by Mary Daheim
“You bet. I don’t see how you can work with people—or
should I say persons?—like them.”
“You get used to it. They’re all alike.” Renie selected a knife
from the wooden cutlery holder. “The problem is that they
get into these executive slots and they become distanced from
reality. They’re pampered, protected—and isolated. The same
thing happens in government. They’re all out of touch.”
“So’s the chief, according to Joe.” Judith piled ham onto
a platter. “I suspect this crew is going to get a dose of reality
when they start investigating Barry Newcombe’s murder.”
“It’ll serve them right, too,” said Renie, aggressively slicing
the turkey. She suddenly paused. “As long as it doesn’t screw
up their acceptance of my presentation.”
Judith shot her cousin a baleful glance. “Stop it. You sound
like one of them.”
“I’m not,” Renie asserted. “I’m just a servile jobber who
wants to suck at the teat of corporate excess.”
Twenty minutes later, the cousins had the buffet set up.
The chafing dishes were lighted, the plates and utensils were
stacked, and the makeshift sideboard looked fit for a king.
Or a queen, or maybe even ten spoiled corporate executives.
In the laundry area, they found that their clothes were dry.
Hastily changing, Judith and Renie felt a huge sense of relief
as they put on their own garments.
“Let’s go,” Renie said. “We’ll leave Ava and Nadia’s stuff
on an empty table in the dining room where they can’t miss
it. I’m not sure I want to talk to any of these people again
for a while.”
Judith had found a rear exit off the supply room. Feeling
liberated, the cousins headed through the door and into the
January night.
During the hour or more that they’d spent inside the lodge,
the snow had been falling steadily and heavily. The
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 53
wind from the north had now reached a high velocity. The
blinding flakes whirled and swirled around the lodge, obliterating everything except the unsteady hands the cousins
held before their faces to ward off the stinging cold.
“Jeez!” Renie cried. “It’s a damned blizzard! I can’t drive
in this!”
“I can’t either,” Judith admitted in a stunned voice. “What
shall we do?”
Renie stood stock-still, with the wind and snow blowing
straight into her face. “We haven’t got much choice. We’re
stuck, at least until the storm blows over and the roads get
plowed. Let’s go back inside before we end up like Barry.”
“Don’t say that,” Judith cautioned. “The weather didn’t
kill him.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve got a very ugly feeling
that somebody inside that lodge that we are about to reenter
was the person—yes, person—who killed Barry Newcombe.”
“You sure know how to terrify a person,” Renie retorted.
Judith gestured toward the lodge. “These people are risk
takers, right?”
“Right. In one way or another.” Renie kept her head down;
her voice came out muffled.
“It required a big risk to kill Barry with the others around,”
Judith continued. “Whoever did it must have realized a storm
was coming, but did you notice all those branches at the
front of the little cave? I think the killer put them there to
hide the body, just in case. Besides, when the snow
melted—assuming there’s ever a big thaw at this elevation—the branches would still provide some concealment.
But then, the snow finally broke them down, probably when
you fell into the bank.”
“Lucky me,” Renie sighed. “I’m a regular walkin’, talkin’
corpse detector.”
“Lucky us,” Judith echoed. “It isn’t like it’s the first time.”
Feeling bleak and bleary eyed, she entered the lodge.
54 / Mary Daheim
They explained their forestalled departure plight to Nadia
Weiss, who, surprisingly, was not without sympathy. “There
are plenty of vacant rooms,” she said. “I’ve already moved
Frank once. Naturally, he wanted a corner room. But
Mountain Goat Lodge can accommodate two hundred guests.
We’ll find you something in the main wing on the second
floor, where the rest of us are staying.”
Judith and Renie didn’t find the idea particularly reassuring. But again, there wasn’t much choice. “We’ll share,”
Renie blurted. “We wouldn’t want to mess up two rooms,”
she added hastily.
The arrangement was fine with Nadia. She led the cousins
to the elevator via a back corridor. While waiting for the car
to arrive, Judith overheard Killegrew expostulating on the
deficiencies of the municipal police department.
“Lack of personal contact…city employees, not used to the
bottom line…boondoggles…civil service…political pork
barrel…favoritism…” The litany of complaints went on.
The three women got into the elevator. “Did you talk to
the police chief?” Judith asked innocently.
Nadia leaned her slight frame against the upholstered
padding of the elevator. “No! It’s after six, he’d gone home.
Frank had me call him there, but I reached his answering
machine. We haven’t heard back yet.”
“Ah.” Judith didn’t know what else to say. She recalled
how often Joe had tried to see the chief when he and his
partner, Woody Price, were working a case. Unless the investigation was high profile, the chief usually shunted Joe
and Woody off to his deputy or some other underling.
“This whole thing is very peculiar,” Nadia said as they got
out on the second floor. “I cannot—I simply cannot—imagine
anything as seedy as murder being linked to OTIOSE.
Whatever will our board of directors think? And our shareholders will be up in arms! This is simply terrible!”
“It’s rough, all right,” Renie agreed.
“It had to be some lunatic,” Nadia declared. “Someone
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 55
wandering around the mountains. I’ve heard there are all
sorts of strange types who live in the forest. Hermits, and
other kinds of eccentrics. They often kill people. That’s what
must have happened to Barry.”
They had reached a door at the far end of the hall. Nadia
sorted through a large key ring. “Two-thirty-nine,” she said
under her breath. “Here we are.”
There were twin beds, a small fireplace, a bathroom, and
a wet bar. There were also two hooded bathrobes hanging
on wooden pegs. Matching terrycloth slippers sat side by
side on the polished hardwood floor. Judith and Renie both
sighed with relief.
“Nice,” Renie remarked. “Thanks, Nadia. We’re sorry to
impose, but that storm out there is really something.”
Nadia’s smile was tense. “It should blow out in a few
hours. That’s what happened last year when we were at
Mountain Goat.”
“You had a storm just like this one?” Judith asked, setting
her pur
se down on one of the twin beds.
“Oh, yes,” Nadia replied. “It was terrible. We weren’t sure
if we could get out by Monday afternoon. But it finally broke
that morning, and we were able to leave.”
“Who drove?” Renie had uttered the question from the
fireplace where she was putting a match to the pile of wood
and kindling.
“I did,” Nadia replied. “Barry had driven us up here, but
when he…disappeared, it was up to me to get us back to the
city. Fortunately, we were able to chain up at the summit.”
Judith sat down on the bed with its counterpane woven
in a bright Native American design. “Nadia, weren’t you
worried about what had happened to Barry?”
Nadia hung her head and clasped her hands. “Not terribly,”
she replied in a sheepish tone. “You see, Barry was gay. He
was given to…following his special star.” She paused, her
thin face very earnest. “It had happened before. Two summers
ago at the company picnic, Barry was in
56 / Mary Daheim
charge of the food. About halfway through, he suddenly
disappeared. He’d met someone on the adjacent tennis
courts. Then at the Christmas party a year ago, he went off
with Santa Claus.”
“I see.” Judith took a deep breath. “So you thought—what?
That he’d met someone outside of the lodge or at the summit
or down in the next town—or what?”
“Any of those things.” Nadia now appeared to be on surer
ground. “Even here at the lodge, there are cross-country skiers
who pass through. Not to mention snow-mobilers and hikers.
It may seem isolated, but it really isn’t, not when the
weather is decent.”
“Except that you had a big storm last January,” Judith
pointed out. “That would have cut down on the sports enthusiasts.”
“Y-e-s,” Nadia said slowly. “I suppose it did.” She glanced
around the room, her practiced mind taking inventory. “I
hope this will do. Everything seems to be in order. Now I
should get back downstairs. I must see what’s happening
with Frank and the police chief.”
Judith locked the door behind Nadia and slid the deadbolt. “We ought to be safe in here,” she said, then gritted her
teeth as Renie lighted yet another cigarette. “Coz—must you?
This is a small room, and it’s too cold to open a window.”
Renie waved the cigarette. “It’s either this or we raid the
buffet.”
Judith sniffed at the trail of smoke. “That’s not a bad idea.
It just dawned on me that I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since
breakfast.”
“Then let’s forage after they’ve finished. Meanwhile, we
can check out the honor bar.” She nodded at the compartment built between the room’s two small windows.
The little refrigerator contained soda pop, sample-sized
bottles of liquor, and water, both plain and flavored. There
were also packets of various snack foods. The cousins
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 57
opened a bag of chips and a bag of pretzels before making
themselves a drink.
Sitting in a wooden chair with a comfortable padded back
and seat, Judith gazed around the room. “There’s no TV. Or
radio. How are we going to hear about what’s happening
with the weather?”
Renie also studied their surroundings. “No phone, either.
I guess this is one of those places where you’re supposed to
get back to nature or in touch with yourself or some damned
thing. Bill and I stayed at a lodge like this in Oregon a few
years ago. After an hour and a half, we were ready to kill
each other.”
Judith got up and went to one of the windows. “All we
can do is watch what’s happening outside. Once the storm
dies down, I suppose we could use the phone in the kitchen
to check on highway conditions.”
Renie uttered a terse laugh. “Assuming we can reach the
right part of the state and don’t end up with a report on the
ocean beaches.”
“I’ve got a feeling that this blizzard is going to last well
into the night,” Judith said, still peering through one of the
window’s six small panes that were trimmed in bright red.
“I vaguely recall hearing a weather report at home yesterday
that said we might get some snow in the city by Sunday, but
of course I didn’t worry about it because…” She stopped,
cupping her hands around her eyes. “What in…? I just saw
a light.”
Renie, who had been reclining on one of the twin beds,
went to the other window. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“It’s gone. Which way are we facing?”
Renie considered. “We’re at the end of the hall, which
runs the width of the lodge. I’d guess that we’re looking out
from the east, opposite from the parking lot and the creek.”
“That makes sense. The wind is from the north, and it’s
blowing the snow right by us.” Judith remained at the win- 58 / Mary Daheim
dow, but the light didn’t reappear. “Did you say there was
a caretaker?”
Renie had returned to the bed. “Right, but he’s at least
half a mile away. I doubt he’d come out in this storm. Besides, he’s under orders to keep away. The OTIOSE gang is
very set on privacy.”
“Where’d the staff go?” Judith asked, finally deserting her
post and sitting down again.
“Home?” Renie gave little shrug. “I understand some of
them usually sleep over, up in dormer rooms on the third
floor. But during the conference, they were all sent away. It
is a three-day weekend, and they were probably delighted
to have the time off.”
Judith finished her bag of chips and sipped at her Scotch;
Renie ate three pretzels, lighted another cigarette, and drank
her bourbon. The fire, which Judith had lighted a few minutes
earlier, burned in the small grate. They could hear the wind
howl in the chimney, causing the flames to waver and dance.
“I should have mentioned to Nadia that we left her
clothes—and Ava’s—in the dining room,” Renie said,
breaking the sudden silence between them.
“They’ll find the stuff,” Judith replied, her eyes still on the
storm that raged outside the window. She sat up straight
and looked at Renie. “The folder was gone.”
“Folder?” Renie was momentarily puzzled. “Oh, the one
I found on the podium.” She nodded once. “You’re right.
Somebody had picked it up off the coffee table in the lobby
where we set up the bar.”
Judith’s high forehead was puckered in a frown. “I thought
Ava acted kind of odd about which clothes she wanted to
lend me.”
“Maybe. So what? The blue outfit might be her favorite.”
“Then why wasn’t she wearing it?”
“I don’t know,” Renie replied, slightly impatient. “What
difference does it make?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 59
Judith didn’t reply immediately. “Would you know how
to fashion a garrote?” she asked
after another brief silence.
“I think I could learn,” Renie said darkly. “Like about now.
Forget it, coz. This isn’t our problem.”
“If you knew how, I don’t imagine it would take much
strength.”
“I hope not. I’m feeling a little weak.” Renie glowered at
her cousin.
“But you need a stick or something, don’t you? Where
was the stick? I didn’t see anything like that.”
“If I had a stick, I know where I’d put it,” Renie said
between clenched teeth.
“What do you know about Barry Newcombe? Did you
ever meet him?”
“Good God.” Renie rubbed at one eye. “You’re hopeless.”
She tossed her cigarette butt into the fireplace and regarded
Judith with an indulgent expression. “Okay, I’ll play the game
if only because we can’t amuse ourselves by watching Cru-
sader Rabbit reruns on TV. Yes, I met Barry a couple of times,
a year ago last December, when I got called in on the annual
report. He seemed very nice, quite efficient, and otherwise
utterly unremarkable. I also talked to him on the phone.”
“Who did he work for?” Judith asked, adding more ice to
her glass.
“He was assigned to Margo in p.r. then, as a staff assistant.
But I think he’d been in human resources before that.”
“Andrea Piccoloni-Roth?” Judith was finally beginning to
put titles and departments with faces and names.
“That’s right. But I honestly don’t know much more about
him,” Renie admitted. “It appears that he didn’t intend to
make a career out of working at OTIOSE, or he wouldn’t
have started up the catering business on the side.”
Judith grew thoughtful. “How old was he?”
“Mid-twenties, blond, medium height, nice-looking. I didn’t
know until today that he was gay, but then I wouldn’t have
given it a thought if I had,” Renie said, slipping one
60 / Mary Daheim
more pretzel out of the little paper sack. “Quite a few of the
guys who are employed at lower management levels in corporations are gay.”
“So Barry wasn’t in a power position?” Judith asked as the
wind rattled the windows.
Renie ruffled her short hair. “Well—that depends. The
salaries at that level aren’t much, but somehow staff assistants, at least at OTIOSE, have some kind of abstruse clout.
They answer the phones, they run personal errands for the