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

by Mary Daheim

  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

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 97

  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

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  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

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  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.

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  “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.”