by Mary Daheim
we were here last year.”
“That’s right,” Ava chimed in. “Ward said he was a Korean
War vet who’d gotten his brains scrambled.”
“How would Ward know?” Killegrew grumbled. “Ward
never served our great country.” He jabbed a thumb at Gene.
“Neither did you. Weren’t you a draft dodger during the Vietnam conflict?”
“I was 4-F,” Gene replied with dignity. “I suffered from
asthma until I was in my early twenties.”
Killegrew turned his hostile gaze on Russell. “Then you’re
the one who went to Canada.”
“I was a conscientious objector,” Russell asserted. “I served
as a medic.”
186 / Mary Daheim
Killegrew harumphed. “If I’d known that when I hired
you, I wouldn’t have. Hired you, I mean. Is that in your
personnel file?”
“I don’t know,” Russell responded, looking affronted.
“Andrea kept all our files. I never bothered to check mine.
Those things aren’t important to me.”
“What difference does it make?” Margo asked in a vexed
voice. “That’s ancient history. How did we get off on this
stupid subject, anyway?”
“The caretaker,” Judith said meekly. “I was wondering if
the laugh we heard this afternoon might have been him.”
No one seemed very comfortable with the suggestion. “It
better not be,” Killegrew said, still irked. “He’s supposed to
stay away.”
“Then who was it?” Ava inquired. “Ms. Flynn has a point.
Somebody was out there.”
Nadia, who had poured herself a glass of white wine,
waved a slim, dismissive hand. “It’s a moot point. We can’t
see outside, so we don’t know what’s happening. It could
have been the ski patrol.”
“We might see from upstairs,” said Max. “When Gene and
I took Ward to the third floor, we got a better view, at least
to the east. I didn’t see anything. Did you?” He turned to
Gene.
Gene shook his head. “I didn’t look. All I wanted to do
was get out of there. It’s not pleasant being in a room with
corpses.”
“Rudy Mannheimer.” It was Max who spoke. “That was
the caretaker’s name. Ward told me he’s been up here for
several years. He’s an antisocial S.O.B., and this is a perfect
job for him.”
“We can see to the east and west,” Killegrew noted, his
manner more amiable. “From our rooms on the second floor,
I mean. Not now, though. It’s dark.”
Judith frowned at the non sequitur. There wasn’t an opportunity to dwell on it; Max wanted to know where Nadia had
gotten her wine.
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 187
“Over there,” Nadia replied, indicating a mahogany cabinet
that reached almost to the ceiling. “That’s where they keep
several types of wine, including some rather nice French
vintages.”
Gene, Margo, and Ava fairly galloped to the cabinet. A
supply of glasses filled one shelf. Amid the extraction of corks
and pouring of wine, Frank Killegrew requested “something
reddish but not real dark.” Nadia found a rosé, and refilled
her own glass. Russell shyly asked if he might have a sweet
wine, perhaps with blackberries. Max said to hell with it, he
wasn’t much of a wine drinker, and went off to the lobby to
mix another martini.
“He went alone!” Nadia gasped, handing Russell a blackberry cordial. “Do you think…?”
Judith found Max quite safe, unless the double he was
pouring construed a potential danger. “I’m the one who was
on the second floor with the killer, remember?” he said when
Judith expressed concern. “Whoever it was went for Ward,
not for me. I figure I’m safe.”
“I’m not sure anybody’s safe,” Judith said. “It doesn’t pay
to get careless.”
Max took a big drink from the martini glass. “It doesn’t
seem to matter, does it? Whoever our killer is somehow
manages to get the job done.” He waved a big paw at the
collection of bottles. “You want something? You’re Scotchrocks, right?”
“Yes.” Judith smiled, surprised that Max would have noticed. But of course he was a marketing man; such types were
paid to acquaint themselves with the habits of potential
customers and thus to win their hearts, minds, and new accounts.
“Here,” he said, deftly pouring the whiskey over a halfdozen cubes. “How come you aren’t cowering in a corner?”
“I don’t work for OTIOSE,” Judith replied. “Besides, my
cousin and I have our insurance policy.”
Max downed the rest of the double, then began mixing
188 / Mary Daheim
another. “We’ve all seen the garrote, the empty pill bottle,
and the pillowcase. They don’t add up to much, if you ask
me.” He loomed over Judith, his hazel eyes glinting dangerously. “What else have you got? It must be something you
saw or heard.”
Judith backpedaled a couple of steps. “We’ve seen and
heard quite a bit,” she said in a small voice. Then, because
Max’s size and stance were so intimidating, she blurted out
one of her more outrageous fibs. “We saw someone in the
corridor about the time of the murder. It must have been the
killer.”
Max Agasias recoiled, spilling some of his drink. “Who
did you see?” he demanded.
Judith clamped her lips shut. Max used his free hand to
grip her shoulder. “Who? Tell me, dammit! Who was it?”
There was no right answer, yet Judith had to say something. Judging from Max’s frantic attitude, she realized what
he expected—or was afraid—to hear.
“You,” she gulped. “But someone else, too.”
“Besides me?” Max let go of Judith. “Who?” he asked
again, now more bewildered than agitated.
She shook her head in a helpless manner. “I’m not sure.
It was shadowy in the corridor. The lights had dimmed, ever
so briefly.” The fib was growing, taking on a life of its own,
mutating into a colossal lie. “It could have been…anyone.”
Somewhat glassy-eyed, Max was staring off into space.
“You’re right. It could. Except maybe…” He stopped, suddenly asserting a modicum of self-control.
Judith relaxed a bit. “What were you doing in the corridor?” It took nerve to inquire, but the Scotch gave her false
courage.
Max’s broad shoulders slumped. “I was looking for
something in Andrea’s room. It belonged to me.”
Judith made a quick mental inventory of the items that she
and Renie had returned. “Did you find it?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 189
Dejectedly, Max shook his bald head. “It was gone.
Somebody got there ahead of me.”
Judith stiffened. Was Max referring to Barry Newcombe’s
belongings? But no one knew they’d been stolen from Judith’s shoulder bag. No one, Judith reminded herself, except
the person who had stolen them…
“Are you okay?” Renie had poked her head around the
corner.
Judith offered her cousin a tentative smile. “Yes, we’
re fine.
We thought we’d have a quick drink. How about you?”
“Are you kidding?” Renie asked. “Most of our fellow diners
are already ripped. Somebody has to stay sober. I nominate
me.”
“I’m not ripped,” Judith murmured as she and Max returned with Renie to the dining room. “But we need to talk.
Let’s clear the table.”
“Unh-unh,” said Renie. “Ava’s going to do that. You need
to talk to her, remember?”
“Trade you Ava for Max,” Judith whispered as they approached the table. “I already did him.”
“We’ll see,” Renie hedged, sitting down in her place
between Gene and Margo.
“Fiber optics, my butt!” shouted Margo. “Until you give
customers more underground wiring, they won’t give a rat’s
ass if…”
“Too many numbers, not enough numbers,” muttered Ava.
“Everybody has to have a private line, a fax line, a cell phone.
Before we know it, it’ll take forty-seven numbers just to dial
your…”
“If you can’t beat ’em, sue ’em,” Gene mumbled. “I love
lawsuits. They get me out of the office.”
“Analog, digital,” Russell said in a sing-song voice. “Digital,
analog. Diggity-do, loggity-dog, we’re all lost in a big thick
fog.”
“That’s it!” Frank Killegrew bellowed, getting to his
190 / Mary Daheim
feet in an unsteady fashion and brandishing his slide rule
like a sword. “You’re out of order! All of you! Be positive!
Keep the ship on the rails! How did I ever think I could turn
this company over to such a bunch of whimpering nincompoops?”
Nadia put up a restraining hand. “Please, Frank—you’re
getting very red in the face. You don’t want to have another…spell.”
Killegrew shoved Nadia’s hand out of the way. “Spell? I
didn’t have any damned spell! I was shocked, that’s all. I’m
as hale and hearty as a nuclear sub.” Despite his protests, he
sat down abruptly.
“Hell, Frank,” Max said, finishing his second double martini and filling his glass with red wine, “you ought to be glad
that some of us are still alive. If you ask me, this weekend
has put a whole new meaning to downsizing.”
Killegrew’s face was still red. “That’s not funny. If you’re
all so damned smart, why don’t you figure out who’s killing
us off?”
Margo pointed to Judith and Renie. “They have. Maybe
we should hire them to replace Ward and Andrea and Leon.”
“But there are only two of them,” Russell said, replenishing
his blackberry cordial. “Mmm—this is very sweet. I like it.”
“Numbskull,” Killegrew muttered. “I’m surrounded by
numbskulls and pansies.”
“Pansies? ” thundered Max, pounding on the table with
both fists. “I’m no pansy! I was in ’Nam!”
“Right,” Killegrew said on a grudging sigh. “You were a
real hero. How come you never made it past Private E-2?”
“Hey!” Max began, but Margo hit him over the head with
her empty plate.
“Shut up, Max! Let’s not get on the old war horses again!
I’m sick of it! Who gives a damn?”
“Some people don’t like war,” Nadia said quietly, then
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 191
peered at Gene over the rims of her glasses. “You were a
protester at Berkeley, weren’t you?”
Gene drew back in his chair. “So? That was in my undergraduate days at Cal.”
“You were a member of SDS.” Nadia gave Gene an arch
little smile.
“I was not!” Gene shouted. “I kept away from all those
radical movements!”
Nadia wasn’t backing down. “But you protested the Vietnam war.”
“That’s different,” Gene retorted. “Everybody did that at
Berkeley. Once I got into law school at Stanford, I stayed
clear of politics.”
Nadia’s thin face took on a conciliatory expression. “Maybe
you shouldn’t have. Given your background in an Oakland
ghetto, didn’t you feel a need to help your so-called brothers
and sisters better themselves?”
“My…?” Gene looked on the verge of apoplexy. “I’m
middle class! I was always middle class! I’m more than
middle class, I’m a lawyer!”
“Who are in a class by themselves,” Margo murmured.
“Calm down, Gene. You made it. Nobody cares about your
beginnings.”
Ava leaned across the table towards Nadia. “What about
your origins? You never talk about your background, Nadia.
Is it true that Frank found you under a cabbage?”
Nadia’s nostrils flared. “That’s silly! Why don’t you tell
us how you got here from Samoa?”
A spurt of anger crossed Ava’s face, then she composed
herself. “I took a plane. That’s all anyone needs to know.
But,” she went on, “maybe this is the time to make an announcement.” Getting to her feet, she glanced at each of the
others in turn. “I was going to save this for the last day of
the retreat. Considering how this weekend has gone, several
of us have already seen our last day, period.” She paused,
noting the sobering effect of her words. “Thursday afternoon,
I received a call from a former employee of mine
192 / Mary Daheim
at WaCom. Next week, they’re going to tender a merger offer
with OTIOSE.”
A stunned silence enveloped the dining room. Max was
the first to speak, his usual resonant voice unsteady.
“That’s not a merger—that’s a takeover!”
“We’ll fight them in court,” Gene asserted, but he was
obviously shaken.
“Cutbacks, layoffs, early retirement,” Nadia whispered.
“Just like the divestiture era. Oh, my!”
“Geniuses,” said Russell. “Hordes and hordes of geniuses
at WaCom. They have more ideas than I could ever think
of!”
“Who cares?” said Margo.
Judith gazed at each speaker, noting that all of them
were—as usual—self-absorbed and isolated from one another.
Finally, she looked at Frank Killegrew, who had said nothing.
He was facedown in his game hen carcass.
FOURTEEN
UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, it was natural for everyone to
assume that Frank Killegrew was dead, either by accident or
design. As Nadia finally noticed her superior’s collapse, she
screamed and began shaking him. The others watched in
horror until Margo grabbed Russell by the shirt collar.
“You said you were a medic in ’Nam,” Margo shouted.
“Do something!”
“I never went to ’Nam,” Russell said, quaking in his chair.
“I was assigned to NATO in West Germany.”
“Ohhh…!” Margo gave him a hard shake. “Do something
anyway, you little twerp! You’re still a medic!”
“I was discharged in ‘sixty-nine,” Russell insisted. “I can
barely find the Band-Aids in the official OTIOSE first-aid
kit.”
“No wonder you didn’t know what CPR is,” Margo railed.
“You’re the most worthless, futile…
”
But Frank Killegrew didn’t appear to need medical help.
He had lifted his head and was beginning to sputter.
“Oh, my,” Ava remarked, “he’s not dead after all. What a
relief.”
Judith thought Ava sounded more sarcastic than re 193
194 / Mary Daheim
lieved, but the CEO was now sitting up and blustering
mightily while Nadia wiped white and wild rice stuffing from
his face.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he asserted. “It’s just another damned
shock I didn’t need.” As Nadia finished her task and resumed
her seat, Killegrew glowered at Ava. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”
Looking weary and wan, Ava hesitated before replying. “I
tried to, Frank, when we were alone after the first session
yesterday. But somehow, I never got the chance.” She lowered
her eyes and folded her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“WaCom can’t do this,” Killegrew declared. “The state
utilities commission won’t allow it. Gene, you jump on this
first thing when we get back. Alert our public affairs people,
have them get the lobbyists in gear. It’s one thing for WaCom
to gobble up other computer companies, but they won’t get
their greedy mitts on us.”
Max, who was feeling his bald head to see if Margo’s plate
had left a lump, turned to Ava. “Who runs WaCom since
Jim Clevenger’s out of the picture?”
Briefly, Ava’s dark eyes met Max’s gaze. “Dick Freitas, the
second-in-command, took over as acting president and CEO.
WaCom’s been on a year-long talent search. They want
someone new, a fresh face, an outsider. I don’t know if
they’ve made a final decision yet or not.”
“They have.” Margo looked smug. “On Tuesday, they’ll
announce that their new chief is Alan Roth.”
Judith and Renie couldn’t stand the clamor that ensued
after Margo Chang’s announcement. After the first five
minutes of incredulous shrieks and outraged wails, the
cousins retreated to the kitchen.
“Andrea’s husband?” Judith was as disbelieving as the
OTIOSE executives. “Does that make sense?”
“Maybe he really is a computer genius,” Renie said, clearing
her plate into the garbage. “Just because he didn’t have an
official job doesn’t mean he wasn’t working. He
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 195
might have been some kind of consultant to WaCom.”
Judith sat down on one of the tall stools. “I don’t get it.