An Old Faithful Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “They said they both did it?”

  “Exactly. I asked how, and Jane said that they had both hit him with the shovel. They almost made a mistake there. I think Charlotte was starting to tell me that there were two shovels when her sister interrupted with this story of sharing the same shovel. Jane probably realized that I might suggest they produce the other murder weapon.”

  “But you didn’t act like you believed them, did you?”

  “Are you kidding? Sarah Bernhardt couldn’t act like she believed them. When I explained that I didn’t see how I could accept their story, Jane said that I had no right to decide who the murderer of their father was.”

  “I suppose they have a point,” Susan admitted reluctantly. “I suppose they said they were confessing because they wanted you to know that Darcy didn’t do it.”

  “Exactly, although I wondered if this wasn’t just their way of getting in to see him.”

  “But they didn’t know that you were going to … to store them all in the same place, did they?”

  “No. But they might have just assumed it. I did ask one of the rangers to stay inside the warming hut with them. So they don’t have much privacy, if that’s what they were looking for. I don’t know how legal that is, but with the temperature already below zero and still dropping, I can’t risk having their guard freezing to death. I’ll move them all in here after the program tonight. That will be easier for everyone. And we’ll all stay warm and have a place to sleep.”

  “You’re going to stay here, too?”

  “I don’t see what else I can do. I’m officially in charge of this case. And I will be until someone else gets into the park. The snow isn’t letting up, is it?”

  “Worse than ever.”

  “A few years ago it snowed here for six days in a row. Over forty inches fell. Dead animals all over the place. I can give a great lecture on natural selection and population decline among wild animals, but it still breaks your heart.”

  Susan shivered, despite the stuffiness of the little room.

  “So you don’t think Darcy did it?”

  Marnie’s question recalled her to the business at hand.

  “No, but I can’t tell you who I think did.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that. You know, that obnoxious psychiatrist has been pestering me with his theories all day long—when he’s not trying to convince me to go out with him. I thought he was going to drive me crazy, but I’m beginning to think that I’ll take an answer from anywhere. Do you want to talk with Jane and Charlotte?” She changed the subject.

  “Not now. I learned a lot from Darcy—not that it makes much sense right now—and I think I’d like to check in with Kathleen and see if she’s come up with anything.”

  “Kathleen?”

  Susan explained their relationship, asking that Marnie keep quiet about it.

  “You know, one of the things I don’t understand about these murders—one of the many things—is why Mrs. Ericksen asked you to investigate.”

  “Oh, that’s simple. That’s the only thing I do know for sure. She wants me to get involved because she thinks I’m incompetent. She thinks I’ll confuse the issues so much that no one will ever know exactly what happened.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Originally I was flattered that she had asked me, but then I began to consider her source of information. You see, she heard that I had experience from Chad, my son. I thought that he had been bragging about me. Then it occurred to me that I was dreaming. Chad is fourteen years old. He doesn’t spend any time bragging about his mother these days; in fact, he does the opposite. If Phyllis Ericksen heard from him that I’ve done some detecting, she didn’t hear that I was the next Miss Jane Marple, I can assure you. Probably he said some thing sarcastic about me being mixed up in some murders. And I think Phyllis Ericksen is enough of an opportunist to hope that I would not just get mixed up in this one, but do some mixing up of my own.”

  “So what is she trying to hide? After all, a man that she was apparently devoted to was murdered, so wouldn’t she want to discover the killer?”

  “I think she may be feeling a little ambivalent about that, since the murderer is most likely a member of her own family.”

  “It’s going to be a double blow to her,” Marnie suggested as someone knocked on the door.

  “Let’s hope it’s not another confession,” Susan muttered, watching the door open to reveal another ranger.

  “They want to talk to you.” Everyone knew to whom she referred. “I think they’re going to retract their confessions.”

  “I don’t think I should let it be that simple.” Marnie stood up.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. But I don’t think I can take this as casually as they might like. After all, two men are dead. If people are going to go around confessing to murder, they shouldn’t do it casually. The dummy may have been an ill-conceived joke, but dead men have to be taken seriously.”

  Susan thought about that last comment all the way back to the lodge. It wasn’t just that murder was more serious than dropping effigies in hot springs, it was such a different type of crime. These murders had appeared impromptu. The shovel that had been used to kill George Ericksen had been handy; Randy had been killed when he just happened to be passing by after a ski lesson. The effigy, however, had required some planning. It had to be made, first off, and that would have taken an hour or more. Added to that, the creator would have had to find clothing that resembled what George Ericksen wore. (Where could anyone find those suspenders? They must have been brought into the park.) And then whoever made it had to ski the mile or so to the pool carrying the thing along. Which seemed almost impossible to Susan, a novice skier. So had the person been a good skier? And weren’t the only Ericksens who were good skiers Phyllis and Jon? Or was someone hiding their skiing ability? But it was obvious that the effigy had to have been planned out. And it looked like the murders were impromptu. So were all three events even connected? Or had it just been some sort of strange coincidence that everything was happening in the same family? She was still thinking these things over when she became aware that someone had been calling her name.

  “Slow down! I’ve been yelling to you for the last five minutes.”

  It was snowing so hard that Susan had a difficult time making out Kathleen, skiing about ten feet from her.

  “Were you looking for me?”

  “Not really. I need to stop in at the ski shack for some new gaiters. The elastic has begun shredding in one of mine.”

  “I’ll come with you. I haven’t been in there yet. Jed and Chad have been in charge of equipping the family. It will be fun to look around.” They had arrived at the rack outside the ski shop and paused to take off their skis before going inside.

  “I may not be a great skier, but I’m getting pretty good at taking those things off and putting them back on,” Susan commented, following Kathleen through the door.

  “That’s the first step,” cheered a burly young man sitting by a wood-burning stove. Susan recognized him as her ski instructor. He asked, “How are you doing on the hills? Still having trouble with your herringbone?”

  “Not at all. It’s great,” she lied. After all, he’d never see her on the trail.

  “So what can I do for you? Are you ready for waxed skis?”

  “Waxed?”

  “You choose the wax you need for the snow conditions. It’s easier to ski fast on waxed skis,” he explained.

  “I need gaiters,” Kathleen said, making it unnecessary for Susan to lie again.

  The young man sprang to Kathleen’s assistance, pulling various-colored gaiters off the wall behind them and elaborating on the difference in materials. Susan wandered about the tiny shop, inspecting goggles and fanny packs, stopping to read the ingredients on packages of gorp.

  When Kathleen found her a few minutes later, Susan was standing still in front of a large display of bright red
suspenders.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “But they all had ‘Yellowstone’ printed on them in white block letters,” Kathleen protested.

  “Only on one side. The other side is completely red. Or the letters could have been covered—red paint would do it,” Susan answered.

  “Wouldn’t that have washed off in the hot water of the pool?”

  “Well, maybe. But we have to see those suspenders—if they could have been bought here, it might change everything!”

  Kathleen gave Susan a stern look.

  “Okay, I’m exaggerating. But it would mean that the prank was dreamed up after the person got to the park, that it wasn’t planned ahead of time, that it was a reaction to what was happening here.”

  “Probably.”

  “Okay, probably. So I think we should ask Marnie if we can see the suspenders right away. It would be nice to know at least one thing for sure.”

  “You think she’ll let you see them?”

  “She’s been very cooperative, so I imagine she will. She even let me talk with Darcy.”

  “You were going to tell me about that,” Kathleen reminded her. They were skiing through the snow back to the Visitor’s Center.

  “And you were going to tell me what you’ve been doing this afternoon. But first those suspenders,” Susan said, pulling up to the Visitor’s Center. She was beginning to feel that she could measure out this vacation in the number of trips between ski racks. Or in falls, she added to herself.

  “Are you all right? Do you need some help?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve had a lot of practice getting up,” Susan assured her friend. “In fact, it’s my specialty,” she added, following Kathleen into the warm building.

  “So where’s Marnie?”

  “If you’re looking for Ranger Mackay, she’s out back, at the warming hut.”

  Susan and Kathleen thanked their informant and headed back out into the cold.

  “This is turning out to be some storm.”

  “Mrs. Henshaw … Susan … Is that you?” Jon Ericksen skied up beside them. He was breathing hard. “I thought … That is, have you seen my mother?”

  “Your mother?” Susan repeated his words.

  “Is she missing?” Kathleen asked.

  “Yes, we’re very worried about her. She’s … she must be out here somewhere!” He looked around, as though expecting her to pop out from behind a tree.

  “Now, wait. When did you last see her, and why do you think she’s outside?” Kathleen asked, as always the voice of reason.

  “I … I didn’t see her. Beth and Joyce went to her room to see if she needed anything. They thought that with Darcy locked up—”

  “And Jane and Charlotte,” Susan reminded him.

  “Jane and Charlotte? Why in heaven’s name are they locked up?”

  Susan explained quickly the most recent events of the afternoon as she knew them. “I don’t think anyone believes that they got together and killed your father, but Marnie isn’t in any position to pick and choose whose confessions she listens to and whose she doesn’t.”

  “I can see that. It’s not her, it’s my sisters that I don’t understand. Why do they think it will help Darcy if they confuse the issues? What are they trying to do, getting locked up right when we need them the most?”

  “Need them for what?”

  “To take care of Mother. She should never have been left alone. My father dead, her favorite son confessing to killing him … Of course it was too much for her.”

  “So what happened? You said that Beth and Joyce went to her room.…”

  “Oh, God, what a nightmare!” Jon stopped to wipe the snow off his mustache. “As I understand it, Beth and Joyce went to Mother’s room and found it torn apart—literally in shreds, Beth said. Bottles smashed on the floor, clothing scattered all over, books torn apart. The curtains were even pulled from the windows, and the shower curtain had been slashed. They were shocked, of course. And worried when they discovered that someone—presumably Mother—had written a message on the bathroom mirror in lipstick.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Something about needing to get out … I don’t remember exactly. I was so upset when they told me about this all,” he explained.

  “Of course you were. Just go on,” Susan urged.

  “Well, they both read whatever the message was, and they think she’s out here in the storm somewhere. We have to find her, Mrs. Henshaw. No one can live in this weather for very long.”

  “Did you tell the rangers or anyone at the lodge?” Kathleen asked.

  “No, I just got my skis and dashed out. Maybe Beth or Joyce did. Or perhaps Carlton,” he added hopefully.

  “I don’t think you should just assume someone has reported this. The rangers know the area, and they’re trained to organize search and rescue,” Kathleen said. “You go back and talk with them right away. Susan and I will keep looking for your mother.”

  “But Beth—and Joyce.”

  “Where are they?” Kathleen asked.

  “They headed up the trail behind Old Faithful. We thought that since Father had been killed there …”

  “Let’s just hope they don’t try to ski the entire way. It’s getting too dark for a trip that long.”

  “But shouldn’t I keep looking?” Jon insisted. “Or maybe I should head out after Beth.…”

  “No. You go right over to the Visitor’s Center and report this to the ranger on duty at the main desk.”

  “And then what?” Jon asked.

  “Do what the people in charge tell you to do,” Kathleen answered logically. “And you’d better leave right now.”

  “But I think—” Jon began his protest.

  “Go now,” both women ordered.

  He turned and skied away.

  “Do you think he’s going to tell anybody about this?” Susan asked Kathleen as they watched his back retreat into the distance.

  “Who knows? He’s terribly upset—as anyone would be.”

  “I’d like to get a look at Phyllis’s room but maybe we had better go over to the warming hut and tell Marnie what is going on. I don’t think the Park Service is going to be thrilled to hear that there are people out in this storm. There was a sign in the Visitor’s Center requesting that everyone stay well within the Upper Geyser Basin until it’s over.”

  “Let’s go find Marnie,” Kathleen suggested, wrapping her scarf around her chin and pushing off. “I’ll head to the warming hut, and you try the path straight to the Visitor’s Center.”

  Susan followed, bending down to protect her face and eyes from the blinding snow.

  The wind speed seemed to be increasing, and frozen trees creaked loudly all around them. A half dozen elk were standing nearby, searching for protection under the low branches and near buildings, more afraid of freezing than of civilization.

  “George loved snowstorms.” The soft voice seemed to come out of a tall ponderosa pine, bending in the wind. “I fell asleep this afternoon, and when I woke up, I thought for just one moment that the snow crackling against the window was George, trying to get in.”

  “Phyllis? Is that you?”

  It was, but Susan and Kathleen had reasons other than the storm not to recognize her. Her short, curly hair was so covered with snow that she looked as if she were wearing a particularly unattractive sheepskin helmet. A long navy scarf, which Susan recognized as the one George always wore, and had, in fact, been wearing when he was killed, flew out behind her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Susan added her concern to Kathleen’s. “Why don’t we go get something warm to drink?”

  “I don’t want to be around people. Everyone stares at me.”

  Susan was stunned by the change in Phyllis in the last few hours. “Why don’t we go back to the Visitor’s Center? I think we could borrow the office there,” she suggested. She took the woman’s arm and guided her toward the building. “Your family
is looking for you, you know.”

  “My family? Darcy?” The voice quivered.

  “No, Darcy is safe and warm. You don’t have to worry about him,” Susan said, pulling more tightly on Phyllis’s arm. “Jon is looking for you. Beth and Joyce went to your room.…” She paused. They didn’t know, after all, whether or not Phyllis had trashed her own room, and Susan didn’t think this was the time to give the woman another shock. “They didn’t find you there, and they were worried. They’re out looking for you right now,” she ended.

  “Jon is a nice son,” Phyllis said comfortably. “I have wonderful children.”

  “Yes, you certainly do,” Kathleen agreed. “Why don’t I ski ahead and tell the rangers that we’re coming in,” she suggested to Susan.

  “Good idea. Phyllis and I will just take it easy.” Now that she had a chance to look more closely, she was shocked by more than just the other woman’s hair. Dark circles rimmed eyes set in a face that was almost white. Susan just hoped it wasn’t the beginning of frostbite. “Maybe you should pull that scarf up over your face.”

  Phyllis ignored her.

  “We’re almost there,” Susan said, hoping they were going to make it. Ice crystals were forming on Phyllis’s cheeks, and Susan had seen that her nose was becoming a waxy yellow. “Can you move more quickly?”

  “Yes. Of course.” But she didn’t speed up, and Susan was deeply relieved to see the lights from the windows of the Visitor’s Center through the snow and trees. “Let’s go in the back way, through the auditorium. It should be empty until after dinner, and … and you said that you didn’t want to see people for a while,” Susan added. She wanted to avoid company for as long as possible herself. Phyllis looked terrible. She needed help, possibly immediate medical attention, and Susan wanted a chance to talk with her.

  They were in luck and the enormous double doors to the auditorium were unlocked. Susan swung one open and pushed Phyllis before her into the dark room.