by Mary Daheim
She uttered a brittle laugh. “I should have stayed there. I
didn’t know when I was well off.”
“Were you hired in at the officer level?” Renie asked.
“No. I went to work for Herb Oldman, who had the good
sense to die of a heart attack three years later. I got his job,
and thought I was on top of the world. Now I feel as if it’s
caved in on me.” Margo held her head in her hands.
“Excuse me.” The uncertain voice came from the doorway
where Russell Craven stood, his fair hair even more unruly
than usual. “May I please have some cream? Real cream, if
you have it.”
105
106 / Mary Daheim
Judith went to the refrigerator. “How are you doing, Mr.
Craven?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
“Doing?” He patted the bump on his head. “Not very well.
This hasn’t been a congenial experience so far.”
Judith poured cream into a ceramic pitcher. “No one can
be feeling good this morning,” she commiserated. “Are you
really going to continue with your meetings?”
Russell exchanged a questioning look with Margo. “I
suppose,” he said. “What else is there to do? We can’t leave.
I went to the front door just now and when I opened it, a
pile of snow fell on me. I could barely close it again.”
“Great.” Margo set her mug down with a thump. “We
should have paid more attention to the forecast. Why do we
always assume the weatherman is off-base? And why doesn’t
somebody come get us? Aren’t there search and rescue people
around here?”
“They’re probably having enough trouble with people
stranded on the highway and at the ski areas,” Judith said,
then went to the phone. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try…”
The line was still dead. The spark of hope that had appeared in the eyes of the others flickered and died. Judith
gave them a rueful look.
“Sorry. But breakfast is almost ready.”
Russell and Margo didn’t budge. It occurred to Judith that
they preferred staying in a group. As if to underscore the
conferees’ feelings, Max Agasias and Ward Haugland appeared next, entering from the laundry room.
Max went straight to Russell and put a hand on the other
man’s shoulder. “Hey, no hard feelings about last night. I
lost my temper, that’s all. Sometimes I get pretty damned
frustrated with the second-class way my marketing people
are treated.”
Russell recoiled slightly, but managed a small smile. “We’re
all protective of our own shops,” he said simply.
“Coffee’s ready in the dining room,” Judith announced as
a furtive Nadia Weiss slipped into the kitchen.
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“I saw it,” she said in a nervous voice. “But I…well, I
thought I’d wait.” Her blue eyes darted every which way,
then came to rest on Russell. “Shall we get coffee now?
Or…?”
“We’ll all go,” Max said.
“I need a refill,” Margo chimed in. The five of them trooped
off to the dining room.
Judith began cracking eggs in a frying pan. “Take that
toaster out and plug it into the outlet with the coffee urn,”
she said to Renie. “It’s almost eight. They’ll be here in a few
minutes.”
They were, except for Andrea. As Judith dished fried eggs
directly onto the conferees’ plates, Frank Killegrew opined
that his vice president-human resources was probably too
upset to come down for breakfast.
“Andrea was fond of Leon,” Killegrew said, passing the
toast around the table. “I mean, really fond of him. She took
his death pretty hard.”
“Oh, Frank.” Margo was shaking her head.
“What?” Killegrew stared at Margo.
“We’re all taking it hard,” Margo asserted. “Don’t you get
it, Frank? Somebody is out to kill us.”
“That’s extreme,” Gene Jarman said quietly. “We mustn’t
jump to conclusions. Nobody knows for certain what
happened to Barry Newcombe.”
“We know he’s dead,” said Ava Aunuu. “That’s not a good
sign.”
Gene’s calm brown eyes rested on Ava. “It could have
been an accident. Think it through, consider the exigencies.
Barry went off to the store or wherever just before a storm
like this one hit. He could have returned in the middle of it,
lost his way, and sought refuge in that cave or whatever it
was. He froze to death. It happens.”
“With a leather strap around his neck?” Ava sneered at
Gene. “So what happened to Leon? He smothered himself
in angel food cake?”
108 / Mary Daheim
“I thought he was hit on the head,” put in Russell, who
again fingered his own skull and winced.
“Afraid so,” Ward mumbled. “It’s a nasty business, all
right.”
“The point is,” Killegrew said between mouthfuls of fried
egg, “we might as well carry on. We can’t leave, and there
are plenty of items left on our agenda. As long as the cabin’s
still airtight, we can fly.”
“You’re right, Frank,” Ward agreed. “Besides, it’ll keep our
minds off…this other stuff.” The second-in-command lowered
his eyes to his breakfast plate.
Judith, who was reaching between Nadia and Gene to set
a coffee carafe on the table, summoned up her courage.
“Excuse me. I have a small announcement.”
All eyes veered in her direction. To her acute embarrassment, she blushed. “Someone took Barry’s items out of my
handbag last night.”
“Cripes!” exclaimed Ward.
“Oh no!” cried Nadia.
“Ridiculous,” murmured Gene.
“That does it!” Margo threw down her napkin and stood
up. “Isn’t there some way we can get help? This is a nightmare!”
“Now, now,” Killegrew said, though he sounded shaken.
“Has anybody tried the phone this morning?”
“I did,” Judith responded. “It still doesn’t work.”
Max Agasias sat far back in his chair, balancing his burly
body in what struck Judith as a precarious position. “You
see? What do we tell our customers? Go cellular, go wireless—and never leave home without it. I guess only OTIOSE
people are too damned dumb to take marketing’s advice.”
Margo, who was pacing back and forth in front of the
buffet, swung around. “Well? Did you bring your cell phone,
Max? Did you take your own bright-eyed advice?”
Max locked his hands behind his head and grinned.
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“Hell, no. I followed Frank’s orders here, like a good little
Nazi.”
Russell Craven was shaking his head. “My, my. No cell
phones, no laptops, no pagers, no…” He stopped and looked
somewhat diffidently at Killegrew. “Wouldn’t you think,”
Russell said quietly, “that there would be a battery-powered
two-way radio around this lodge?”
“Dubious,” Max responded dryly. “Why would they need
it? We sell c
omplete communications systems, and oldfashioned battery-driven radios are dinosaurs.”
“We could look,” Gene put in. “They might have one stored
in the basement.”
“It’s an idea,” Killegrew allowed, though he, too, sounded
dubious.
“Forget the damned radio,” Margo implored. “I want to
know how somebody got into Ms. Flynn’s handbag.”
Judith explained how she had left the bag in their room
when the cousins had come down to get a snack. “I didn’t
discover the theft until this morning,” she added, “but it
probably occurred before Ms. Jones and I finally retired some
time after midnight.”
“You said you didn’t lock the door?” Gene Jarman had
assumed his role of witness interrogator.
“No,” Judith replied. “It didn’t seem so important to keep
people out when we weren’t inside.”
A silence fell over the dining room. Margo began to pace
again, Ward toyed with his food, Russell sat with his chin
on his hand, Ava stared off into space, Gene sipped coffee,
Nadia twisted her hands in her lap, Max twirled a piece of
melon on his fork, and Frank Killegrew grabbed the coffee
carafe. Judith went back into the kitchen.
“I eavesdropped,” Renie admitted. “Do I detect a note of
desperation?”
“Several,” Judith said. “Some are louder than others.”
The cousins remained on kitchen duty for another halfhour, eating their own breakfasts between treks into the
110 / Mary Daheim
dining room. Shortly before ten, the conferees headed in a
body to the lobby. Apparently, it was business as usual.
Judith and Renie were clearing the table when Ava and
Nadia reappeared. “We’ve formed a buddy system,” Ava
announced. “Nobody goes anywhere alone, including to the
bathroom. In fact, we’re thinking about sharing bedrooms
tonight. If we’re still here.”
It was unclear if Ava’s reference was literal or—really literal. “Good idea,” Judith remarked. “My cousin and I are
sticking together like glue.”
“If only,” Nadia sighed, “Leon had taken Andrea with him
last night when he came down to get the cake. Or if Barry
had asked one of us to go with him a year ago. I would gladly
have accompanied him on his errand. I’m used to fetching
and carrying.” Only a hint of bitterness was evident in her
voice.
“You couldn’t guess what would happen to either of them,”
Ava said, not unkindly.
“I enjoyed talking to Barry,” Nadia went on as if she hadn’t
heard the other woman. “He always had all the news.”
“Gossip, you mean.” Ava’s tone was good-natured. Judith
noticed that she looked reasonably rested. Or perhaps it was
the rich blue high-necked sweater and slacks ensemble she
was wearing. It was the one that Judith had seen in the suitcase, and it was definitely a becoming color with Ava’s dark
complexion.
“Yes, gossip.” Nadia smiled, producing a rather charming
effect despite the obvious strain on her thin face. “You see,”
she said to Judith and Renie, “Barry heard everything. Staff
assistants usually do. And he had this most ingenious way
about him. If he had an interesting piece of news—”
“Gossip,” Ava interjected.
“If you like.” Nadia darted Ava an amused glance. “Anyway, when he heard something truly interesting, he’d
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call around and ask if whoever he was speaking to had any
recent tidbit. If that person—”
“You,” put in Ava.
“Possibly,” Nadia agreed, “but by no means just me. If
you—”
“He never called me with gossip,” Ava asserted.
“You know what I mean.” Nadia was growing impatient
at the interruptions. “If you had something worthwhile to
tell, then he’d reveal what he knew. It was like a game.”
A deadly game, Judith thought, with a quick look at Renie.
“From what I’ve heard,” Ava said, nibbling at one of the
leftover strawberries, “most of his so-called news was about
who used the Cloud Room.”
“The Cloud Room?” Judith echoed.
“Now, Ava,” Nadia began with a reproachful expression.
“Don’t go telling tales out…”
“Come on, Nadia, you started it.” Ava waved a contemptuous hand. “I don’t think so-called Cloud Rooms are exclusive to OTIOSE these days. In this case, there are actually
two of them, the men’s and women’s rest rooms on the
twenty-ninth floor. It’s where employees go to do cocaine.”
“Oh!” Judith was shocked, even though she knew she
shouldn’t have been. Joe constantly railed against the onslaught of drug traffic in the city. “Is this a big problem?”
“That depends on the individual,” Ava replied, despite a
warning glare from Nadia. “In some cases, it doesn’t appear
to affect a person’s work. In others, it’s ruinous. I had to recommend the firing of two people in the past year, and authorize rehab for another half dozen. OTIOSE contracts out
with a firm that deals in addiction among corporate employees.”
Leaning against the counter, Renie nodded. “Newer Resolutions, isn’t it? I did some design work for them two years
ago. As I recall, in most companies, it’s a three-strikes-andyou’re-out program.”
112 / Mary Daheim
“That’s right,” Ava agreed. “At least it is with OTIOSE.
The company will pay for two rehab sessions, but after that,
you’re gone and on your own.”
“Why,” Judith asked, “can’t they nip it in the bud? That
is, if they know where employees go—to this so-called Cloud
Room—why don’t they stop the drug use right there?”
“Because,” Ava answered, “they’d simply go somewhere
else. Our headquarters is a thirty-story building. There are
lots and lots of places to do drugs. And that’s just during
office hours.”
“Sad,” Judith murmured.
“But true.” Ava gave Nadia a gentle shove. “Let’s go, we’re
holding up progress. Frank wants to start the meeting in ten
minutes, and we’ve got to get Andrea down here.”
The two women went off through the laundry room to the
back stairs. Judith eyed Renie. “What floor are the executives
on at headquarters?”
“Thirty.” Renie’s lips twitched.
“That’s what I thought,” said Judith.
Judith had just turned on the dishwasher when she heard
the screams. Renie jumped and knocked a cereal box off the
counter. An eerie silence ensued.
“What was that?” Renie asked in a startled voice.
“It was a scream. Or screams.” Judith was trembling.
“Where did it come from? And,” she gulped, “why did it
stop?”
Cautiously, the cousins went into the laundry room, then
as far as the bottom of the back stairs. They heard nothing.
“Maybe it wasn’t upstairs,” Renie whispered. “Maybe it
was downstairs, in the basement.”
Judith glanced around the small hallway where the top of
the basement stairs could be see
n near the rear entrance.
“Maybe. But I’m not going down there. Let’s go into the
lobby and find out if anybody else heard anything.”
If the others hadn’t heard the screams, they now saw a
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most alarming sight. Ava and Nadia were huddled in the
open elevator, seemingly paralyzed by fear. Just as the door
automatically started to close, Ava hurtled into the lobby.
Nadia stumbled behind her.
Gene and Max rushed to meet the women. “What the
hell…?” shouted Max, grabbing Nadia before she fell.
“It’s Andrea,” Ava gasped, leaning against Gene. “She killed
herself! Andrea’s dead!”
NINE
AVA BURIED HER face against Gene’s shoulder. Max halfcarried Nadia to the nearest sofa, almost bumping into a
dazed Russell Craven, who was wandering around the wide
hearth, glassy-eyed and muttering to himself. Frank Killegrew
and Ward Haugland simply stared at one another. Margo
Chang picked up her black suede bag and pulled out a
Ladysmith .38 Special revolver.
“If anybody comes near me, they’re dead!” she shrieked.
“Nobody’s going to kill me, nobody’s going to drive me to
suicide! I’m getting out of here alive!”
“Margo!” Killegrew turned white. “Is that thing loaded?”
“You bet!” Margo swung the gun around the room, taking
aim at each of the others in turn. “I know how to use it, too!
I go to the range once a month!”
“My God!” Killegrew sank down on the sofa next to Nadia.
“You know,” Russell said, no longer wandering around
the hearth but edging nervously away from Margo, “firearms
are very dangerous. Do you realize you should never point
a gun at anyone unless you intend to use it?”
“Shut up, Russell!” She pointed the gun straight at him.
“Of course I know that! Furthermore, I’ve got a
114
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 115
concealed weapons permit, a federal firearms license, a longstanding membership in the NRA, and I belong to the local
chapter of OFF, the Organization of Firearms for Females.”
“Then you’re legal.” Gene Jarman shrugged.
“Now, now,” Killegrew said without his usual hearty reassurance, “let’s not get excited. Andrea’s the problem here. I
can hardly believe she’d kill herself.”
With a wary eye on Margo, Gene led Ava to one of the