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

by Mary Daheim

caterers back out?”

  There was a long pause. “Uh…I guess they’re sort of superstitious.”

  8 / Mary Daheim

  “What do you mean?” Judith’s voice had turned wary.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Renie said, sounding unnaturally

  jaunty. “Last year they had a staff assistant handle the catering

  at Mountain Goat Lodge. Barry Something-Or-Other, who

  was starting up his own business on the side. He…ah…disappeared.”

  “He disappeared?” Judith gasped into the receiver.

  “Yeah, well, he went out for cigarettes or something and

  never came back. Got to run, coz. See you later.”

  Renie hung up.

  Joe wasn’t excited about Judith’s bonanza. Indeed, Joe

  didn’t really hear her mention the OTIOSE catering job. He

  was uncharacteristically self-absorbed and depressed, though

  the reasons had nothing to do with his wife.

  “It’s these damned drive-bys,” he complained, accepting a

  stiff Scotch from Judith. “They’re always kids, both victims

  and perps, and sometimes they’re innocent bystanders. The

  victims, I mean. God, it’s such a waste.” He loosened his tie

  and collapsed into a kitchen chair.

  Judith came up behind him and massaged his tense

  shoulders. “It’s sad. What are they trying to prove?”

  “That they belong.” Joe sighed. “It doesn’t matter that it’s

  a gang of punks just like themselves. They fit in somewhere,

  there’s a place for them, a niche they can’t find with family,

  because they don’t have any. Not a real family, I mean.

  They’re the new outcasts, and they can only prove their worth

  by blowing some other poor kid away.”

  “It’s an awfully stupid way to prove anything,” Judith said,

  turning back to the stove where mussels boiled in a big pot.

  “You usually catch them, though.”

  “That’s the frustrating part,” Joe said, taking a deep drink.

  “The perps end up in the slammer for fifteen, twenty years,

  wasting their young lives. What’s even worse is that the rest

  of them don’t learn by what happens to the ones we send

  away. There are times when I hate my job. Do you realize I

  could retire in three years?”

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 9

  Judith, who was draining the mussels into a colander, almost dropped the pot. She’d never heard Joe mention retirement before. “Do you want to?” she gulped.

  Joe sighed again, his green eyes troubled. “I’ve been

  thinking about it lately. Hell, I’ve been on the force for thirtythree years. Plenty of guys burn out by fifty-five. I’m past

  that already. I figure I’m lucky to have lasted this long.”

  So was Judith. Only in the five and a half years of her

  marriage to Joe had she been able to count on financial

  support from a spouse. During her nineteen years with the

  unemployed and unemployable Dan McMonigle, Judith had

  worked two jobs. By day she had served as a librarian, and

  at night, she had toiled behind the bar at the Meat and

  Mingle. The daytime and evening clientele neither met nor

  mingled. Most of the hard-fisted drinkers were lucky they

  could read the bar specials posted on a chalkboard set next

  to the blinking sign depicting a hula-skirted chipmunk.

  “Well,” Judith said, tossing the mussels into a bowl of

  vermicelli and rice, “it’s your decision.” She gave her husband

  a quick, keen look. The red hair had more gray in it, the

  forehead was growing higher, the laugh and worry lines were

  etched more deeply. Joe was still the most attractive man in

  the world to Judith, but he was getting older. She’d hardly

  noticed. After a twenty-five-year separation, their time together had seemed so brief. “You’ll know when it’s time to quit,”

  she added a bit lamely.

  “Hmm.” Joe sipped more Scotch. “The retirement package

  is fairly good, all things considered.”

  Which, Judith realized, Joe had considered. “Medical,

  dental?”

  “Right. I’d have Social Security, too.”

  There had been no security with Dan, social or otherwise.

  At over four hundred pounds, her first husband had offered

  only verbal abuse and demands for more vodka, Ding-Dongs,

  apple fritters, and whatever else he could stuff into his fat,

  lazy face.

  10 / Mary Daheim

  “I guess we’ll have to think about it,” Judith said, sounding

  slightly wistful.

  Joe didn’t reply. He has thought about it. Plenty. Why hasn’t

  he mentioned it to me? Judith felt betrayed.

  Maybe this wasn’t the time to discuss the three grand for

  the OTIOSE conference. Maybe Judith should start building

  her own little nest egg. Certainly she wasn’t prepared to give

  up the B&B. She’d worked too hard to turn it into a successful venture.

  “Did you hear me say I’ll be gone most of Friday?” she

  asked, spooning green beans onto a plate for Gertrude. “I’m

  catering a phone company conference for Renie.”

  Joe had picked up the evening paper and was reading the

  sports page. “Since when did Renie go to work for the phone

  company?”

  “She’s freelancing, as usual.” Judith was getting exasperated.

  “Bill’s retiring next year.” Joe turned a page of the newspaper.

  “What? ” Judith gaped at her husband.

  He nodded, but didn’t look up. “Thirty-one years in the

  university system. Why shouldn’t he?”

  “Renie hasn’t said a thing!” Now Judith’s annoyance spread

  to her cousin.

  “Maybe Bill hasn’t told Renie. Where the hell is the Hot

  Stove League news? I heard there was a big trade brewing.”

  Joe riffled the pages, in search of baseball reports.

  “Bill wouldn’t not tell Renie,” Judith seethed. “Bill and

  Renie communicate.”

  “Maybe she forgot to mention it to you. Ah, here we are…”

  Joe disappeared behind the paper.

  Judith marched out to the toolshed with Gertrude’s dinner.

  For once, she put the covered plate outside the door, knocked

  twice, and raced back to the house. Gertrude hated mussels.

  Judith wasn’t in a mood to hear her mother gripe. Judith, in

  fact, was feeling mutinous. Joe wasn’t usually secretive, especially not when it came to making decisions

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 11

  that affected them as a couple. And Renie always told Judith

  everything. The cousins were as close as sisters, maybe closer,

  because they hadn’t been forced to grow up under the same

  roof. Judith felt like slugging Joe, shaking Renie, and giving

  Bill a boot just for the hell of it.

  Judith would never admit it, but she was in the mood for

  murder.

  TWO

  FRIDAY DAWNED COLD and cloudy. Renie was driving the

  Jones’s big blue Chev, which was fitted with snow tires, and

  carried chains in the trunk. The cousins set out at nine on

  the dot, heading east toward the mountain pass that was

  located about an hour outside of the city.

  “I made a list,” Renie said, patting an envelope that lay on

  the seat between them. “It’s o
n top. Take it out and go over

  the names. When—and if—I introduce you, it won’t be so

  confusing.”

  Judith perused the single sheet of typewritten paper as they

  crossed the floating bridge that led out of the city. “You

  should have included descriptions,” she complained. “These

  names and titles don’t mean much. The only one I’ve ever

  heard of is the CEO, Frank Killegrew. I’ve seen his name in

  the newspaper.”

  “Good, that leaves only nine, and four of them are women.

  Don’t worry about it,” Renie counseled. “With any luck, you

  won’t have much contact with them.”

  Judith scanned the names: After Franklin Killegrew, president and CEO, there was Ward Haugland, executive vice

  president–network and customer services. Judith made a face.

  “What’s with these complicated titles? Why can’t Haugland

  just be an executive vice president?”

  12

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 13

  “Because telecommunications is complicated these days,”

  Renie replied. “It’s still in a state of flux. First came the big

  Bell System divestiture, sixteen, seventeen years ago, along

  with the revolution in technology. Independent companies

  like OTIOSE are still trying to find their niche.”

  “Is that why I get four phone bills instead of one?” Judith

  asked.

  “Yep. You’ve got your local carrier, your long distance

  company, your leased equipment, your…what?” Renie shot

  Judith an inquiring glance.

  “My pager,” Judith said. “It’s really Mike’s pager, but he

  doesn’t use it anymore. The problem is, neither do I. I only

  took it from him so Mother could get me in an emergency.”

  “Has she ever paged you?” Renie asked as they reached

  the mainland and flourishing suburbia.

  “Never. She swears she lost the number and wouldn’t use

  it if she found it.”

  “Then get rid of the thing. It must cost you twenty bucks

  a month.”

  “Arlene has the number,” Judith said. “Like now, she could

  page me if she has a problem taking over for the day at the

  B&B.”

  Renie shrugged. “Then maybe it’s worth it.”

  They drove the interstate past industrial complexes, car

  dealerships, fast-food chains, trendy restaurants, and gas

  stations the size of a mini-mall. It never ceased to amaze Judith that what used to be vacant rural areas where the family

  gathered hazelnuts, blackberries, and Christmas trees was

  now a thirty-mile stretch of commercialism. At last they began

  to climb, but even where tall trees still grew, there were large

  swaths of housing developments. The city had sprawled, almost to the pass itself.

  “Joe says Bill’s going to retire.” Judith finally broached the

  subject that had been on her mind since Tuesday night.

  “He’s talking about it.” Renie pulled into the fast lane,

  passing a big semi-truck.

  14 / Mary Daheim

  Judith noticed that some of the taller trees were dusted

  with fresh snow. “Really?” she remarked. “You haven’t said

  so to me.”

  Renie gave a little shrug. “It won’t be final—or real—until

  he hands in his retirement application to the university administration. I never anticipate, you know.”

  “Joe’s talking about it, too.” Judith tried to keep her tone

  light. “Of course he wouldn’t retire for another three years.”

  “Good for him,” Renie said, moving back into the righthand lane. “Both of our husbands have had long careers.

  They need to kick back and enjoy themselves.”

  “Yes.” Judith’s tone was dubious. “Yes. I suppose they do.”

  A vision of Dan McMonigle, supine and blimplike on the

  sofa, rumbled through her mind’s eye. “It’s just that I’ve been

  through quite a bit of change lately. With Mike married and

  now being transferred, he and Kristin could end up in Alaska

  or Hawaii or Florida where I’d hardly ever see them.”

  “So Joe retires and you travel.” Renie shrugged. “That’s

  what people do. Frank Killegrew’s retiring, by the way,” she

  added as they drove further into the forest and away from

  civilization. “Haugland’s his heir apparent, but I’ve heard

  you can’t count on it.”

  Judith glanced at the list Renie had given her. She wasn’t

  terribly interested in OTIOSE’s career paths. All she could

  think of was trying to live on Joe’s retirement and Social Security. Would he insist she give up Hillside Manor and retire

  with him?

  “Doesn’t retirement make you feel old?” Judith finally

  asked.

  “Huh?” Renie seemed puzzled. “No, why should it? It’s a

  natural act, like eating or shopping for shoes. Besides, I won’t

  give up my graphic design business. I do it at home, we can

  use the extra money, and I’d be bored stiff if I didn’t work.”

  “I agree,” Judith said as low clouds drifted across the

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 15

  divided six-lane highway. “I’d like to keep the B&B going

  for another ten years. But I’ll definitely dump the catering

  part in the next few months. Say,” she went on, changing

  gears, “speaking of caterers, what about the guy who disappeared last year?”

  Renie frowned. “I told you. He left on some errand and

  never came back. End of story.”

  Judith, who possessed a very logical mind, wanted details.

  “He never came back to the lodge? Or he never came back,

  period?”

  “Period.” Renie was exhibiting a touch of impatience. “This

  Barry…Newsom or Newsbaum or…Newcombe, I think it

  was, had forgotten something for his catering stockpile. He

  went off that Friday afternoon, presumably to the nearest

  store which is at the summit of the pass, and never came

  back. When he didn’t show up for work the following

  Tuesday after the long weekend, his co-workers back at the

  company weren’t concerned. They figured he was tired out

  from his catering duties. But later, one of the executives asked

  about Barry because they hadn’t seen him after he left the

  lodge Friday afternoon. I guess he was listed as a missing

  person, and that’s what he still is—missing.”

  “The executives didn’t miss him that Friday?” Judith was

  incredulous.

  “I guess not,” Renie replied, negotiating the wide, sweeping

  switchback turns. “They probably thought he hadn’t been

  able to find what he was looking for at the summit grocery

  and had gone all the way back into the nearest town. It had

  started to snow hard by then, so maybe they figured Barry

  couldn’t get back up the pass. Bear in mind, coz, these big

  business types are all wrapped up in themselves. They don’t

  pay much attention to underlings.”

  The executive suite was a world that Judith didn’t understand. The B&B, the Thurlow Street branch of the public

  library, and the Meat and Mingle hadn’t prepared her to face

  an officer corps. Renie, however, was accustomed to

  16 / Mary Daheim

  captains of industry. I
t seemed to Judith that her cousin regarded them much as she would observe animals at the zoo.

  They were interesting, they were different, they could even

  be amusing, and only upon rare occasions did they do

  something vulgar in public that would be better done in

  private.

  As they approached the summit, driving conditions

  worsened, with deep piles of snow alongside the road. Not

  once had they glimpsed the mountains. The clouds were low

  and heavy, creating a foglike atmosphere that kept the Chev

  down to a crawl.

  “We take a side road at the summit,” Renie said, again

  pointing to the envelope on the seat. “Check the map. I’ve

  never been there before, but the directions looked easy.”

  It was a few minutes after ten when they reached the

  turnoff. Renie pulled into a service station that also featured

  a small grocery store. “This is where Barry supposedly went,”

  she said. “As you can tell, they don’t carry much beyond the

  basics. That’s why he might have gone back down the pass.

  I’m going to fill up now because I didn’t take time to stop

  at the BP on Heraldsgate Hill.”

  While Renie pumped gas, Judith got out of the car and

  walked around the wet tarmac. The area around the station

  had been plowed, but there was snow everywhere, perhaps

  as much as twenty feet. Judith spotted the main ski lodge

  through the drifting clouds and managed to catch sight of

  some of the chalets utilized by winter sports buffs.

  Having used her credit card to pay at the pump, Renie got

  back in the car. “It can’t be more than a mile from here,” she

  said as Judith refastened her seatbelt. “Let me see that map.”

  The road was easy to find, not quite a quarter-mile from

  the service station, and on the north side of the interstate.

  It, too, had been recently plowed, and the going was relatively easy. Or seemed to be, for the first half-mile. Then the

  pavement suddenly ended. Renie found herself driving on

  bare gravel.

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 17

  “This is stupid,” she complained. “If they can pave half of

  the damned thing, why not the rest?”

  “Maybe it’s a matter of jurisdiction,” Judith suggested. “The

  state or county may keep up part of it and the rest is Forest

  Service. I’d guess this was originally a logging road.”

  “Probably.” Renie had dropped down to under ten miles

  an hour. “I wish Bill were here. I don’t like driving in snow.”