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

by Mary Daheim

  Killegrew. “First aid!”

  Grudgingly, the company stepped aside, except for Leon,

  who was still on his hands and knees. Andrea hovered over

  Russell, whose eyes looked glazed. Under the thinning fair

  hair, Judith could see a bump beginning to rise.

  “Mr. Craven,” Judith said softly as she applied the ice bag.

  “What’s your first name?”

  His eyes didn’t quite focus, and he winced when he felt

  the ice. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.

  “What’s your first name?” Judith repeated.

  “Barry,” Russell replied, and passed out.

  Max Agasias had finally simmered down, so much, in fact,

  that he and Ward Haugland carried Russell Craven to one

  of the lobby’s three long sofas. Andrea, who had hurriedly

  helped Leon pick up the rest of his cake, took over from Judith. Her plump, motherly figure was perched on the sofa

  arm where she held the ice bag to Russell’s head.

  “I won’t take back what I said,” Max declared, pouring

  himself a single shot of Canadian whiskey from the make- 70 / Mary Daheim

  shift bar Judith and Renie had set up earlier. “Craven and

  the rest of those R&D bastards don’t know a damned thing

  about marketing.”

  “Now, now,” soothed Killegrew, “let’s not bore more holes

  in the corporate ship, Max. We all have to work together

  and try to understand what goes on in each other’s shop.”

  “That’s my point,” Max railed. “Nobody in this company

  understands marketing! But R&D is the worst. You cut our

  budget for their sake, and we’ll be out selling door-to-door!”

  “You won’t have anything to sell,” Ava put in, “if R&D

  doesn’t come up with new product. Put a sock in it, Max.

  You made your point.”

  He’d also made quite a lump on Russell Craven’s head,

  but at least Max’s victim had come around. Andrea offered

  him a glass of water or a snifter of brandy. Russell said he’d

  prefer coffee, strong and black. Judith started back to the

  kitchen.

  She met Renie in the dining room. “What’s up?” Renie

  asked. “Is somebody else dead?”

  Judith shook her head. “Just wounded. I’m going to make

  coffee.”

  Nadia was still in the kitchen, fussing about, apparently

  trying to find busy work to calm her nerves. “Is Russell all

  right?” she asked when she saw Judith.

  “He’s got a nasty bump on his head, but I think he’ll be

  fine,” Judith replied, removing a regular-sized coffeemaker

  from one of the cupboards. “He should be checked for concussion, though. He seemed a bit confused.”

  “No wonder!” Nadia briefly closed her eyes. “Max hit him

  awfully hard. It was so unnecessary.”

  “Mr. Craven doesn’t strike me as a combative type,” Judith

  said, putting coffee into a copper filter.

  “He’s not,” Nadia responded. “But he’s very protective of

  his R&D people. When someone like Max calls them a bunch

  of dreamers and a waste of corporate funds, Russell

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 71

  can become very mulish. Max resents all the other departments because he feels they don’t understand marketing. But

  he despises R&D most of all, because of the way they work.

  Or don’t, from his point of view.”

  “You mean…?” Judith frowned. “They just sit and dream

  up things?”

  “Yes.” Nadia now seemed more relaxed, perhaps because

  she was discussing a subject she knew backward and forward.

  It was beginning to dawn on Judith that many of the OTIOSE

  conferees were like that. They felt on safe ground only when

  dealing with corporate matters. The rest of the world, even

  everyday occurrences, seemed to threaten them. “You see,”

  Nadia went on, “much of the R&D work is conceptual. As

  Russell puts it, his people have to dream a long time before

  they can even begin to cope with reality.”

  That, Judith thought, explained Russell himself, who didn’t

  seem quite plugged in. But it didn’t explain his response to

  her question about his first name. “Did Russell know Barry

  Newcombe?”

  Nadia tipped her head to one side. The stylish platinum

  pageboy had wilted during the past few hours. “I don’t think

  so,” she answered cautiously. “In fact, I recall him asking

  several questions about Barry today. As far as I know, Russell

  probably never met Barry until he drove us up to the lodge

  last January. Why do you ask?” Her blue eyes hardened like

  sapphires.

  Judith shrugged. “It’s not important.” The coffee was almost ready and she didn’t want to waste time bringing

  Russell his cup. “You knew Barry, of course.”

  “Oh, yes,” Nadia replied, her expression softening. “Such

  a well-mannered young man. I’d worked with him before

  when he’d catered some of the other company events. He

  was very good at it, even if he tended to…become distracted.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  Judith and Nadia both returned to the lobby where Russell

  Craven was now in a half-sitting position on the sofa.

  72 / Mary Daheim

  He seemed reasonably alert, and grateful for the coffee. Judith

  offered to pour a cup for the others, but only Andrea and

  Ward accepted.

  “I’ll get it,” Andrea volunteered, taking Russell’s hand and

  placing it on the ice bag she’d been holding to his head.

  “Easy does it,” she said in a soothing voice.

  Frank Killegrew had resumed his place of dominance in

  front of the fireplace. His shrewd gaze traveled from Renie

  to Judith. “We’re going to get back down to business now,”

  he said, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s been a terrific

  session this evening, right up until the…” He glanced at

  Russell, then at Max. “…the controversy. So this train has

  to make up for lost time. It’s just about nine o’clock, and we

  can keep the old locomotive running until say, ten-thirty. If

  you’ll excuse us, Ms. Jones, Ms.…” His voice trailed off.

  “Flynn,” Judith said, barely above a whisper.

  “We’re gone.” Renie waved one hand, then trotted out of

  the lobby.

  Judith followed. In the dining room, they met Andrea,

  who was carrying two cups of coffee. “I checked Russell’s

  eyes,” she said. “They seem normal. Pay no attention to his

  mention of Barry. Russell didn’t know him.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Judith replied, ignoring Renie’s puzzled

  look.

  Andrea’s pretty face flushed slightly, an attractive combination with her silver hair. “I understand why he said what

  he did. Russell is terribly sensitive. I’m sure the news of

  Barry’s death upset him. You know how creative types tend

  to overreact.” She bustled off to the lobby.

  “I’m creative,” Renie said in an ingenuous voice. “Do I

  overreact?”

  “It depends,” Judith said, continuing on into the kitchen.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever described you as sensitive.”

  “What’s with this about Russell calling h
imself Barry?”

  Renie picked up her plate but dumped her milk into the sink

  and poured out a fresh glass.

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 73

  Judith explained as they went up the back stairs. Renie

  thought Andrea’s rationale was probably correct. Judith

  didn’t comment further.

  It was after ten when the cousins finished their meal. The

  storm had not abated. Judith dared to open the window to

  get a better view.

  “Brrr!” she exclaimed, closing the casement quickly. “It

  must be down in the teens, with a wind chill factor of minus

  about a hundred. Look at the way the snow is drifting on

  the windowsill.”

  “It’s drifting, all right,” Renie said without enthusiasm.

  “The fire’s almost out. Do you want to stoke it or go to bed?”

  Involuntarily, Judith yawned. “It’s getting cold in here

  without the fire. We might as well sleep. I’m tired.”

  Renie tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’m

  hyped. I always get this way after a big presentation. Finding

  a dead body also makes me a little…edgy.”

  Judith was leaning against the honor bar. “You’re scared?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Sure. But I’ve been scared before. After nineteen years

  with Dan McMonigle, I can face almost anything.”

  “You do and you have,” Renie said dryly. “Of course

  nobody wants to kill us. We’re insignificant bugs on the

  corporate highway of life.”

  Judith smiled. “Roadkill?”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” Renie got out of the chair and

  lighted a cigarette. “One for the road,” she said. “Or should

  I say one for the corporate highway?”

  “If you must,” Judith responded, then turned to make sure

  she’d latched the window properly. “Coz!” she hissed.

  “There’s that light again!”

  Renie rushed to join her cousin at the window. This time,

  she, too, saw a faint, blurred light somewhere out in the

  swirling snow. “Jeez! Who could it be?”

  74 / Mary Daheim

  “Maybe it’s not a who,” Judith muttered. “Maybe it’s a

  what.”

  “You mean some sort of beacon?” asked Renie, all but

  pressing her nose against the window pane.

  “Yes. Some kind of weather-related signal. Did you notice

  anything like that when we were outside today?”

  “No. But I’m not even sure where we’re looking,” Renie

  pointed out. “We were on the other side of the lodge.”

  The light went out, or perhaps it was swallowed up by the

  thick flakes that blew past the lodge with renewed frenzy.

  Renie paced the small room, puffing and scowling. “Nobody

  in their right mind would be outside in this weather,” she finally said. “Maybe there’s a ski lift nearby. The storm might

  have shorted the wiring.”

  “That’s possible.” Judith moved away from the window.

  She tensed as she heard muffled voices in the hall, then the

  closing of doors. “The OTIOSE gang must be wrapping it

  up for the night. I hope nobody else got hurt. Say, do you

  know why Andrea got so mad at Margo this afternoon?”

  Renie shook her head. “I couldn’t guess. Women talk a

  great line about helping each other in the business world,

  but believe me, the sisterhood is a myth. Look at Nadia and

  Andrea—there’s bad blood there, too, probably because

  Andrea is an officer and Nadia isn’t. It’s every girl for herself,

  just like it is with the boys. Maybe more so, because it’s

  tougher for women. The old boy network still seems to

  function.”

  “They’re sure a testy bunch,” Judith remarked. “Frankly,

  I’m surprised. I would expect better of people in executive

  positions.”

  “Not so,” Renie said, turning back the spread on the nearest

  twin bed. “These people are under tremendous pressure,

  from within and without. As a public utility, OTIOSE is

  watched closely by the state and federal commissions, not

  to mention the public and the media. So when

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 75

  they go off on a private retreat like this, they’re supposed to

  vent and let their hair down. It’s only natural that their

  emotions boil over and they behave badly.”

  “They sure do,” Judith agreed.

  “They’re spoiled brats,” Renie said. “I’ve tried to explain

  that.”

  “I know. I’m just not used to it,” Judith said with a shake

  of her head. “I’ve never been involved in corporate life. Oh,

  there were politics and a pecking order within the library

  system, but it wasn’t like this.” Slowly, she wandered around

  the room, hugging herself to keep warm and absently taking

  in the modest decor: another mountain-scape, a brightly

  colored Native American throw rug, a photograph of the

  lodge under construction. The handwritten date in the corner

  read August 21, 1936.

  “This must have been a public works project,” Judith

  mused. “You know—one of FDR’s efforts to put the unemployed to work during the Depression.”

  “Probably,” Renie agreed. “It has that look—spare, but

  functional. Of course the recent owners from the private

  sector have tried to jazz it up. Like the fancy kitchen, and

  the conference rooms.”

  “Speaking of kitchen,” Judith said with a sheepish expression, “I wouldn’t mind getting a little extra something.” She

  pointed to her empty plate. “How about you?”

  Renie waved her cigarette. “I’m good, but I’ll be your

  bodyguard. It’s probably not wise to go off by ourselves.”

  The lights in the corridor had been dimmed. Judith and

  Renie decided to use the elevator now that they assumed the

  lobby was vacant. Again, it appeared that Nadia—or somebody—had tidied up. A single lamp glowed in a corner by

  one of the sofas. In the grate, the fire had died down to a

  few crimson embers. The wind moaned in the big chimney,

  and the pennants that hung from the rafters rustled gently

  above the cousins’ heads.

  The dining room was dark, but Renie found the switch.

  76 / Mary Daheim

  A pale, sallow patch of light followed them into the kitchen.

  Judith started to feel for the on-off button by the sink, but

  stopped abruptly.

  Something was wrong. She could make out the marbletopped counter and the glass dessert plate. She could also

  see that someone’s face was lying in what was left of the

  angel food cake.

  SIX

  NEITHER JUDITH NOR Renie screamed. Instead, they held

  onto each other so hard that their fingernails practically drew

  blood. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute, they stood back and stared at their discovery.

  “It’s Leon Mooney,” Renie said, stunned and hoarse. “What

  happened to him?”

  Reluctantly, Judith went around to the other side of the

  counter. Leon’s small body sagged against the counter, his

  knees buckled, his arms dangling at his sides.

  “He is dead, I gather?” Renie still sounded unnatur
al.

  Judith felt for a pulse in Leon’s frail wrist. “I’m afraid so.”

  Her own voice was shaking. “It could have been a heart attack.”

  But Judith knew better. As soon as Renie’s fumbling fingers

  managed to turn on the lights, Judith saw the ugly bruise on

  the back of Leon’s head. Then she spotted a heavy-duty

  plastic freezer bag next to his feet. The bag had something

  in it. Judith bent down for a closer look.

  Through the transparent plastic, Judith could see the

  soapstone Eskimo carving. “Good God!” she breathed,

  wobbling on her heels. “It’s that same carving Max used to

  conk Russell!”

  77

  78 / Mary Daheim

  “Poor little Leon!” Renie sounded genuinely moved. “I

  hardly knew him, but he seemed the most harmless of the

  bunch.”

  Judith sat down on the floor and held her head. “This is

  awful. I feel kind of sick.”

  Renie, who had propped herself up against the refrigerator,

  scanned the kitchen. “I hope whoever did this isn’t lurking

  around here someplace. Is he still warm?”

  Judith nodded, then tried to focus on the digital clock. “It’s

  ten to eleven. Didn’t Killegrew say they were going to cut

  the meeting off at ten-thirty?”

  “I think so,” Renie replied. “That’s about when we heard

  the noises in the hall.”

  “Dear heaven.” Judith rocked back and forth on the floor.

  “We have to do something.”

  Renie gestured at the phone. “Should we at least try to call

  for help?”

  Judith hesitated. “Yes. We have to.”

  “I’ll do it.” On wobbly legs, Renie went to the phone.

  Judith averted her eyes from Leon’s pathetic body. If the

  little man had seemed wizened in life, he now appeared utterly wraithlike in death. But, Judith thought, that’s what

  he’d become—a wraith. She felt an unaccustomed bout of

  hysteria surging up inside.

  “Damn!” Renie slammed the phone back in place. “I can’t

  get a dial tone! The lines must be down.”

  The announcement snapped Judith out of her emotional

  slide. She started to get up, still trying not to look at Leon.

  “We can’t do anything about that,” she said, using the

  counter’s edge to pull herself to a standing position. “How

  do we deliver the bad news?”

  Renie twisted her hands together. “Nadia, I suppose. We

  start with her. Or should it be Margo? She’s p.r.”