by Mary Daheim
Bob Bearclaw was in the driveway, giving one of the valets instructions about a luggage cart. Judith charged toward the doorman, then slowed her step. No matter how irate she felt, Bob Bearclaw wasn’t someone to approach in anger.
“Mrs. Flynn,” Bob said, doffing his cap. “You seem agitated.”
Judith faced him squarely. “Do you know why?”
Bob looked as if he might be trying not to smile. “I have an inkling.”
His response made it hard for Judith to repress her outrage. “Does that mean you were in on this so-called practical joke, too?”
Bob motioned for Judith to move closer to the valet kiosk. “It didn’t start out with you in mind,” he replied, now very serious. “It was something that the Mandolini troupe felt would be a sensation, and great publicity. Mr. Polson thought it was time to make a major leap in his career. It was only after your husband and Pancho Green got together after your arrival that they decided to use the opportunity to deceive you as their stepping-stone. Mr. Flynn felt you’d be bored at the casino. I understand you chose our resort because one of your relatives was attending a conference at the same time that you had to vacate your home. Your husband said you’re not much of a gambler. Except when it comes to murder,” Bob added meaningfully.
“Who all was in on this devious plan besides the Mandolini bunch?” Judith asked, keeping her temper at bay.
Bob started ticking names off on his fingers. “Mr. Quinn. Doc Engelman. Our security people, as well as the local sheriff. Your cousin’s husband, Dr. Jones.”
The enormity of the deception overwhelmed Judith. “Not Mrs. Jones?” was all she could say.
Bob shook his head. “No. Your husband felt that the two of you are so close that somehow Mrs. Jones would give it away.”
“But what about the other guests?” Judith asked. “Was it fair to fool the visitors?”
Bob sighed. “That bothered me a bit. But it was entertainment, after all, and that’s what people pay for. Mr. Fromm, however, was very much opposed even though he went along with it in the beginning.”
“Was his disapproval why he got fired?”
Bob shrugged. “The company’s relationships and personalities aren’t an illusion. What you’ve seen of them is real.”
Judith considered Bob’s words for a moment. “What about Marta Flax? She wasn’t real, was she?”
Bob shook his head. “Marta Flax doesn’t exist. She’s Martha Engelman. Martha’s very shy and rarely drinks. The only way she would take part was to become inebriated. It was very brave of her. Being unused to alcohol, she didn’t realize she’d end up in such a state. Luckily, she’s recovered quite well. Without the blond wig, you probably didn’t recognize her sitting with Manny Quinn, toward the rear of the cabaret.”
“Don’t tell me Fou-Fou was an illusion,” Judith retorted.
Bob smiled. “Fou-Fou is Fou-Fou. A rather spoiled animal, but Mrs. Engelman’s pride and joy. I believe Fou-Fou is a show dog.”
“Great.” Judith paced a bit. “I still can’t believe it.” She paused, a hand to her cheek. She no longer felt faint or weak, but she was still fuming inside. “Could you send someone to get my car?”
Bob stared briefly at Judith. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I trust you’re simply going for a drive to clear your head.”
“That’s right,” Judith replied. “I have to get out of here for a while.”
“Then drive carefully,” Bob cautioned. “These mountain roads can be dangerous at night.”
“I’ll be safe,” Judith promised.
Motioning to a valet, Bob went into the kiosk to fetch Judith’s keys. “Excuse me,” he said, “a limo is pulling up. I should greet the newcomers. I believe it’s our next headliner, a well-known rap star.” Bob shuddered slightly. “Their music is worse than our tribal chants. Whatever happened to ballads?”
Judith murmured her thanks. For a couple of minutes, she tried to stand still, forcing herself to regain her composure. The Subaru roared out of the garage and came to a stop.
“Thanks,” she said as the valet held the door open.
As she started to get into the car, she heard a sound in a nearby cedar tree. It was the cry of a flicker. Judith snorted in contempt. The previous cries had sounded shortly before the supposed deaths of Sally and Micki. For all of Bob Bearclaw’s local folklore knowledge, the flicker’s calls hadn’t forecast anything dire—unless they were intended to make her look like an idiot.
Which they certainly had, Judith thought grimly. Pulling onto the highway, she automatically headed in the direction of the family property. The rain had stopped, but except for the intermittent yellow divider, the highway looked—and felt—like slick black satin. Judith slowed down as a pair of taillights appeared after she had turned a sharp corner. The vehicle was a rusted red pickup, traveling well under the speed limit. There were cars coming from the other direction. Judith had no choice but to hold steady at forty miles an hour.
The old truck left the road when they reached the Green Mountain Inn. Judith, however, didn’t press down on the accelerator. She, too, was going to turn off in another three hundred yards. Sitting by the river, she’d seek peace in a place that had always provided sanctuary.
Judith stopped at the gate. It would be locked, of course. She’d have to walk the rest of the way. Going to the narrow opening past the gate, she felt the soft, damp earth under her feet. Rain dripped from the evergreen branches overhead. Without bothering to look at the excavated bog, she walked up the dirt drive, coming out onto flatter ground near what she hoped would be the future site of her country inn.
The clouds were moving swiftly to the east, allowing glimpses of the half-moon. Judith could see the outline of Mount Woodchuck against the night sky. Downriver, to the west, she could see a handful of stars.
It was peaceful on the riverbank. Judith sat down on an old hemlock stump. Her father and Uncle Cliff had sawed down the tree forty years ago because it blocked the view of the mountain. Just before the final cut, Uncle Cliff had pointed to his left, and yelled, “Timber!” The tree had crashed to the right, almost crushing Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen. Fortunately, everyone had laughed. That was typical of the Grover clan. They could laugh their way through almost anything.
The memory improved Judith’s mood. She’d never sought out danger. She’d never come near a homicide until after she’d opened Hillside Manor. In the years that followed, she’d run into situations where she could—in retrospect—have predicted violence. Guests such as opera stars, members of the mob, a movie company—all were fraught with the potential for murder. And when she was away from the B&B, the chain of events that led to homicide were already in motion before she came upon the scene.
Of course, there was her curiosity. But that stemmed from her interest in people, along with an innate sense of justice.
Maybe Joe was right. Certainly she had encountered some close calls along the way. Her luck could be running out. Maybe the speeding car in the hotel’s parking garage had meant to run her down. Or the falling sandbag had been intended to crush her. Maybe somebody thought she was a nuisance—somebody like G. D. Fromm. Judith should be grateful to her husband for his concern. He only wanted to protect her. And that was because he loved her. She might feel foolish, but she shouldn’t be angry.
The sound of the river and the quiet of the night had eased her mind. She wasn’t quite ready to look back on the events of the past few days and laugh. But eventually, she would. She’d laugh with Joe.
A noise behind her broke her reverie. Judith swiveled around on the stump. Perhaps a deer was coming down to the river for a drink. Or an owl was flying among the trees.
But the figure that appeared out of the shadows was human. Judith squinted to identify the newcomer. It was a man. It was, she realized as he drew closer, Doc Engelman.
“Hi,” she said in a puzzled voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I often walk the river at night,”
Doc replied, looking equally surprised. “After all, I live only a quarter mile down the road.”
Judith stood up. “You must have left the casino just before I did.”
“Maybe so.” Doc shrugged. “My wife and I came in separate cars. She headed home right after the final curtain. She never likes to leave Fou-Fou alone for long.”
“Of course,” Judith said, taking a last look at the mountain. “I should go back to the casino. Joe must wonder where I am.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Doc offered. He turned quickly, as if he were suddenly in a hurry.
“Thanks,” Judith replied as they headed for the drive. “Will you go home by the road or back along the river?”
“I may walk a bit farther,” Doc said. “The rain’s stopped. It’s a decent night.”
Judith agreed. “We could use some good weather around here. I can’t understand why Dale Armstrong’s crew virtually walked off the job. As soon as I get home, I’m going to take legal action, if necessary.”
“Contractors can be temperamental,” Doc allowed as they reached the clearing near the road. He stiffened slightly at the sound of an oncoming car. “You’d better be on your way. It’s getting late.”
Through the trees, Judith could see the vehicle’s headlights pass by. “Yes.” But she began to walk toward the bog. “I still don’t understand why Dale started digging this close to the road if he wanted to test the ground. I don’t plan on building so near the highway.”
Another car was coming closer. Doc pursed his lips, head cocked. Again, the car kept going. “What? Oh—who can say? But I wouldn’t go any farther. It must be very soft around the edges. The rain, you know.”
“I’ll be careful.” Judith took a couple of steps closer. In the dark, she could see nothing but a black hole. “That’s another thing—why dig so deep? If they want to test the stability of—”
The moon broke through the clouds, shining down into the trees. Judith saw three mounds barely poking through the ground. They could have been the lids of treasure chests, she thought, before her gaze roamed closer, to the bog’s perimeter. What she saw there wrenched a scream from deep in her throat.
G. D. Fromm was lying faceup, tongue protruding, blank eyes staring skyward. His body was already partially submerged in the swampy ground.
Trembling, Judith faced Doc Engelman. “Look! It’s terrible!”
Doc didn’t move. Judith assumed he was stunned. Then she saw the cold look in his eyes and the tightening of his jaw. Despite the shock, her brain was still functioning. Doc didn’t need to look. He knew what was in the bog. He was the one who had put G. D. Fromm there.
“You should have listened to me,” Doc said in a weary voice. “There was no need for this.”
Judith felt that “this” had a double-edged meaning. “Those are real treasure chests, aren’t they?” she said in a rapid, high-pitched voice. “But why? I mean, why kill Fromm?”
Doc sighed. “Your family’s land originally belonged to the Stillasnowamish. I’ve known about the gold and silver deposits around here for some time. I’ve even found a bit of gold at my place. When Dale Armstrong was working on the casino construction, he heard a story about how the Native-American miners had hidden their caches in the ground. It seems they became finicky about the whole mining process. When the railroad was built and an entire town sprang up on Mount Nugget, the tribe felt that nature was being savaged. There were even quarrels, among the tribe, over the gold. The old chief stopped the mining and decreed that they offer their treasure back to nature. They chose this particular site because it was an unusual type of ground for the area. The Stillasnowamish considered it sacred. The gold was sunk where it supposedly would never be unearthed by anyone else.”
Judith held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that the Indians hid their gold in the swampy place we call the quicksand bog?”
Doc nodded. “Yes. Who would expect quicksand-like ground in such a place? Dale Armstrong was amazed. Of course, I’ve known Dale for some time. I offered him twenty percent of whatever we found.” Doc grimaced. “Unfortunately, that meddlesome Fromm overheard Dale and me talking in the bar a few days ago. He tried to horn in on the deal. He came down here to see if there was any sign of gold. By chance, there was some dust and even a few nuggets.”
Judith was trying to stay calm. She noticed that Doc’s head swerved when he heard another vehicle approach. But it didn’t stop, and he resumed speaking. “Dale’s crew knew nothing about the gold. He and I performed some tests the other day with metal detectors. We knew the chests were about to be uncovered. I had Dale suspend the digging operation. He came by earlier to make sure we’d judged correctly. Now he’s on his way back with a four-by-four and a winch to remove the chests.”
“I thought you were waiting for someone,” Judith said, her voice still sounding strange. “What happens to Dale after he gets the chests out? Does he end up with G. D. Fromm?”
“I never look too far ahead,” Doc replied. “It’s like practicing medicine. I perform one procedure at a time.” With a quick motion, he took Judith by the arm. His grip was firm, but not painful. “There was no bloodshed,” he said quietly. “Not that I’m squeamish about blood. I can’t be, in my profession. By tomorrow, there will be no body. There’s still enough suction in the bog to make sure no one ever finds a corpse.”
Judith didn’t take in all of Doc’s last few words. She was standing by the very spot where she’d almost lost her life a half century earlier. Surely she wasn’t going to die in her family property’s quicksand bog.
“How did G. D. get here tonight?” she asked. “I didn’t see his car.”
“I brought him earlier this evening,” Doc answered. “He wanted to make sure the chest had been exposed. When I walked from home now, I was startled to find you here. I hoped you’d cooperate and leave.”
Judith assessed Doc’s physical condition. He was at least seventy, but appeared to be in excellent shape—certainly better than she was with her artificial hip. It would be useless to run. Panic overcame her.
Doc recognized the change. He had pulled something out of his jacket pocket, but Judith couldn’t see what it was. “Enough,” he said, sounding gruff. He twisted Judith’s arm behind her, turning her back to him. His other arm wrapped around her neck. As pressure was applied, Judith began to gasp for breath. Then she felt a plastic bag being slipped over her head. The kicks and scratches she aimed at Doc glanced off harmlessly. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. She could taste the plastic on her tongue. She was going to die.
“Greed,” said a nearby voice, “breeds violence. And murder is the ugliest of sins against nature.”
Judith felt Doc’s grasp on her neck ease off ever so slightly.
“You don’t understand,” Doc said, his voice lacking its usual calm. “It’s a game. It’s part of the joke we all played on her. Everything’s been a joke, hasn’t it?”
“No, no.” The pitying laugh came from Bob Bearclaw, who was standing a few feet away. Through the filmy plastic, Judith could see that he was unarmed, yet his very presence exuded power. “This is no joke,” Bob said. “Please remove that bag. The poor lady can’t breathe.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Doc obeyed. Judith staggered, holding her throat and gasping for air. She stumbled as far as she could from Doc, finally bracing herself against a young alder tree.
Doc put the plastic bag into his pocket. “It doesn’t matter what you see, really,” he said, regaining some of his composure. When the hand came out of the pocket, it held a gun. “I swear, Bob, I don’t want to do this. But I must.”
Bob shook his head sadly. “No.”
From the shadows of the salmonberry bushes and sword ferns, Jack Jackrabbit and Emily Dancingdoe appeared from their hiding places near the gate. They each held a Colt .45 semiautomatic.
“I hope,” Bob said, “that Jack and Emily will only wound you. But they’re in law enforcement, and duty bound.
Please drop your weapon, Dr. Engelman. Don’t turn this into yet another tragedy.”
From six feet away, Judith swore she could hear Doc’s teeth grinding. By chance, she glanced from Engelman to Bob Bearclaw. Judith didn’t see Doc aim at Jack and pull the trigger.
The bullet grazed Jack, who sank down on one knee. Before Doc could fire again, Emily shot him through the heart.
The noise and the flashes sent Judith sprawling on the ground. She could smell the damp earth, but it was marred by a more acrid odor. The gunfire, she thought. Maybe she should stay where she was and wait for everything awful to go away.
As if from a great distance, she heard movement and voices. Emily was on a cell phone, requesting emergency vehicles. There was no rush, she added.
Judith felt someone touch her shoulder. She looked up. Bob Bearclaw was kneeling beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.
“I’m a wreck,” Judith admitted. “You followed me?”
“Emily and Jack followed Doc,” Bob replied. “They parked across the road, at the auto court. We’d heard about Dale Armstrong’s work crew pulling out. We’ve been aware of what’s been going on here. Mr. Fromm wasn’t very discreet, especially when he’d been drinking. We thought something was going to happen here this evening. When Jack and Emily saw your car, they alerted me, so I drove down. I arrived just as Doc tried to smother you, though you were never in any real danger. Jack and Emily were hiding by the gate. They were waiting to see if he’d make a move that would incriminate him.”
“Goodness. I wish I’d known that,” Judith said as Bob helped her sit up. “Did you believe G. D. Fromm had been killed?”
Bob surveyed Judith to make sure she hadn’t suffered any serious physical damage. “Not necessarily. We believed the treasure chests would be removed tonight before the construction crew started asking questions. Their pay would stop with the job incomplete.”