Mary Ellen Hughes - Maggie Olenski 01 - Resort to Murder

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  She saw the sign for Coopersburg, where the Baskers lived, and followed it onto a road to the right. The little town was not all that far from the Highview. From what Maggie could tell as she drove into it, with its collection of small businesses with drably modest store fronts, the Inn was likely a major source of income for many of its citizens, either as employment or as a consumer of some of their supplies or services.

  The Inn possibly drew from several such small towns surrounding the area. If that were the case, Maggie could almost understand the sheriff’s desire to keep the Inn’s reputation intact by downplaying any unpleasant incidents that occurred there, if in fact he had. Campaign contributions from the owners might be a major concern, but preserving an economy and way of life might be just as important. Whichever it was, though, selfish or unselfish motivation, the end result - suppression of the truth - was just as unacceptable.

  Maggie checked the address on the slip of paper Holly had given her, and recalled what she had said:

  “Green Street should cross Main where the laundromat is, and there’s a tavern across the street in a yellow building. I don’t know if you go right or left on Green, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  Maggie found the street, decided on a left turn, and located the house within two blocks. As she pulled next to the curb, she noticed several other cars parked nearby and realized she would not be the only one making a condolence call at this time. She had another anxious thought that perhaps she would be intruding, and considered just pulling away. Turning around and going right back to the Highview.

  Her mother’s voice in her head stopped her. “People don’t want to be left alone at times like this.” Anna Olenski had said it many times, and Maggie remembered helping her wrap freshly baked bread or fix a casserole to take to a friend or relative in mourning. “They need a little kindness to take away the hurt.”

  Maggie didn’t have a loaf of bread or a casserole, so she would have to do her best on her own. “All right, Mom, you win this time,” she said aloud. “But I’ll take it from here, okay?”

  Maggie climbed out of her car and walked up the steps to the porch of the frame house. The porch could have used a little paint, but it was otherwise in good shape. The house was an old frame clapboard, two stories and a high attic. A chain link fence surrounded the back yard, and a medium-sized, multi-breed tan dog barked dutifully at her once or twice beyond it.

  Maggie’s knock was answered by a grim, large-sized, middle-aged woman. She wore a flower-printed blouse stretched over the top of navy polyester pants, and her dark hair framed a face that bore no resemblance to Mrs. Basker’s, as Maggie remembered it. She looked at Maggie stonily, blocking the door with her bulk, and asked, “Yes?” in an unwelcoming tone.

  “Ah, I’m Maggie Olenski. I was Lori’s math teacher in high school. If this is a bad time, I certainly understand….”

  “Oh! Come in, dear, come in.” The stern face morphed into that of a generic, kindly aunt, and she pulled Maggie by the arm through the doorway, moving back several steps to make room. “I was afraid you were one of those reporters. It’s been terrible. How they can bother people with questions at a time like this. `How do you feel?’ How do they think we feel! So,” she said to Maggie in a softened tone with a hint of reverence, “you teach up there at the high school?”

  “No, actually I teach in Baltimore. I had Lori in class when she lived there.”

  Maggie had stepped into the living room, and she saw Lori’s mother sitting on the sofa. She was being attended by another large woman who dwarfed Mrs. Basker’s own small frame. The larger woman was alternately rubbing the grieving woman’s hand and moving offerings of food, coffee, and Kleenex a fraction of an inch closer on the coffee table in front of her. The aroma of perking coffee drifted in from the kitchen. Lori’s mother looked up and stared blankly at Maggie.

  “Mrs. Basker, I’m Maggie Olenski. I taught….”

  Mrs. Basker’s blank face relaxed to a soft, sad-eyed smile. She stood up with a slight unsteadiness and reached out to Maggie. “Miss Olenski. Yes, I remember. How kind. Lori always… Marlene, would you get a cup for Miss Olenski?” she turned to the woman at her left, and asked in a small voice. “Come, sit down.” She motioned to Maggie. “So kind.”

  Maggie took the vacated spot on the sofa and Lori’s mother sat beside her. The older woman pushed at wisps of grey-brown hair around her face and immediately offered some of the small sandwiches and cookies on the table with anxious, jerky movements. Maggie hesitated, then saw that accepting something would please the woman and took a vanilla wafer.

  “Lori was a very special student of mine,” Maggie began, “a very special girl. I’m so sorry….” She broke off, her voice unsteady, and Mrs. Basker gripped her hand in both of her own.

  “I know, I know, dear.”

  Maggie looked into this grieving mother’s eyes, and saw the pain deep inside them, thinly veiled by a lifetime of conventions and habits, habits that placed immediate concern for her visitor over her own distress. She felt that was harder to take than a flood of tears would have been.

  Marlene emerged from the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee for Maggie and set it on the table in front of her. Maggie gave a quick smile of thanks, and Lori’s mother moved the sugar closer, half rising when she thought Maggie might want cream which wasn’t there, only relaxing when Maggie assured her she didn’t need it.

  A tall man whose freckled face resembled Lori’s more than her mother’s stood near the doorway of the kitchen, and Maggie recognized him as Mr. Basker. He was quietly listening to the murmurs of a shorter man clad in overalls whom he gazed at with solemn, sunken eyes.

  Mrs. Basker cleared her throat gently and said, “Did you drive all the way up here from Baltimore, dear?”

  “Not today. I arrived yesterday, to stay at the Highview.”

  “Oh, I see.” Mrs. Basker seemed to be struggling to place that piece of information into its proper niche.

  Maggie took a deep breath. “Mrs. Basker, I’m the one who found Lori.”

  “Oh!” Her hand rose to her mouth as the thought of all that that implied became clear. Maggie saw her grapple with it, feeling some of her anguish and wishing she hadn’t had to be the cause of it. The fact would have come out sometime though, she knew, in news reports, or hearsay, and perhaps it was just as well to get it over with. Who could say? All she knew was this woman, this family, had a long road of healing ahead, and maybe it was best to clear it now of as much debris as possible.

  After what seemed like a long silence, Mrs. Basker’s hand reached out for Maggie’s again. “I’m sorry for you, but I’m glad for Lori’s sake that you were there for her. I’d like to think she knew, somehow. She always liked you so much.” She looked at Maggie with pain-filled eyes, the veil now dropped, and whispered, “Who killed her? Who killed my little girl?” Two large tears moved slowly down her face, and Maggie could only shake her head helplessly.

  She didn’t know.

  As more people arrived at the Basker’s, Maggie rose to leave. Some quick introductions, a few more words, then she made her way to the door, escorted by the same large woman who had admitted her, Lori’s Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose came out onto the front porch with her, pulling the door closed behind her, thanking her for coming.

  “You staying on at the Highview?” Rose asked as Maggie started to step down.

  “Yes, at least for now.”

  “It’s a nice place,” Rose said politely, her face not quite agreeing with her words. “Did the town a lot of good when it got built up there.” Rose heaved a sigh and settled down onto an old metal porch chair. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped at her face.

  Maggie sat down on the top step. “I was talking to someone last night who works there. She said Lori’s wasn’t the first death at the Highview, that another girl died of an overdose of pills which the sheriff called a suicide.”

  “Yes, yes, I remember,” Rose said, shaking h
er head. “A terrible thing. I didn’t know the girl. But it’s always a terrible thing when someone so….” Rose’s gaze moved to the oak tree standing tall and silent at the edge of the yard. She was quiet for a few moments, then sighed. “Death shouldn’t come violently, especially not to the young. It should come quietly, like a friend, when one has finished all one has to do and is tired, and ready to go. Don’t you think?”

  Rose turned her round eyes to Maggie and smiled sadly, and Maggie could only nod. She had never thought much about death before, and now it seemed to be all-pervasive.

  “You didn’t know anything in particular about the other girl’s death, then?” Maggie asked, bringing the conversation back from the abstract to the here-and-now.

  “No, but I knew about poor Randy Chamber’s.”

  “Randy Chamber? Who was he?”

  Rose waved a large arm pointing vaguely to the right. “Our neighbor’s boy. Worked up there, too. In maintenance. He was driving home late one night, on that awful, twisty road, went off it and was killed dead. Police said he was driving recklessly, but….” Rose shook her head with disbelief. “He was a good boy, not one of those wild ones.”

  Maggie stared. A second suspicious death. Or was it?

  “Did the sheriff investigate it?” she asked.

  Rose nodded. “But you know how it is. Just another teenager wrecking his car, getting himself killed. They said there was nothing else to it. Who can tell? All I know is it was awful hard on his folks.”

  Rose pushed herself heavily out of the chair. “Well, I’d better get back in, see what needs doing.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Maggie said, stopping Rose in mid-turn, “what was Lori studying in college? Was it biology?”

  “Biology? No, Lori wanted to be a social worker. She wanted to help people. She wanted to get a degree, starting first at the community college, then finishing the last two years at the university.”

  “Was she taking any summer classes, do you know, perhaps a science class?”

  “No, she had to work full time in the summer to pay for tuition. The Highview was the best job, the best pay.”

  Rose’s face had a question mark on it, and Maggie explained why she’d asked. “There was a book found near her. A college level biology book. Not exactly light summer reading, so I wondered if she needed it for a class.” Maggie supposed it meant nothing. More important, probably, were the people Lori saw. “What about friends?” she asked. “Did she go out much? Have a boyfriend?”

  “Oh, she had friends,” Rose said, “but she wasn’t what you’d call the party type. I think she had a boyfriend back in high school, but that broke up some time ago. I never heard anything about a boyfriend lately, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  “She was a good girl,” the older woman went on. “Cared about her friends, and about people in general, something you don’t see a lot in the young ones. Just last month she helped out at the local blood drive. They had it at the community center and quite a few people from the hotel came to donate, which I’ll bet she had a lot to do with. And she used to babysit for free, off and on, for the Parkinsons over on Gibson Road who were having a hard time of things. No, you don’t see a lot of that.”

  Rose heaved a mighty sigh. “Well, they say the good die young. Must be why I’m still around.” She gave a sharp laugh. “I guess I’d better go back in.”

  She heaved herself up, then looked at Maggie silently for a few moments. “You take care, now, up there.” Rose’s face was solemn. She opened the door and disappeared into the house. Maggie stood on the porch for a while, then turned and walked slowly down the steps.

  Back in her car Maggie sat for a moment, her mind sorting through the odd bits of information it had been accumulating. Things at the Highview, beyond Lori’s death, seemed out of kilter. Holly had told her about the presumed suicide, and now Rose mentioned an accidental death. Was there any connection between these deaths and Lori’s? She couldn’t know yet, but it was disturbing. The only thing she knew right now was that Lori’s mother deserved an answer to her plea: “Who killed my little girl?” Lori’s entire family deserved an honest answer.

  Maggie checked the map, then started the car and turned it around toward Main Street. Main would take her to Route 42. This in turn would lead her to the sheriff’s office. If anyone would have an answer to that question, the sheriff should. And if not, Maggie wanted to know just what he was doing to get it.

  ***

  CHAPTER 9

  April, 1998

  Randy climbed into his old, beat-up Ford. It didn’t seem old and beat-up to him. To him it was great and wonderful, his ticket to independence, the envy of most of his friends. So it had a few dents and scratches. He would fix that, as well as the jerking in the transmission and some other things, as soon as he got the money.

  And he was getting it. Thanks to this car, he had got the job up here at the Highview, able to drive up to work part time on landscaping. For digging a few holes and plopping in a few bushes he was getting paid more than he ever got in his life, though at seventeen he hadn’t had too many jobs yet.

  Randy started up the car and pulled onto the gravel road that led to the main one down the mountain. His mind went over the day he’d had. A long day. After digging and raking for several hours, he’d been directed to work on some of the tools that had been stored all winter, scrape off rust, check the motors of the small engines, and stuff. Not that he minded. It meant extra pay, and he liked doing things like that, especially the engine stuff. But it kept him late, and he and Jody might not be able to make that movie after all. Maybe if he stepped on it….”

  Randy sped around the curves of the road. It was empty, so he wasn’t worried about traffic. His tires squealed as he took a sharp bend, and he pressed the brake as he came to another. He heard, or maybe felt, something snap, and the brake went all the

  way to the floor. What the heck!

  Randy had just worked on those brakes two weekends ago. They should have been in great shape. But his foot kept pumping and nothing was grabbing. Randy’s heart started beating hard. Another curve came up and he just barely made it. The car was going fast. Faster than he could handle. He thought he liked to drive fast, but not like this. Another curve. Then another.

  The last thing he saw was the dark shapes of the trees as he crashed through the guard rail. The last thing he felt was the terrible thud as the car hit the rocky slope, then rolled. Randy’s head hit something hard, and blackness replaced consciousness, which was merciful, for he wasn’t aware when the flames burst out, engulfing his car, his precious car, and everything in it, including him.

  ***

  CHAPTER 10

  Maggie parked her car at the rear of the Highview and walked across the grounds toward the back entrance of the hotel. She shoved her hands into her skirt pockets and frowned, deep in thought. As she started to veer left to the door, the sound of a familiar voice stopped her.

  “Maggie! Maggie, over here!”

  Maggie looked up to see Dyna waving at her from a green and white striped lounge chair beside the pool. She brightened at the sight of her ever-cheerful friend and went over to join her.

  “Dyna, you’re just what I need.” Maggie sank into the chair next to her.

  “Kinda rough seeing the family?” Dyna asked. She seemed to be trying to look properly somber, and nearly succeeded.

  “Yes, but I guess I was prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared for what I ran into later.”

  Maggie told Dyna about going to the sheriff’s office. She had been greeted quite cordially, invited to sit down, offered coffee. But when she inquired about the investigation into Lori’s death, she got vague answers and empty-sounding assurances.

  “We’re working on it. Don’t you worry your little head about it,” was the deepest extent of his answers.

  To add to her frustration, their conversation had been constantly interrupted by phone calls, and questions from a deputy on various un
related matters. When Maggie finally gave up and rose to leave, the sheriff had covered the phone with his hand and given her a friendly wink and a promise that “everything is being taken care of.” Which did nothing to convince Maggie.

  The sheriff reminded her too much of Harvey, her school principal. Harvey was big on talk, loaded with charm, and made promises that more often than not evaporated as quickly as he closed his office door behind you. Maggie had soon learned that if she wanted something out of the way done at school she had to find a way to do it herself. Maybe she would have to do the same here.

  “You don’t think they’ll find the killer?” Dyna asked.

  Maggie sighed. “I doubt it.”

  She looked over at her friend, whose multi-shaded blonde hair was escaping bit by bit from the tie holding most of it near the top of her head. “I can’t stand the thought of this murder not being solved, though,” she said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Lori’s family to just leave things hanging. They deserve an answer. And something’s going on here, I’m afraid. More than just a drifter attacking a defenseless girl in the woods.” She told Dyna about the two other employee deaths.

  “You think someone from here is killing people?” Dyna’s blue eyes opened wide, and she glanced nervously around at the sparsely populated pool area. A white-haired woman wrapped in terrycloth smiled sweetly back at her from her lounge chair several feet away.

  “I think maybe someone from here killed Lori, and if so Sheriff Burger doesn’t seem likely to find out who.”

  “Well, maybe we could try to find out,” Dyna said.

  The edges of Maggie’s lips turned up in a grim smile. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Maybe we could.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes, I do. We’ll be here a few more days. We can certainly poke around, ask questions. That is, if you want to.”