

Ward hadn’t. It took Max almost ten minutes to hack away

at the solid pine, but eventually he freed the lock, doorknob,

and brass plate from the door itself. Gingerly, Max reached

into the opening and swung the door free.

The room looked like all the others that Judith had seen.

It appeared to be empty. Max led the way, going to the foot

of the twin beds, peering beneath them, checking the small

closet, then opening the door to the bathroom. He looked

in the tub. There was no sign of Ward.

Renie was shivering. Judith put a hand on her cousin’s

arm. “Hang in there, coz,” she whispered.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 151

“I’m okay,” Renie said under her breath. “It’s cold in here.”

“It is, actually,” Judith agreed. She glanced at the small

fireplace. The grate was empty.

“I don’t get it. I saw him go in.” Max scratched his bald

head, then went back to the closet. “His parka’s gone. So are

his ski pants. Look,” he went on, pointing to a hanger.

“There’s the blue shirt and the navy cords he was wearing

earlier today. He must have changed.”

“Weird,” breathed Margo. “What did he do? Go outside?”

“He couldn’t get outside,” Gene reminded her. “He must

have left this room, locked the door behind him, and…”

OTIOSE’s legal counsel turned a bleak face to the others.

“My room’s just across the hall,” Max said. “If anything

had happened out in the corridor, I would’ve heard it.”

The room, with its chilly atmosphere and missing occupant, seemed to have acquired a sinister air. In a body, five

unsettled people made for the door. Max closed it behind

them, then stared down at the hole where the hardware had

been.

“What are we going to tell Frank?” he asked in a dismal

voice.

“The truth,” Margo retorted. “Frank can take it. Besides,

we don’t know if anything happened to Ward. He might be

wandering around the lodge looking for us.”

The suggestion, no matter how overly optimistic, buoyed

Max and Gene, who fairly bounded to the elevator. Even

Margo seemed more amiable. As Judith and Renie hung

back, they heard Margo call to them, “Come on, squeeze in.

I’m skinny as a flagpole and you’re kind of small, Serena.”

“I used to be,” Renie murmured, but she and Judith managed to fit into the small car.

Killegrew, Nadia, Ava, and Russell were waiting for

152 / Mary Daheim

them with an air of dread. “Well?” the CEO demanded when

they stepped out into the lobby. “What’s happened to

Ward?”

“Nothing,” Margo replied. “We couldn’t find him.” Her

face fell slightly as she looked around. “He’s not here?”

“Of course not,” Killegrew growled. “You mean he wasn’t

in his room?”

“No, he wasn’t.” Max seemed to topple from his brief elation. “I suppose we could search the basement.”

“We went down there to get the ax,” Judith said. “We

didn’t see him. But then we really didn’t look. We went

straight to the woodpile.”

“Let’s go.” Max was already heading down the hall towards

the basement stairs. Margo and Gene followed, but this time

the cousins held back.

“We’d have heard him if he was there,” Judith whispered

to Renie.

“Probably,” Renie replied. “But the basement is pretty big.”

“Why would he go down there?”

“To get more shovels?” Renie shrugged, then added in a

doubtful tone, “I wouldn’t think he’d go alone.”

Nadia gestured at the flagstones. “It’s been melting quite

steadily. We’d better mop up again.”

“I’ll get more towels,” Renie volunteered, starting out of

the lobby.

“Not alone, you won’t,” Judith said, hurrying after her.

“I’ll join you,” Nadia put in, almost running to keep up

with the cousins. “Frank’s safe. The others are here.”

“Goodness,” Judith said in amazement she hoped didn’t

sound feigned, “your devotion to Mr. Killegrew is really admirable. But then I work for myself. When you’re your own

boss, you can’t look up to yourself.”

“Frank Killegrew is a very exceptional man,” Nadia declared as they reached the supply room. “I was with him

when he was a Bell System vice president. In fact, I worked

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 153

for him from the time I left my post with the Red Cross in

New Delhi and moved back to the States. Frank had just

made middle management. Twenty-four years. I was teasing

him the other day, and saying we had a silver anniversary

coming up this November.”

“Really.” Judith surveyed the towel supply, which was beginning to dwindle. “That’s a long time.”

“We’ve made a good team over the years.” Nadia’s voice

was wistful.

Judith started out of the supply room with her stack of

towels, then stopped. “Say, Nadia, I’ve got an odd question

for you. Remember last year when you were at the lodge?”

She paused for Nadia’s faint nod. “You told us you drove

the company van back to town after Barry disappeared.

Where did you get the key?”

Nadia rested her chin on the armload of towels. “The key?

Oh, dear—where did I get it?” She pursed her lips. “Oh! I

found it on the coffee table in the lobby.”

Judith’s face fell. “You don’t know who put the key there?”

“Keys,” Nadia corrected. “There was a small ring with three,

perhaps four keys on it. One was for the ignition, one was

for the storage compartment in the undercarriage, and the

other one—or two—were…” She paused. “I’m not sure.

Maybe they were duplicates of the others.”

“But you still had no idea who left them on the coffee

table?” Judith persisted.

Nadia shook her head. “No. At the time, I assumed Barry

had left them after he’d…gone off.” Behind the big glasses,

Nadia lowered her eyes.

“I see.” Judith didn’t know what else to say. She’d come

up against a dead end. The three women traipsed back out

to the lobby.

“Drat!” Renie exclaimed as they reached the entrance. “It’s

snowing again. I can see it coming down by the top of the

door.”

“It must have gotten colder,” Ava said, getting up from

154 / Mary Daheim

one of the sofas. “Once the sun—whatever there is of

it—starts going down around three or four o’clock, the temperature drops.”

“I could use another Scotch and soda,” Killegrew called

from his place near the hearth.

Nadia set down her stack of towels and hurried over to

serve her master. Judith and Renie exchanged sardonic

glances. A moment later, Gene, Max, and Margo appeared

in the hallway.

“No luck,” Max stated, looking disturbed. “We searched

every freaking nook and cranny. No Ward.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Killegrew said in a gruff voice. “He has

to be somewhere. What about the other rooms?”

Margo gave Killegrew a skeptical look. “Why would Ward

be in somebody else’s room? That doesn’t make sense.”

“We know he went to his own,” Gene put in. “We saw his

clothes.”

Killegrew drew back on the sofa, squaring his broad

shoulders and tossing his slide rule from one hand to the

other. “That doesn’t mean he stayed there. For God’s sake,

use your brains. My executive vice president didn’t just

evaporate in a cloud of smoke! I say, everybody check out

their own rooms. Andrea and Leon’s, too. Let’s hit it!”

Everyone scurried for the elevator except the cousins and

Killegrew, who gave his key to Nadia. Even Russell was

dragged along by Margo, despite his squeals of protest.

“We’ll go last,” Renie said. “We can’t all get in the elevator

anyway.”

“You bet you’ll stick around,” Killegrew said ominously.

“I’m not staying down here by myself. It’s not that I’m

afraid,” he added hastily. “It’s just that we agreed on the

buddy system. If you don’t sail your ship by the book, you’ll

end up on the skoals.”

“That’s shoals, Frank,” Margo called, just before the elevator doors closed on her and Max, Gene, and Russell.

Nadia and Ava decided to take the stairs. Killegrew, with

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 155

his fresh drink, put his feet up and stared off into the crackling fire. The cousins returned to their task of mopping up.

“Consider the big picture,” Frank Killegrew said suddenly.

Judith and Renie turned curious gazes on OTIOSE’s CEO.

“Which big picture?” Renie finally asked.

“The future of telecommunications in the Northwest,”

Killegrew said, sounding sententious. “Where do you see

yourselves ten years from now?”

“Paris?” Renie had gotten to her feet.

Killegrew waved a beefy hand, then retrieved his slide rule

from the coffee table. “I’m talking about your lifestyle, your

quality of communications service, your wants and needs

when it comes to…ah…”

“I think,” Renie said slowly, “you need to be more specific.”

Killegrew’s blue eyes narrowed. “Okay, try this. If OTIOSE

goes down the toilet, a whole bunch of other, smaller, less

efficient companies will leap into the breach. You think it’s

bad now with all your different phone bills and companies?

If you can’t figure out which one can fix your inside wiring

or your outside line or even your five different phones, think

what will happen then. Rates will go up, quality will go

down, you’ll be lucky if you can get two tin cans and a piece

of string to call your next-door neighbor.”

“I don’t call my next-door neighbor,” Renie retorted. “She

hates me.”

Killegrew didn’t try to hide his exasperation. “Don’t act

stupid. You get my point.” He waited, his eyes moving

between Renie and Judith. “How much will it cost us to keep

the two of you from shooting your mouths off?” he finally

said.

“Let’s start the bidding at three point five million and stock

options,” Renie replied. “That’s each. Our silence isn’t merely

golden, it’s platinum.”

“Too much.” Killegrew’s chin jutted.

Renie flicked a wet towel at the air. “It’s not negotiable.

156 / Mary Daheim

Remember, I want to be in Paris in ten years.”

Ava and Nadia returned via the elevator. “No luck,” said

Ava in a grim voice. “The others are checking the…deceaseds’

rooms now.”

Judith nudged Renie. “Our turn,” she said under her breath.

In the elevator, Judith expressed her shock over Killegrew’s

offer. “Is he serious? Does he think he can bribe us?”

Renie shrugged. “The idealistic stuff about OTIOSE got

nowhere. What else did you expect?”

“This is terrible.” Judith leaned against the rear of the car.

“You were right. He’s unscrupulous.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you, they all are,” Renie said as

the doors slid open to reveal the second floor. “Most of them,

anyway.”

Max and Gene were coming out of Andrea’s room while

Russell quavered in the hallway with an irritated Margo at

his side. “No Ward in any of the rooms,” Max said in a

morose voice. “Try yours.”

The cousins’ room was empty, too. “What about the third

floor?” Gene asked.

“Why the hell would Ward go up there?” Max demanded.

“The only thing of interest is Leon, and he’s stiff as a board.”

“It was a thought,” Gene said apologetically.

Max sighed. “I suppose we’d better look. Come on, Gene.

The others can go back downstairs.”

Along with Margo and Russell, Judith and Renie took the

elevator to the lobby. No one spoke during the brief descent.

As soon as they stepped out of the car, Killegrew made a

request.

“We could use some appetizers to go with these drinks,”

he said, looking put upon.

Margo sneered. “You’re the only one who’s drinking,

Frank. I don’t think the rest of us have much of an appetite.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 157

“There’s some cheese and crackers,” Judith said. “If you

like, I can make up a tray.”

Killegrew nodded. “As I said, we have to keep up our

strength.”

The cousins trekked off to the kitchen. Russell Craven was

at their heels, hemming and hawing.

“I don’t mean to trouble you, but…ah…er…I would enjoy

a cup of tea. Um…often, in the afternoon around this time,

my secretary, Ms. Honeythunder, brings me a nice hot cup.”

“It’s no bother,” Judith assured him. “I’ll put the kettle on

right away.”

“Soothing,” Russell said with a little sigh. “Refreshing.

Bracing. Hot tea.” He started to sit down on one of the

stools, then jumped back as if he’d been stung by a bee.

“Is that…?” Jerkily, he pointed to the counter.

“More or less,” Renie said. “Go ahead, sit down. What

Leon had isn’t contagious.”

“But it is.” Russell’s fair, rather weak features were filled

with despair. “One by one, we’re…doomed.”

The remark was unsettling. Judith opened her mouth to

contradict Russell, considered what had happened thus far,

and kept quiet. Renie squirmed a bit before taking Russell

by the hand and leading him to a stool on the opposite side

of the counter.

“If you really believe that,” Renie said, at her most solemn,

“then you must try to help us. Do you know why your people

are being killed?”

Russell chewed on his lower lip. “I’ve been thinking about

that. Of course, that’s all I ever do—I think.”

“And you get ideas,” Renie said encouragingly. “Often,

they’re brilliant ideas. How about now?”

“Well…um…” Russell ran a hand through his unruly hair.

“It had occurred to me that someone was trying to get Frank’s

possible successors out of the way to make room for himself—or herself. Naturally, the ultimate decision is always

up to the board of directors.” Russell uttered

158 / Mary Daheim

a nervous little cough, perhaps embarrassed by his uncharacteristic loquaciousness. “But you see, I don’t think Andrea

or Leon was being considered—though you never know.

And that young fellow—what was his name?—he was from

the lower ranks. So that doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“No,” Renie agreed. “It doesn’t. I understand that Ward

and possibly Ava and maybe you are the prime candidates.”

“Not me!” Russell held up both hands as if to ward off the

corner office. “I’d never take such a pressure-packed position!

I’m perfectly happy where I am! I’d make a terrible CEO!”

Judith, who had gotten out a big oval tray and placed it

on the counter next to Russell, began opening boxes of

crackers. “Can you think of another motive?” she asked in a

quiet, composed voice.

Russell sighed. “I try to avoid getting involved in office

politics. I always have. I’ve spent my whole career in research

and development, starting with Bell Labs right after I

graduated from college in the East. Since I came to OTIOSE

eight years ago, I’ve concentrated solely on new products

and applications. I pay no attention to what goes on in other

departments. That’s why Max got so mad at me last night.

Maybe he has a point. But I abhor distractions.” Russell

uttered a small, embarrassed laugh. “I guess that’s why my

wife told me I could come out here by myself. Emmy felt as

if she was a distraction. Poor girl, maybe she was.”

Judith was slicing cheese. “Your wife remained in the East?”

Russell nodded. “She still lives in New Jersey. Our children

are grown, and on their own. More or less.”

“Less is not more when it comes to children,” Renie murmured. “You live alone, Russell?”

“I do. It’s fine.” He gave both cousins a diffident smile.

“No distractions.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 159

The tea kettle whistled. Judith hadn’t been able to find a

tea pot, so she poured the hot water directly into a mug and

added a tea bag. “Then you can’t think of any reason why

someone might be killing your co-workers?”

Sadly, Russell shook his head. “As I mentioned, power is

very attractive to certain people. Persons, I mean. But it

doesn’t seem to be the case here. Especially under the revised

circumstances.”

Renie jumped on the phrase. “What revised circumstances?”

Russell drew back on the stool. “Well…” His fair skin

flushed. “I can’t actually say. It’s just that…er…ah…the future

isn’t as clear as it once was.”

Renie leaned closer to Russell. “For OTIOSE in general?”

He fidgeted on the stool. “Not…um…well…It’s too complicated, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Remembering that Russell liked cream, Judith poured some

into his mug. “You should if it would save lives,” she said in

her sternest voice.

For one fleeting moment, the stark expression on Russell

Craven’s face indicated that he was about to unburden himself. But he shook his head, and spoke with unusual firmness.

“No. I can’t betray a trust. Besides, I honestly don’t believe

that there’s any connection between these awful murders

and…my point of reference.”

Judith’s shoulders slumped in discouragement; Renie

turned her back on Russell. A strained silence fell over the

kitchen.

At last, Russell cleared his throat. “Excuse me…Could I

have some sugar, please?”

Judith gave Russell the sugar and a baleful look. Seeing

that he would not leave the kitchen without them, Judith

hurried through her task. She found some olives and pickles

in the refrigerator, added them to the tray, and headed for

the lobby.

Renie and Russell followed. Killegrew was not the only

160 / Mary Daheim

one who was drinking by the time Judith put the appetizer

tray down on the coffee table. Max and Gene had returned

after a fruitless search of the third floor. They each held a

martini glass, as did Nadia and Ava. Margo was drinking

straight Scotch from a shot glass.

“I have hot tea,” Russell said in a shy voice, though it was

impossible to tell if the statement was made to assert his

virtue or to prevent an offer of alcohol.

“Gene and I are going to start shoveling after we polish

these off,” Max said, indicating his cocktail. “We can’t wait

around all day for Ward, especially now that it’s started to

snow.”

“I can’t think where Ward would be,” Nadia said in a

fretful voice.

“Who can?” Margo snapped. “You’ve already said that

forty times.”

Judith glanced at the flagstones near the entrance. The

water was getting deeper and wider. “We’d better get back

to work,” she said to Renie. “Otherwise, we’re going to be

at flood stage.”

“Great,” Renie murmured. “I can’t swim.”

The cousins returned to their seemingly endless chore.

They could hear the pressure of the snow against the lodge,

causing creaks and groans in the structure. Despite the new

flakes, there was yet more daylight showing at the top of the

doorway. Judith noted that the branch or piece of roof or

whatever it was that had fallen onto the drift was moving

downward and forward.

“Watch out for that thing,” she said with a warning poke

for Renie. “It’s starting to slide. It might be something heavy.”

It was. As Judith and Renie watched with a sickening sense

of horror, they saw the body of Ward Haugland skid from

the top of the snowbank and fall on the flagstones with a

dull, dead thud.

TWELVE

EVERYBODY SCREAMED. GENE spilled his drink on the Navajo

rug, Margo reached for her gun, Max dropped a gin bottle,

which smashed on the flagstone hearth, and Frank Killegrew

leaped from the sofa so fast that his pants ripped. Ava slid

off the footstool, just missing the broken glass from the bottle

that had slipped from Max’s hands. Nadia and Russell

swayed in their respective places with eyes shut tight and

expressions frozen in grotesque masks.

“Ward!”

“Is he…?”

“God!”

“No! No! No!”

“How…?”

“Save us! Somebody, please!”

“I’m going to throw up now.”

Bedlam reigned for the next few minutes. Judith and Renie

scrambled out of the way, slipping and sliding on the wet

floor. Ward Haugland stared at them from wide, lifeless eyes.

The cousins finally staggered toward the cluster of sofas.

Gene, whose normal composure now seemed completely

shredded, took a few hesitant steps towards the latest victim.

“Madness,” he muttered. “Where will it

161

162 / Mary Daheim

all end?” He stopped, some ten feet away from Ward.

Max joined Gene. “What the hell…?” Max said under his

breath. “I don’t get it.”

“His room,” Judith said thickly. “Where is his room?”

Max and Gene looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Maybe, she thought dazedly, she had. “His room,” she repeated, more clearly. “Wouldn’t Ward’s room be above the

front entrance? It’s in the middle of the second-floor corridor.”

Comprehension dawned on Gene. “I see. You mean…”

He stopped, then shook his head. “That’s terrible.”

“What are you jabbering about?” Killegrew demanded.

“Speak up, dammit!”

Gene turned to face his CEO. “Ward’s room is right above

the entrance. Whoever killed him must have pushed him out

the window.”

“That’s why it was so cold in there,” Renie said under her

breath. “The window had been open.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Killegrew. “Ward must have jumped.

It’s another suicide.”

“Jeeesus!” screeched Margo. “Who would try to commit

suicide by jumping out a window into a snowbank? Get over

it, Frank—Andrea didn’t kill herself and neither did Ward.”

“Then how did he die?” Ava asked, clinging to the footstool.

With small, creeping steps, Max and Gene moved forward.

“We really shouldn’t touch the…” Gene began.

“Stick it up your backside,” Max growled. “We have to find

out what happened and we can’t leave poor old Ward lying

here like a doorstop.”

“Close that door!” Killegrew ordered in a savage voice.

“We’re never going to shovel through that stuff! It’s getting

dark, it’s too late. Besides, this place is a mess. Look at that

floor!”

Naturally, everybody looked at Ward. “Gee, Frank,”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 163

Margo said, at her most sarcastic, “you’re right, as usual.

Having Ward’s corpse cluttering up the flagstones is pretty

darned unsightly. How come we can’t keep this vessel shipshape and trim-tidy?”

“Margo,” Killegrew roared, “I’ve just about had enough

out of you!”

“You sure have,” she shot back. “All my speeches, all my

words, all my vast vocabulary. If it weren’t for me, you’d be

reciting catch-phrases off of gas station reader boards.”

“Good God Almighty!” The words were torn out of Max’s

throat as he and Gene bent over the body. “It’s a garrote!

Just like—” He jabbed a finger at Judith and Renie. “—they

said about Barry!”

Several people gasped, including Judith, who edged forward. Bending down to peer between Gene and Max, she

saw what looked like a leather belt twisted around Ward

Haugland’s neck. But something was missing. There was no

stick. Judith said nothing, but she had to wonder why.

The unease in the lobby was palpable. Every person in the

room seemed to be casting wary glances in the direction of

everyone else. Margo was hugging her suede handbag, but

fear flickered in her dark eyes.

“Close that door, I said.” Frank Killegrew’s voice sounded

hoarse. “Now! I feel a draft!”

“It’s the hole in your pants, Frank,” said Margo. “Aren’t

you a little old to have pictures on your underwear?”

Killegrew turned crimson. “Close that door!”

Nobody moved. Gene cleared his throat. “We have to face

facts. One of us is a killer. There’s no one else here.”

“Did any of you hear me?” Killegrew roared. “For the last

time, close that damned door!”

Max finally went to the door and gave it a tug. “I can’t,”

he said in a helpless voice. “There’s too much snow blocking

it.”

Someone laughed. The sound did not come from the

164 / Mary Daheim

lobby. It came from outside, drifting in over the snowbank

and echoing off the knotty pine walls.

The listeners inside the lodge were too stunned to scream,

too scared to move. They just stood there, open-mouthed

and terrified.

Then, their little world became suddenly, ominously silent.

Judith and Renie had taken their very stiff drinks into the

library. “They think we did it,” Judith said. “They think we

have an accomplice outside.”

“Do we?” Renie saw Judith’s puzzled expression, and

continued. “I mean, is someone out there who might be the

killer?”

Judith propped her chin on her fists. “It’s possible. But

hasn’t the lodge been locked until now? And how would

anybody get through the snow? If we can’t get out, who

could get in?”

“It’s crazy,” Renie responded. “But somebody’s out there.

Who the hell is it?”

Wearily, Judith shook her head. “I can’t imagine. The

caretaker? He’d have keys.”

“His place is a half-mile from here,” Renie said. “Keys or

no keys, he’d still have to get through the snow. And what

would bring him out in this awful weather when he’s been

ordered to stay away?”

Judith didn’t answer immediately. In the lobby, she knew

that Max and Gene were removing Ward Haugland’s body

and taking it up to the third floor to join Leon Mooney. Frank

and Nadia had gone upstairs so that she could mend his

pants with her sewing kit.

“Who is the caretaker?” Judith finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Renie responded, stoking up the fire which

had been about to die out. “Somebody hired by the lodge,

I suppose.”

“His place is a half-mile which way?” asked Judith.

“I don’t know that, either.” Renie was getting crabby.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 165

“Let’s find out,” Judith said, taking a big swig of Scotch.

“How?” Renie was still irritated.

“We’ll ask somebody. Maybe Frank. Or Nadia. Didn’t you

say that…”

The pager went off. Judith jumped, then groped around

in her shoulder bag. “Now what?” She peered in the little

window. “Damn—it’s my home number again.”

There was a phone on the desk in the library. “Try it,”

Renie said, apparently making an effort to overcome her

annoyance. “Maybe the brief lull in the weather freed up the

line.”

To Judith’s surprise, she heard a crackling noise when she

picked up the receiver. Jiggling the disconnect button, she

tried to get a dial tone. Nothing happened. “They could be

working on it,” she said as she hung up.

“Could be,” Renie said. “We don’t know where the problem is. It might be clear down the pass or even back in the

city.”

“It must be Mother trying to reach me,” Judith murmured,

drinking more Scotch. “I’m not sure I ever mentioned the

pager to Joe.”

“It’s Saturday, Joe’s home,” Renie pointed out. “If something happened to your mother, he’d know about it.”

“Joe might be working overtime. He could be running errands. He may have gone somewhere with Bill.” Judith’s

voice grew increasingly agitated.

“They may be snowed in, too,” said Renie. “You know

how it is on Heraldsgate Hill—three inches, and we can’t

budge. Heck, it’s so steep in our neighborhood that we can’t

even get out of the garage.”

“Y-e-s,” Judith admitted, then finished her drink. “Come

on. It’s time to present the evidence.”

Renie looked skeptical. “Which is?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Sidling up to the coffeetable, Judith poured herself a small

measure of Scotch. The OTIOSE group appeared to

166 / Mary Daheim

be in wary, desultory conversation. They all seemed to tense

when Judith and Renie joined them.

“Excuse me.” Judith rattled the ice cubes in her glass. “Ex-

cuse me,” she repeated, somewhat louder. Nadia and Russell

were still talking to each other. “Thank you,” Judith said

when everyone had finally turned anxious faces in her direction. “I have a small speech.”

“Hunh,” snorted Margo. “Somebody’s giving a speech I

didn’t have to write for them? How bizarre!”

Judith tried to ignore Margo. Indeed, she also tried to ignore the malevolent stares from the OTIOSE employees. “My

cousin, Serena, and I are in a very awkward position,” Judith

began, her voice sounding unnaturally high. “While Serena

knows some of you slightly, I’m a complete stranger.

Therefore, I wouldn’t blame any of you for being suspicious

of us.”

“Damned straight,” said Max.

“You’re outsiders,” said Ava.

“Why shouldn’t we be suspicious?” demanded Killegrew.

“I’m not suspicious,” Russell maintained. “They made me

a nice cup of hot tea.”

“Thank you, Russell,” Judith said with a small smile. “As

I was saying, we understand your concern. It appears to be

on two levels. The first is that some of you may think we

perpetrated these heinous crimes.” Judith paused, waiting

for comments. There were none, though anxious glances

were exchanged. “The second,” she continued, “is that you

may be afraid that we’re going to rush off to the media and

reveal everything that’s happened here.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” cried Nadia.

“Don’t try it,” warned Killegrew.

“We can get an injunction,” murmured Gene.

“Talk your heads off, who cares?” said Margo.

It occurred to Judith that the threat of exposure by the

cousins posed a greater danger to most of the OTIOSE crew

than did the possibility of Judith and Renie carving them

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 167

up with a chainsaw. Taking their reaction as confirmation,

Judith resumed speaking.

“The fact is, we haven’t harmed anyone nor do we intend

to. Not in any way.” Again she paused, this time for emphasis. “However, we will do our civic duty. It so happens that

we have acquired certain evidence which points to the killer.

Not only has this evidence been placed in safe hands, but so

has a note stating that if anything should happen to either

of us, those damning proofs will be turned over as soon as

humanly possible to the authorities.”

“Evidence?” Ava wore a bewildered expression.

“You’re bluffing,” Killegrew declared.

“Is this physical evidence?” Gene queried.

“Most definitely,” Judith responded, wondering if Gene

had an inkling about the pillowcase. “Several pieces of evidence, in fact. They’re all in safe hands.”

“Wait a minute,” Max said with a deep scowl. “Who did

you give this stuff to? There’s nobody here but us.” Despite

his statement, everyone turned toward the entrance where

the door still stood open.

Judith was quick to squelch speculation. “We don’t know

where that laugh came from any more than you do,” she said

to the group in general. “As for the evidence—and the

note—we gave everything to the one person we know did

not commit any of these crimes. You know who you are, and

that you are sworn to secrecy. You also know that we have

a note from you, making the same kind of statement to ensure

your own personal safety.” Judith’s gaze floated somewhere

above the gathering. “That’s all I have to say. Thank you.”

Max raised a hand. “Hey! What about Q&A? We always

have Q&A after a speech.”

“We always have cookies,” Russell put in.

But Judith had withdrawn to the other side of the room,

where Renie stood with an inscrutable expression on her

face. “Shall we mop?” Renie asked out of the corner of her

mouth.

168 / Mary Daheim

“I’m tired of mopping,” Judith asserted in a low tone. “I’m

tired of this lodge, and these people, and the whole damned

thing.” She took another big swallow of Scotch.

“What about dinner? It’s going on five.”

“Don’t tell me you’re hungry.”

Renie shook her head. “Not really. But I assume the herd

will want to graze.”

“Let them. I quit.”

“Hm-mm. You’re getting testy, coz. Is it the booze or the

company?”

“Both.” Judith nudged Renie in the direction of the dining

room. “Let’s go in there. We can actually talk above a whisper.”

Once the doors were shut behind them, Renie grinned at

Judith. “That was brilliant, coz. You even managed to stun

me with that part about the note to one of the OTIOSE

gang.”

“It’ll keep them guessing,” Judith said. “I had to come up

with something.”

“I wish we could trust one of them,” Renie said, her grin

fading. “What about Nadia? Could she push Ward Haugland

out a window?”

“You said yourself she’s wiry.” Judith sat down at the

banquet table reserved for the conferees. “If you know how

to use a garrote—I gather there’s an art to it—you need surprise rather than strength. In fact, it would be easy if the

killer somehow first rendered the victim helpless. As for

pushing Ward out the window, that would depend on where

he was standing when it happened.”

“He was a fairly big guy,” Renie pointed out, sitting down

next to Judith.

“Tall, yes, but lean and lanky. A hundred and sixty pounds,

I’d guess. It could be done, even by someone like Nadia.

The real question is, who flunked the buddy system?”

Renie’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Unless it was Max

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 169

who was also alone in his room upstairs, somebody got

loose.”

“I’ve been trying to think back to when we returned to the

lobby after Max and Ward went upstairs to change. How

long were we gone collecting towels in the supply room?

Five, ten minutes at most?”

“About that,” Renie agreed. “But before we went there,

we’d been in the basement getting more liquor.”

“That’s right.” Judith drummed her nails on the bare table.

“Margo and Russell went with us. They took the bottles out

to the lobby. Where we finally got there?”

Renie’s face fell. “I don’t remember. Nadia and Ava were

coming out of the restroom, though.”

Judith nodded. “Have you ever noticed how long other

women take to use a stall at a public restroom?”

Renie chuckled. “I figure they must be completely dressing

and undressing. Maybe they put their clothes on backwards,

and then switch them around. It beats me, but I sure get tired

of standing in long lines at the theater or the opera or a ball

game.”

“That’s what I mean,” Judith said. “It’s conceivable that a

woman—let’s say Ava, just for the heck of it—could go into

a stall at the same time as another woman—like Nadia—and

come right out, leave the restroom, then return five, even ten

minutes later, without the other woman knowing she was

gone.”

“It’s a stretch,” Renie said with a frown.

“Try this—one of them says she forgot her purse. The

other one is already in the stall. She waits, because she feels

it’s safe, the other woman will be right back.”

“Okay, I’ll mark ‘slim’ by that one,” Renie conceded.

“What about the rest of them?”

Judith concentrated on her memory of the lobby as she

had seen it upon her return from the supply room. “Russell

and Gene were talking by the library. But we know they

170 / Mary Daheim

hadn’t been together long because Russell had been with us

in the basement. Who had been Gene’s buddy before that?

Was he alone for a few minutes before Russell came along?”

Renie snapped her fingers. “Frank and Margo had gone

to check on one of the conference rooms. That’s why they

weren’t there.”

“You’re right, but nobody could see them. Did they stick

together?” Judith made a face. “It’s impossible to figure out

unless we interrogate them separately. That won’t be easy.”

“How about impossible? The buddy system, remember?”

Judith grimaced. “That’s true. You and I will have to be

their buddies, I guess.”

“Gack.” Renie finished her Canadian whiskey. “You mean,

we each take one of them aside and pump away?”

“You got it. It should be kind of subtle. I’ll take Margo,

Ava, and Nadia. You get Frank, Max, and Gene. Russell’s

up for grabs.”

“Hey!” Renie wagged a finger in Judith’s face. “How come

you get all the women?”

“Because women can always talk to women, no matter

what their backgrounds. On the other hand, men don’t open

up so easily. But,” Judith went on in an attempt at flattery,

“you’re used to corporate types. You have a knack.”

“Twit,” said Renie. “Don’t pull your soft soap act on me.

I get the tough ones. Thus, you get Russell. He likes you

best. You made him tea.”

“Fine.” Judith finished her Scotch and stood up. “Let’s go

separate a couple of them from the herd.”

“How do we manage that?” Renie asked with a dubious

expression.

Judith gazed in the direction of the kitchen. “I guess we’ll

have to make dinner after all. I’ll cook, you mop.”

“Jeez.” Renie wasn’t pleased. “So I get Frank to help me

swab the decks while you and Margo peel potatoes.”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 171

Grinning, Judith tipped her head to one side. “I like that.

Frank will like that. It’s right up his cliché alley.”

“No, thanks. I’ll ask Gene. Lawyers are used to cleaning

up after other people.” Renie led the way back into the lobby.

At first, Margo was reluctant to join Judith. But after some

coaxing, the p.r. vice president patted her suede bag and

agreed to accompany Judith to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Renie

managed to secure Gene’s help with what was becoming a

rather alarming situation in the entranceway. The water was

edging toward the near walls and creeping up on the Navajo

rugs in the sitting area. Russell suggested that they search

for an indoor-outdoor vacuum in the basement.

“Good thinking,” Renie said. “They must have something

like that because of all the skiers trooping in and out. Come

on, Gene, let’s go look.”

A sense of trepidation stole over Judith as she watched her

cousin and Gene Jarman head for the basement. But she

herself had been alone with Gene earlier. Nothing alarming

had happened. Surely Renie was safe. The cousins had issued

their insurance policy.

Margo seemed to be studying Judith closely. “I’m not much

of a cook,” she said, still holding the suede bag. “Why me?

Why not your cousin? Or Nadia?”

“My cousin and I are getting a bit sick of each other’s

faces,” Judith said glibly. “As for Nadia, it seems to me that

she always gets stuck with the grunt work. Why not spread

it around?”

“Because I’m a vice president and Nadia’s not.” Abruptly,

Margo looked contrite. “Sorry. That was arrogant. In any

event, I don’t expect to be a vice president much longer.”

Judith was removing a dozen stuffed Cornish game hens

from the freezer. “Here,” she said to Margo as she placed the

frozen birds one by one on the counter. “You can unwrap

these and thaw them in the microwave. Dinner’s go- 172 / Mary Daheim

ing to be a bit late.” She paused for just a fraction. “So you

still plan to quit?”

“You bet. Whatever’s going on in this company is too

gruesome for my tastes.” Margo finally put the suede bag

down, but kept it close at hand. “Besides, this scandal could

ruin OTIOSE. I don’t intend to stick around for the fallout.”

Judith shut the freezer. “You don’t think the company could

survive if the story gets out?”

Margo opened her mouth to give a quick reply, then hesitated. “I’m not sure. There have been other phone company

scandals over the years involving just about any sin you could

imagine. You wouldn’t believe some of the wild stories,

despite the pristine, even dull, cachet associated with the

phrase ‘phone company.’ But underneath, there were the

same rampant human emotions that exist in more flamboyant, glamorous corporations. Greed, ambition, sex—the

whole gamut. Once in awhile they played out in some highly

unusual—and ghastly—ways.”

Judith gave Margo a curious look. “I don’t ever recall

reading about such things in the paper.”

Margo’s expression was ironic. “You wouldn’t. That’s what

people like me get paid to do—cover it up. Oh, I’m not

saying that the old telecommunications industry was rife

with scandal, but given the millions of people who worked

in it during the glory years, there was plenty that had to be

swept under the corporate rug. Now, with divestiture, and

the sprouting up of new companies all over the place, you

have a whole new breed of so-called phone company people.

They’re smarter, tougher, and much more ruthless.” Margo

glanced at her suede bag. “This weekend proves my point.”

“Goodness,” said Judith, aghast. “Do you think power is

what this is all about?”

“Yes.” Margo tucked her bag under one arm and carried

four game hens to the microwave. “What else?”

Judith began uncovering the green bean and mushroom

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 173

dish she had prepared at Hillside Manor. “Yet there’s a

chance OTIOSE might survive?”

“It’s possible,” Margo allowed, waiting for the microwave

to turn off. “But I don’t want to be the one who has to shuck

and jive with the media. Not to mention that I couldn’t go

on working for the company after all this. Good God,

somebody on the executive floor is a killer!”

Judith gave Margo a rueful smile. “Then you don’t think

it’s my cousin or me?”

“Hardly.” Margo removed the first four game hens and put

the next batch in the microwave. “Unless you’re a couple of

hired assassins, I don’t see the point.”

The concept made Judith laugh. “We’re not. We’re exactly

what we seem to be—a couple of Heraldsgate Hill housewives who run their own businesses on the side.”

“Housewives,” Margo repeated. “What a quaint term.”

Unexpectedly, she added, “I like it.”

Involuntarily, Judith’s eyes strayed to the digital time display on the stove. It didn’t tick, but something did, and Judith

guessed that it was Margo’s biological clock.

“Has your career gotten sort of…redundant?” Judith

couldn’t think of a better word.

Margo sighed. “I’m virtually at the top of my profession.

I make good money, I’m well respected, my life’s my own.”

She stopped, staring gloomily at the microwave.

“But it’s not enough.” There was no query in Judith’s

words. “Everyone has holes in their lives, it’s part of human

nature. But some of them can be filled.”

Margo looked at Judith with something akin to awe. “You

do understand. Somehow, I thought you were…” She

fumbled for words; Judith thought Margo didn’t do that very

often.

“You thought I was a pinhead because I’m not in the

business world,” Judith said with a little smile. “The real

world is down on the ground, not on the thirtieth floor. I’ve

spent my life with my feet planted firmly in the earth. Believe

me, there’ve been many times when strong winds

174 / Mary Daheim

threatened to knock me over. But I’ve kept standing there,

as if I’d grown roots. I may not have been a career woman,

but I have worked—and it’s easier to leave your troubles

behind you and head off to the job. On the other hand, except for the paycheck, there’s not much real payoff. At least

not the kind that really counts.”

Margo nodded gravely. “Success—even money and power

and sex—aren’t enough. I want to make somebody happy.

And I want one of those little people to rock in my arms.”

She gave Judith an embarrassed, rueful look. “Have I made

a complete fool of myself or should I go on?”

All her life, Judith had been accustomed to people opening

up to her. Maybe it was her sympathetic face, her friendly

manner, or her innate understanding of human nature.

Whatever the reason, she was never surprised when virtual

strangers unburdened themselves.

“If it hadn’t been for my son,” Judith said grimly, “I’d have

probably poisoned my first husband in the first five years of

our marriage.” She slapped a hand to her mouth. “I don’t

really mean that,” Judith added lamely.

Margo uttered a truncated laugh. “Life’s tough. I thought

I was tough. I’m not. I found that out this weekend, but I

have to pretend.”

“We all do,” Judith said, opening one of the double ovens.

“Tell me—who do you think is the killer?”

“Oh, God.” Margo held her head. “I’ve tried to figure it

out, especially now that Ward is dead. How did anybody—any of us—get upstairs to kill him?”

“Good point.” Judith began lining up the game hens in a

big roasting pan. “After you and Russell took the liquor

bottles to the lobby, what did you do next?”

Margo removed the last four game hens from the microwave. “I’ve thought about that. When Russell and I got

to the lobby, Frank and Nadia had gone to check out the

conference rooms. Ava came out of the library and asked if

I’d go to the restroom with her, but I didn’t need to, and

just then Nadia came back and said she’d go if I’d stay

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 175

with Frank. I tracked him down and we checked the mikes

and rearranged the chairs and then we came back to the

lobby. Max was there, wondering what had happened to

Ward. I honestly don’t remember what the others were doing.”

Judith did, having gone over the scene with Renie. “How

long was Frank alone in the conference room?” Judith asked.

Margo spread her hands. “A minute? Two minutes?”

“Oh.” Judith was disappointed. Something Margo had said

suddenly struck her. “If Ava was going to the restroom, where

was Gene? They’d been in the library together.”

“Gene?” Margo looked blank. “I don’t know. I didn’t see

him after I came back from the basement.”

The basement, thought Judith, panicking. Renie was in the

basement with Gene. They’d been gone an awfully long time.

“Let’s see how my cousin and Gene are doing,” Judith said,

trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

But just as the two women headed for the stairs, Renie

and Gene appeared, wrestling with a large and cumbersome

contraption.

“We found it,” Renie announced, short of breath. “It was

in the heating room.”

“Good.” Judith felt pale and drained. “I’m…glad.”

Renie and Gene rolled the big dry-wet vacuum through

the kitchen and out toward the lobby. Margo eyed Judith

with an inquisitive expression.

“You thought Gene had offed your cousin?”

“Well…” Judith tried to evade the question, but finally

gave in. “It crossed my mind.”

Margo nodded. “Mine, too.”

Judith stared at Margo. “You actually suspect Gene?”

Margo gripped her suede bag. “I suspect everybody. Don’t

you?”

THIRTEEN

AFTER THE GAME hens and the bean dish had been put in

the oven, Judith and Margo returned to the lobby. Ava was

next on her list of people to interrogate, and the easiest way

to get her alone was to ask her to take over for Margo and

help set the dining room table.

Ava balked. “I’m tired,” she complained. “After dinner,

maybe I’ll get my second wind and go on cleanup duty.”

Cleanup of another kind was going on near the entrance.

Renie and Gene had turned on the vacuum, which was

sucking up the water. Killegrew shouted to them, saying that

if they also sucked up some of the snow, maybe they could

get the door closed. It was, he asserted, pretty damned cold.

Interrupting Nadia’s attempts to soothe her CEO, Judith

asked the administrative assistant to help get dinner on the

table. Nadia started to demur, then grudgingly acquiesced.

As Judith and Nadia left the lobby, Renie and Gene were

attacking the encroaching snow. To Judith’s surprise, Killegrew’s suggestion seemed to be working. Bemused, she

wondered if it was a seemingly lame-brained idea like this

one which had sent Frank Killegrew to the top of his profession.

176

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 177

“I cannot think,” Nadia began as she randomly opened

cupboards in the kitchen, “why I’m such a wreck. It isn’t as

if this is the first crisis I’ve faced.”

Judith was startled. “Including multiple murders?”

“No, no, not murder,” Nadia said, still searching in the

cupboards. “But especially at work on Friday afternoons. It

seems as if there’s always a crisis that has to be resolved before five o’clock. You wouldn’t believe how stressful that can

be.”

Judith, who had been setting out silverware, observed

Nadia’s rummaging with curiosity. “Are you looking for

plates? They’re right here, on the counter. I’ve already unloaded the dishwasher.”

“Plates?” Nadia turned, pushing her big glasses up on her

nose. “No. I thought…I wondered if perhaps there was some

cooking sherry in the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind a little pickme-up.”

It seemed to Judith that Nadia had picked herself up so

often with the liquor in the lobby that she ought to be floating on air. But the administrative assistant’s drinking habits

were none of Judith’s business.

“I think there’s a bottle in that tall narrow cupboard on

your left,” Judith said. “It’s in with the various kinds of vinegar.”

“Ah.” Nadia had to stand on tiptoe to reach the sherry.

“As I was saying, Friday afternoons can be absolute hell. A

negative news story in the early edition of the evening paper.

A decision handed down by the state utilities commission.

A disaster with a member of the board. One of the worst

happened just recently. Do you recall the Santa Claus debacle?”

Judith’s interest was piqued. “You mean when Santa ran

off with Barry Newcombe?”

Pouring sherry into a juice glass, Nadia shook her head.

“No, no. That was over a year ago. This happened during

the recent holiday season. We’d offered a nine-hundred toll

number so that children could call Santa. Of course there’s

178 / Mary Daheim

a charge for nine-hundred numbers. Quite a few parents became upset because their children ran up rather large phone

bills. The story made the newspapers, and OTIOSE was referred to as a Grinch or a Scrooge or just plain greedy, when

in point of fact, those irresponsible parents should have exercised some control over their ill-behaved children. Some

of them actually made obscene calls to Santa, and we had

at least two adults who complained that he didn’t sound like

the real one. But the most unfortunate part was that when

the article came out that particular Friday in December, none

of the officers were around. I never could figure out where

they’d all gone, but I was the one who ended up having to

field the media’s questions. It was horrible.”

But not as horrible as murder, thought Judith. Or maybe

it was, to Nadia Weiss. “Tell me about the board,” Judith

said, picking up the silverware and indicating for Nadia to

bring the plates. “Do the members actually control the company?”

“There are twelve directors,” Nadia replied, following Judith

into the dining room. “Three are OTIOSE officers—Frank,

Leon, and Ward. It’s traditional that the president, the executive vice president, and the chief financial officer sit on the

board. The rest of the members come from throughout the

region. They include only the most prominent names in

business, education, and private endeavor.”

In other words, the usual stuffed shirts, Judith thought,

laying a fresh cloth on the table. “But you’re short two

members,” she pointed out.

“What?” Nadia looked up from the pile of dinner plates.

“Yes, yes, we are.” Her mouth, which seemed to accelerate

with every swig of sherry, turned down. “It’s incredible, isn’t

it? Two vacancies to fill. Four, really. Ray Nordquist of

Nordquist’s Department Stores is about to retire, and William

Boring Jr. of the Boring Airplane Company feels he’s overextended.”

“So,” Judith said slowly, “one-third of the board will

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 179

have to be replaced. Will Ward and Leon’s successors automatically become members?”

“Probably, though in the past sometimes the vice presidentlegal counsel has served instead of the chief financial officer.”

Nadia carefully set the plates down on the table.

“Does the board wield much power?” Judith asked as they

returned to the kitchen.

Nadia uttered a small laugh. “Some say they’re merely a

rubber stamp for Frank and the rest of the officers. But that’s

because our executives know what’s best for OTIOSE. Once

in a great while, however, the other members go off on a

tangent and become quite obstinate. Then it’s up to our

gang—if you want to call them that—it’s more like family—to

dissuade them.”

The term “family” struck Judith as wildly inappropriate;

“gang” was more like it. She recalled Joe’s despair over

teenagers who joined gangs. Maybe it wasn’t so different

with grownups. Everybody had to belong to something or

someone, and at the corporate level, co-workers could become like family. Maybe for someone like Nadia, who seemed

to be alone in the world, OTIOSE filled a deep need. Maybe

she wanted to be “one of the gang.”

Judith handed water glasses to Nadia, whose attitude about

the murders was disturbingly blasé. “It must be terribly hard

on you to have three of your co-workers die in your midst.

You seem to be holding up rather well.”

“Oh, no!” Suddenly, Nadia was aghast. “I’m utterly

shattered! Not to mention frightened out of my wits! But I

can’t let it show. Why do you think I feel so stupid when

my nerves give way? On the executive floor, someone has

to keep calm. A steady hand at the tiller, as Frank would say.

Often, it’s up to me.”

“I see,” said Judith, and for once she did. Frank Killegrew,

and perhaps the other officers, relied on Nadia. She was the

axle to their big wheels. “Like with the Santa Claus phone

calls.”

“Exactly.” Nadia drank deeply from the juice glass. “Of

180 / Mary Daheim

course that was by default. When the news story hit, the officers simply…disappeared.”

“Including Margo,” Judith said.

Nadia gave a nod of assent. “Including Margo. Even

though it was a situation that fell into her shop. I ended up

coordinating the p.r. effort.”

“Speaking of disappearing,” Judith said, jumping at the

chance to change topics, “have you any idea how one of your

group could have gotten cut off from his or her buddy at the

time Ward was killed?”

The implication made Nadia wince. “Are you suggesting

that…?”

“Yes, of course. Aren’t we all in agreement that somebody

in this lodge is a killer?”

“I’m not sure.” Nadia turned sulky. “What about that person laughing outside the lodge? We’ve all tried to look from

the upper windows to see if anyone is there, but it’s impossible to see very far. Yet we all heard that awful laugh.

Surely that could have been the killer.”

“It’s possible,” Judith admitted, “but I don’t see how. Of

course if we could be sure that each person inside the lodge

was with someone else, then we’d know we’re all innocent.”

Behind the big glasses, Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “I thought

you and your cousin knew the killer’s identity.”

“What I said was that we have evidence pointing to the

killer. That’s not quite the same,” Judith hedged. “It will take

a forensics expert to actually pin the murders on this…person.”

Nadia took a moment to sort through Judith’s ambiguous

statement. “You haven’t eliminated me,” she finally said. “I

don’t have your note or your evidence.”

Judith said nothing. Nadia drank more sherry. In silence,

the two women carried the remainder of the table settings

out to the dining room. When they were back in the kitchen,

Judith rephrased her original question.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 181

“Do you know where everyone was around the time that

Ward must have been killed?”

“Frank and I were in the lobby,” Nadia replied, not looking

at Judith. “Then we went to check on the smaller conference

rooms. I had to use the restroom, so I asked Margo to stay

with Frank. Ava accompanied me to the bathroom. I wasn’t

alone—nor was Frank—for more than a minute.” At last, she

gave Judith a defiant stare.

There was no way to prove or disprove Nadia’s story. It

seemed to mesh with Margo’s account. Perhaps Frank Killegrew would have a different version.

Nadia finished her sherry while Judith checked on the game

hens and the bean dish. Then the two women returned to

the lobby. The interrogation of Ava would have to wait until

after dinner.

Renie and Gene had removed enough snow so that the

door could be shut. They were just turning the lock when

Judith joined them. Renie was panting from exertion and

Gene was mopping his brow.

“We had to pour all the melted water down the restroom

toilets,” he explained, then pointed to the wet-dry vacuum.

“We filled that thing eight times.”

“Good work,” Judith remarked before turning to Renie. “I

could use your help in serving.”

“I’m pooped,” Renie said, then caught the meaningful glint

in Judith’s eyes. “But so what? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

She took a cigarette from her purse and lighted up.

“I think I liked it better when you were just a glutton,” Judith murmured, leading Renie not to the kitchen, but to the

restroom. “Let’s stop in here first.”

“I’ve been here a lot,” Renie said, but followed Judith.

“Gene and I were so buddy-buddy that he came with me into

the women’s restroom to empty the water.”

Judith made a quick check of the six stalls; they were vacant. “So what did you find out from Gene?” she asked, entering the stall at the near end of the row.

182 / Mary Daheim

“He knows we have the pillowcase.”

Judith blinked several times at the closed door. “He does?

And how did he learn that?”

“I don’t know,” Renie responded over the sound of running

tap water. “It was a slip on his part. He said something to

the effect that, ‘Physical evidence consists of more than proof

of foul play.’ Thus, I deduced that he was alluding to the

pillowcase—which you had mentioned to him when you

were in Andrea’s room—and to the fact that we had removed

it.”

Judith emerged from the stall. “Was he guessing? Or did

he know?”

“I don’t think Gene Jarman guesses,” Renie said, drying

her hands on a paper towel. “It’s not his style.”

“Coz,” Judith began, dispensing liquid soap into her palm,

“do you see what that means?”

“Of course. Gene has been in Andrea’s room since you

were there with him. Either he went with someone—or he

went alone,” Renie said with an impish expression.

“Brilliant deduction,” Judith remarked. “So which was it?”

Renie was in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. “I tried

to get a run-down on who he was with at the time of Ward’s

murder. Gene had gone into the library with Ava, but he

was very evasive about how long they were there. It made

me wonder what they were doing. Do you remember yesterday afternoon when we thought we heard somebody in one

of the smaller conference rooms? I’ve noticed a certain intimacy between Gene and Ava. How about you?”

Digging a lipstick out of her shoulder bag, Judith gave

Renie a bemused look. “Why not? They’re single, they make

a good-looking couple. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

However,” she went on, waving the lipstick at Renie, “they

didn’t stay in the library during that whole critical time

period. Ava came in here with Nadia, and Gene and Russell

were seen talking outside the library. At some

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 183

point, they separated, if only for a very brief…”

The pager went off again. Startled, Judith dropped the

lipstick which rolled across the floor and under the fourth

stall. Renie chased the lipstick while Judith checked the pager.

“My number,” she sighed. “Do you suppose Mother is

dead?”

“Not a chance,” Renie replied, crawling around on the

floor. “My guess is that she wants you to go to the store and

bring back a fifty-pound bag of Goo-Goo Clusters. She’s

probably forgotten you’re out of town. Meanwhile, my

mother is…” Renie stopped, the lipstick in one hand and

something else in the other. “It’s a note someone dropped,”

she said, standing up.

The note had been folded several times into a quarter-inch

thickness. Renie smoothed the paper and held it so that Judith could read over her shoulder. It appeared to have come

out of a daybook and was a list of things to do for Thursday,

January 11.

Take Frank’s suit to cleaners—grease spot on left lapel

Stop at post office to get change of address forms

Change Frank’s appointment with Hukle, Hukle, and Huff

Call cable company re Frank

Go to liquor store

“Nadia,” Judith breathed.

“Dogsbody,” Renie said. “Which, some might say, is another word for wife.”

“But she’s not,” Judith noted. “On the other hand, she acts

like one.”

“Interesting,” Renie remarked, and pointed to the notation

about Hukle, Hukle, and Huff. “Roland Huff is the city’s

leading divorce attorney.”

Judith respected Renie’s knowledge when it came to lo- 184 / Mary Daheim

cal law firms. Her mother, Deborah Grover, had been a

legal secretary for almost fifty years. Still, Judith had a

quibble.

“So what kind of law do the Hukles practice?”

“Mostly estate and insurance.” Renie held up a hand before

Judith could interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking—Frank

Killegrew’s appointment could have been with Burton or

Kay Hukle. Still, it’s intriguing.”

“Maybe.” Judith, however, was gazing not at the items on

the list but at the paper itself. “What intrigues me is why this

was folded so small and ended up on the restroom floor.

What do you do with memos to yourself after you’ve polished them off?”

“I toss them,” Renie replied. “But this came out of a daybook. People don’t usually rip out the pages, they just move

on to the next one. I write my reminders on whatever spare

piece of paper I can find.”

“Good point.” Judith refolded the list and put it in her

shoulder bag. “I think I’ll hang on to this. Maybe something

will come to me.”

The cousins entered the kitchen from the back way,

through the laundry room. “We should wash our clothes

after dinner,” Renie said. “I don’t think we’re getting out of

here tonight. It’s still snowing, but not as hard.”

Dolefully, Judith shook her head. “Meanwhile, Mother is

dangling by her thumbs from one of the coat hangers Aunt

Ellen made out of macaroni for Christmas presents.”

“Macaroni?” Renie frowned. “The ones my mother got

were fusilli. They’re kind of brittle.”

Judith opened the oven. “I got a wreath shaped from

manicotti.”

“Mine was a lampshade of egg noodles. It melted when

Bill screwed in a hundred-and-fifty-watt bulb.”

“Joe took the wreath to work and hung it in the deputy

chief’s office. He ate it.”

Renie giggled. “He did not!”

“I only know what Joe tells me. Aunt Ellen’s a dear, but

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 185

she does send the strangest presents.” Judith removed the

bean dish and set it on the counter. “Speaking of Joe’s coworkers, I wonder if anyone from the department has tried

to get hold of Frank Killegrew.”

“We wouldn’t know if they had,” Renie pointed out.

The cousins busied themselves with dishing up dinner. It

was almost six-thirty when they announced that the meal

was served. Ava suggested that Judith and Renie join them.

“There’s plenty of room at the table,” Ava said in a sardonic tone.

Judith felt like asking if she could charge for overtime, but

thought better of it. Getting out in one piece seemed like her

greatest priority. She exchanged questioning glances with

Renie, then decided they might as well sit with the others.

At first, there was little conversation except for requests to

pass the salt and pepper.

Judith chose to enliven the atmosphere. “Have any of you

ever met the lodge’s caretaker?”

All eyes regarded her with curiosity, but it was Margo who

responded. “How could we? This place is off-limits during

the retreat.”

“I heard he was an odd duck,” Max put in.

“Who told you that?” Killegrew demanded.

Max looked blank. “Ward? I think he mentioned it when

we were here last year.”

“That’s right,” Ava chimed in. “Ward said he was a Korean

War vet who’d gotten his brains scrambled.”

“How would Ward know?” Killegrew grumbled. “Ward

never served our great country.” He jabbed a thumb at Gene.

“Neither did you. Weren’t you a draft dodger during the Vietnam conflict?”

“I was 4-F,” Gene replied with dignity. “I suffered from

asthma until I was in my early twenties.”

Killegrew turned his hostile gaze on Russell. “Then you’re

the one who went to Canada.”

“I was a conscientious objector,” Russell asserted. “I served

as a medic.”

186 / Mary Daheim

Killegrew harumphed. “If I’d known that when I hired

you, I wouldn’t have. Hired you, I mean. Is that in your

personnel file?”

“I don’t know,” Russell responded, looking affronted.

“Andrea kept all our files. I never bothered to check mine.

Those things aren’t important to me.”

“What difference does it make?” Margo asked in a vexed

voice. “That’s ancient history. How did we get off on this

stupid subject, anyway?”

“The caretaker,” Judith said meekly. “I was wondering if

the laugh we heard this afternoon might have been him.”

No one seemed very comfortable with the suggestion. “It

better not be,” Killegrew said, still irked. “He’s supposed to

stay away.”

“Then who was it?” Ava inquired. “Ms. Flynn has a point.

Somebody was out there.”

Nadia, who had poured herself a glass of white wine,

waved a slim, dismissive hand. “It’s a moot point. We can’t

see outside, so we don’t know what’s happening. It could

have been the ski patrol.”

“We might see from upstairs,” said Max. “When Gene and

I took Ward to the third floor, we got a better view, at least

to the east. I didn’t see anything. Did you?” He turned to

Gene.

Gene shook his head. “I didn’t look. All I wanted to do

was get out of there. It’s not pleasant being in a room with

corpses.”

“Rudy Mannheimer.” It was Max who spoke. “That was

the caretaker’s name. Ward told me he’s been up here for

several years. He’s an antisocial S.O.B., and this is a perfect

job for him.”

“We can see to the east and west,” Killegrew noted, his

manner more amiable. “From our rooms on the second floor,

I mean. Not now, though. It’s dark.”

Judith frowned at the non sequitur. There wasn’t an opportunity to dwell on it; Max wanted to know where Nadia had

gotten her wine.

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 187

“Over there,” Nadia replied, indicating a mahogany cabinet

that reached almost to the ceiling. “That’s where they keep

several types of wine, including some rather nice French

vintages.”

Gene, Margo, and Ava fairly galloped to the cabinet. A

supply of glasses filled one shelf. Amid the extraction of corks

and pouring of wine, Frank Killegrew requested “something

reddish but not real dark.” Nadia found a rosé, and refilled

her own glass. Russell shyly asked if he might have a sweet

wine, perhaps with blackberries. Max said to hell with it, he

wasn’t much of a wine drinker, and went off to the lobby to

mix another martini.

“He went alone!” Nadia gasped, handing Russell a blackberry cordial. “Do you think…?”

Judith found Max quite safe, unless the double he was

pouring construed a potential danger. “I’m the one who was

on the second floor with the killer, remember?” he said when

Judith expressed concern. “Whoever it was went for Ward,

not for me. I figure I’m safe.”

“I’m not sure anybody’s safe,” Judith said. “It doesn’t pay

to get careless.”

Max took a big drink from the martini glass. “It doesn’t

seem to matter, does it? Whoever our killer is somehow

manages to get the job done.” He waved a big paw at the

collection of bottles. “You want something? You’re Scotchrocks, right?”

“Yes.” Judith smiled, surprised that Max would have noticed. But of course he was a marketing man; such types were

paid to acquaint themselves with the habits of potential

customers and thus to win their hearts, minds, and new accounts.

“Here,” he said, deftly pouring the whiskey over a halfdozen cubes. “How come you aren’t cowering in a corner?”

“I don’t work for OTIOSE,” Judith replied. “Besides, my

cousin and I have our insurance policy.”

Max downed the rest of the double, then began mixing

188 / Mary Daheim

another. “We’ve all seen the garrote, the empty pill bottle,

and the pillowcase. They don’t add up to much, if you ask

me.” He loomed over Judith, his hazel eyes glinting dangerously. “What else have you got? It must be something you

saw or heard.”

Judith backpedaled a couple of steps. “We’ve seen and

heard quite a bit,” she said in a small voice. Then, because

Max’s size and stance were so intimidating, she blurted out

one of her more outrageous fibs. “We saw someone in the

corridor about the time of the murder. It must have been the

killer.”

Max Agasias recoiled, spilling some of his drink. “Who

did you see?” he demanded.

Judith clamped her lips shut. Max used his free hand to

grip her shoulder. “Who? Tell me, dammit! Who was it?”

There was no right answer, yet Judith had to say something. Judging from Max’s frantic attitude, she realized what

he expected—or was afraid—to hear.

“You,” she gulped. “But someone else, too.”

“Besides me?” Max let go of Judith. “Who?” he asked

again, now more bewildered than agitated.

She shook her head in a helpless manner. “I’m not sure.

It was shadowy in the corridor. The lights had dimmed, ever

so briefly.” The fib was growing, taking on a life of its own,

mutating into a colossal lie. “It could have been…anyone.”

Somewhat glassy-eyed, Max was staring off into space.

“You’re right. It could. Except maybe…” He stopped, suddenly asserting a modicum of self-control.

Judith relaxed a bit. “What were you doing in the corridor?” It took nerve to inquire, but the Scotch gave her false

courage.

Max’s broad shoulders slumped. “I was looking for

something in Andrea’s room. It belonged to me.”

Judith made a quick mental inventory of the items that she

and Renie had returned. “Did you find it?”

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 189

Dejectedly, Max shook his bald head. “It was gone.

Somebody got there ahead of me.”

Judith stiffened. Was Max referring to Barry Newcombe’s

belongings? But no one knew they’d been stolen from Judith’s shoulder bag. No one, Judith reminded herself, except

the person who had stolen them…

“Are you okay?” Renie had poked her head around the

corner.

Judith offered her cousin a tentative smile. “Yes, we’re fine.

We thought we’d have a quick drink. How about you?”

“Are you kidding?” Renie asked. “Most of our fellow diners

are already ripped. Somebody has to stay sober. I nominate

me.”

“I’m not ripped,” Judith murmured as she and Max returned with Renie to the dining room. “But we need to talk.

Let’s clear the table.”

“Unh-unh,” said Renie. “Ava’s going to do that. You need

to talk to her, remember?”

“Trade you Ava for Max,” Judith whispered as they approached the table. “I already did him.”

“We’ll see,” Renie hedged, sitting down in her place

between Gene and Margo.

“Fiber optics, my butt!” shouted Margo. “Until you give

customers more underground wiring, they won’t give a rat’s

ass if…”

“Too many numbers, not enough numbers,” muttered Ava.

“Everybody has to have a private line, a fax line, a cell phone.

Before we know it, it’ll take forty-seven numbers just to dial

your…”

“If you can’t beat ’em, sue ’em,” Gene mumbled. “I love

lawsuits. They get me out of the office.”

“Analog, digital,” Russell said in a sing-song voice. “Digital,

analog. Diggity-do, loggity-dog, we’re all lost in a big thick

fog.”

“That’s it!” Frank Killegrew bellowed, getting to his

190 / Mary Daheim

feet in an unsteady fashion and brandishing his slide rule

like a sword. “You’re out of order! All of you! Be positive!

Keep the ship on the rails! How did I ever think I could turn

this company over to such a bunch of whimpering nincompoops?”

Nadia put up a restraining hand. “Please, Frank—you’re

getting very red in the face. You don’t want to have another…spell.”

Killegrew shoved Nadia’s hand out of the way. “Spell? I

didn’t have any damned spell! I was shocked, that’s all. I’m

as hale and hearty as a nuclear sub.” Despite his protests, he

sat down abruptly.

“Hell, Frank,” Max said, finishing his second double martini and filling his glass with red wine, “you ought to be glad

that some of us are still alive. If you ask me, this weekend

has put a whole new meaning to downsizing.”

Killegrew’s face was still red. “That’s not funny. If you’re

all so damned smart, why don’t you figure out who’s killing

us off?”

Margo pointed to Judith and Renie. “They have. Maybe

we should hire them to replace Ward and Andrea and Leon.”

“But there are only two of them,” Russell said, replenishing

his blackberry cordial. “Mmm—this is very sweet. I like it.”

“Numbskull,” Killegrew muttered. “I’m surrounded by

numbskulls and pansies.”

“Pansies? ” thundered Max, pounding on the table with

both fists. “I’m no pansy! I was in ’Nam!”

“Right,” Killegrew said on a grudging sigh. “You were a

real hero. How come you never made it past Private E-2?”

“Hey!” Max began, but Margo hit him over the head with

her empty plate.

“Shut up, Max! Let’s not get on the old war horses again!

I’m sick of it! Who gives a damn?”

“Some people don’t like war,” Nadia said quietly, then

SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 191

peered at Gene over the rims of her glasses. “You were a

protester at Berkeley, weren’t you?”

Gene drew back in his chair. “So? That was in my undergraduate days at Cal.”

“You were a member of SDS.” Nadia gave Gene an arch

little smile.

“I was not!” Gene shouted. “I kept away from all those

radical movements!”

Nadia wasn’t backing down. “But you protested the Vietnam war.”

“That’s different,” Gene retorted. “Everybody did that at

Berkeley. Once I got into law school at Stanford, I stayed

clear of politics.”

Nadia’s thin face took on a conciliatory expression. “Maybe

you shouldn’t have. Given your background in an Oakland

ghetto, didn’t you feel a need to help your so-called brothers

and sisters better themselves?”

“My…?” Gene looked on the verge of apoplexy. “I’m

middle class! I was always middle class! I’m more than

middle class, I’m a lawyer!”

“Who are in a class by themselves,” Margo murmured.

“Calm down, Gene. You made it. Nobody cares about your

beginnings.”

Ava leaned across the table towards Nadia. “What about

your origins? You never talk about your background, Nadia.

Is it true that Frank found you under a cabbage?”

Nadia’s nostrils flared. “That’s silly! Why don’t you tell

us how you got here from Samoa?”

A spurt of anger crossed Ava’s face, then she composed

herself. “I took a plane. That’s all anyone needs to know.

But,” she went on, “maybe this is the time to make an announcement.” Getting to her feet, she glanced at each of the

others in turn. “I was going to save this for the last day of

the retreat. Considering how this weekend has gone, several

of us have already seen our last day, period.” She paused,

noting the sobering effect of her words. “Thursday afternoon,

I received a call from a former employee of mine

192 / Mary Daheim

at WaCom. Next week, they’re going to tender a merger offer

with OTIOSE.”

A stunned silence enveloped the dining room. Max was

the first to speak, his usual resonant voice unsteady.

“That’s not a merger—that’s a takeover!”

“We’ll fight them in court,” Gene asserted, but he was

obviously shaken.

“Cutbacks, layoffs, early retirement,” Nadia whispered.

“Just like the divestiture era. Oh, my!”

“Geniuses,” said Russell. “Hordes and hordes of geniuses

at WaCom. They have more ideas than I could ever think

of!”

“Who cares?” said Margo.

Judith gazed at each speaker, noting that all of them

were—as usual—self-absorbed and isolated from one another.

Finally, she looked at Frank Killegrew, who had said nothing.

He was facedown in his game hen carcass.

FOURTEEN

UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, it was natural for everyone to

assume that Frank Killegrew was dead, either by accident or

design. As Nadia finally noticed her superior’s collapse, she

screamed and began shaking him. The others watched in

horror until Margo grabbed Russell by the shirt collar.

“You said you were a medic in ’Nam,” Margo shouted.