by Mary Daheim
Judith and Nadia both returned to the lobby where Russell Craven was now in a half-sitting position on the sofa. He seemed reasonably alert, and grateful for the coffee. Judith offered to pour a cup for the others, but only Andrea and Ward accepted.
“I’ll get it,” Andrea volunteered, taking Russell’s hand and placing it on the ice bag she’d been holding to his head. “Easy does it,” she said in a soothing voice.
Frank Killegrew had resumed his place of dominance in front of the fireplace. His shrewd gaze traveled from Renie to Judith. “We’re going to get back down to business now,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s been a terrific session this evening, right up until the…” He glanced at Russell, then at Max. “…the controversy. So this train has to make up for lost time. It’s just about nine o’clock, and we can keep the old locomotive running until say, ten-thirty. If you’ll excuse us, Ms. Jones, Ms.…” His voice trailed off.
“Flynn,” Judith said, barely above a whisper.
“We’re gone.” Renie waved one hand, then trotted out of the lobby.
Judith followed. In the dining room, they met Andrea, who was carrying two cups of coffee. “I checked Russell’s eyes,” she said. “They seem normal. Pay no attention to his mention of Barry. Russell didn’t know him.”
“So I’ve heard,” Judith replied, ignoring Renie’s puzzled look.
Andrea’s pretty face flushed slightly, an attractive combination with her silver hair. “I understand why he said what he did. Russell is terribly sensitive. I’m sure the news of Barry’s death upset him. You know how creative types tend to overreact.” She bustled off to the lobby.
“I’m creative,” Renie said in an ingenuous voice. “Do I overreact?”
“It depends,” Judith said, continuing on into the kitchen. “I don’t think I’ve ever described you as sensitive.”
“What’s with this about Russell calling himself Barry?” Renie picked up her plate but dumped her milk into the sink and poured out a fresh glass.
Judith explained as they went up the back stairs. Renie thought Andrea’s rationale was probably correct. Judith didn’t comment further.
It was after ten when the cousins finished their meal. The storm had not abated. Judith dared to open the window to get a better view.
“Brrr!” she exclaimed, closing the casement quickly. “It must be down in the teens, with a wind chill factor of minus about a hundred. Look at the way the snow is drifting on the windowsill.”
“It’s drifting, all right,” Renie said without enthusiasm. “The fire’s almost out. Do you want to stoke it or go to bed?”
Involuntarily, Judith yawned. “It’s getting cold in here without the fire. We might as well sleep. I’m tired.”
Renie tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’m hyped. I always get this way after a big presentation. Finding a dead body also makes me a little…edgy.”
Judith was leaning against the honor bar. “You’re scared?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Sure. But I’ve been scared before. After nineteen years with Dan McMonigle, I can face almost anything.”
“You do and you have,” Renie said dryly. “Of course nobody wants to kill us. We’re insignificant bugs on the corporate highway of life.”
Judith smiled. “Roadkill?”
“That isn’t what I meant.” Renie got out of the chair and lighted a cigarette. “One for the road,” she said. “Or should I say one for the corporate highway?”
“If you must,” Judith responded, then turned to make sure she’d latched the window properly. “Coz!” she hissed. “There’s that light again!”
Renie rushed to join her cousin at the window. This time, she, too, saw a faint, blurred light somewhere out in the swirling snow. “Jeez! Who could it be?”
“Maybe it’s not a who,” Judith muttered. “Maybe it’s a what.”
“You mean some sort of beacon?” asked Renie, all but pressing her nose against the window pane.
“Yes. Some kind of weather-related signal. Did you notice anything like that when we were outside today?”
“No. But I’m not even sure where we’re looking,” Renie pointed out. “We were on the other side of the lodge.”
The light went out, or perhaps it was swallowed up by the thick flakes that blew past the lodge with renewed frenzy. Renie paced the small room, puffing and scowling. “Nobody in their right mind would be outside in this weather,” she finally said. “Maybe there’s a ski lift nearby. The storm might have shorted the wiring.”
“That’s possible.” Judith moved away from the window. She tensed as she heard muffled voices in the hall, then the closing of doors. “The OTIOSE gang must be wrapping it up for the night. I hope nobody else got hurt. Say, do you know why Andrea got so mad at Margo this afternoon?”
Renie shook her head. “I couldn’t guess. Women talk a great line about helping each other in the business world, but believe me, the sisterhood is a myth. Look at Nadia and Andrea—there’s bad blood there, too, probably because Andrea is an officer and Nadia isn’t. It’s every girl for herself, just like it is with the boys. Maybe more so, because it’s tougher for women. The old boy network still seems to function.”
“They’re sure a testy bunch,” Judith remarked. “Frankly, I’m surprised. I would expect better of people in executive positions.”
“Not so,” Renie said, turning back the spread on the nearest twin bed. “These people are under tremendous pressure, from within and without. As a public utility, OTIOSE is watched closely by the state and federal commissions, not to mention the public and the media. So when they go off on a private retreat like this, they’re supposed to vent and let their hair down. It’s only natural that their emotions boil over and they behave badly.”
“They sure do,” Judith agreed.
“They’re spoiled brats,” Renie said. “I’ve tried to explain that.”
“I know. I’m just not used to it,” Judith said with a shake of her head. “I’ve never been involved in corporate life. Oh, there were politics and a pecking order within the library system, but it wasn’t like this.” Slowly, she wandered around the room, hugging herself to keep warm and absently taking in the modest decor: another mountain-scape, a brightly colored Native American throw rug, a photograph of the lodge under construction. The handwritten date in the corner read August 21, 1936.
“This must have been a public works project,” Judith mused. “You know—one of FDR’s efforts to put the unemployed to work during the Depression.”
“Probably,” Renie agreed. “It has that look—spare, but functional. Of course the recent owners from the private sector have tried to jazz it up. Like the fancy kitchen, and the conference rooms.”
“Speaking of kitchen,” Judith said with a sheepish expression, “I wouldn’t mind getting a little extra something.” She pointed to her empty plate. “How about you?”
Renie waved her cigarette. “I’m good, but I’ll be your bodyguard. It’s probably not wise to go off by ourselves.”
The lights in the corridor had been dimmed. Judith and Renie decided to use the elevator now that they assumed the lobby was vacant. Again, it appeared that Nadia—or somebody—had tidied up. A single lamp glowed in a corner by one of the sofas. In the grate, the fire had died down to a few crimson embers. The wind moaned in the big chimney, and the pennants that hung from the rafters rustled gently above the cousins’ heads.
The dining room was dark, but Renie found the switch. A pale, sallow patch of light followed them into the kitchen. Judith started to feel for the on-off button by the sink, but stopped abruptly.
Something was wrong. She could make out the marble-topped counter and the glass dessert plate. She could also see that someone’s face was lying in what was left of the angel food cake.
SIX
NEITHER JUDITH NOR Renie screamed. Instead, they held onto each other so hard that their fingernails practically drew blood. Finally, aft
er what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute, they stood back and stared at their discovery.
“It’s Leon Mooney,” Renie said, stunned and hoarse. “What happened to him?”
Reluctantly, Judith went around to the other side of the counter. Leon’s small body sagged against the counter, his knees buckled, his arms dangling at his sides.
“He is dead, I gather?” Renie still sounded unnatural.
Judith felt for a pulse in Leon’s frail wrist. “I’m afraid so.” Her own voice was shaking. “It could have been a heart attack.”
But Judith knew better. As soon as Renie’s fumbling fingers managed to turn on the lights, Judith saw the ugly bruise on the back of Leon’s head. Then she spotted a heavy-duty plastic freezer bag next to his feet. The bag had something in it. Judith bent down for a closer look.
Through the transparent plastic, Judith could see the soapstone Eskimo carving. “Good God!” she breathed, wobbling on her heels. “It’s that same carving Max used to conk Russell!”
“Poor little Leon!” Renie sounded genuinely moved. “I hardly knew him, but he seemed the most harmless of the bunch.”
Judith sat down on the floor and held her head. “This is awful. I feel kind of sick.”
Renie, who had propped herself up against the refrigerator, scanned the kitchen. “I hope whoever did this isn’t lurking around here someplace. Is he still warm?”
Judith nodded, then tried to focus on the digital clock. “It’s ten to eleven. Didn’t Killegrew say they were going to cut the meeting off at ten-thirty?”
“I think so,” Renie replied. “That’s about when we heard the noises in the hall.”
“Dear heaven.” Judith rocked back and forth on the floor. “We have to do something.”
Renie gestured at the phone. “Should we at least try to call for help?”
Judith hesitated. “Yes. We have to.”
“I’ll do it.” On wobbly legs, Renie went to the phone.
Judith averted her eyes from Leon’s pathetic body. If the little man had seemed wizened in life, he now appeared utterly wraithlike in death. But, Judith thought, that’s what he’d become—a wraith. She felt an unaccustomed bout of hysteria surging up inside.
“Damn!” Renie slammed the phone back in place. “I can’t get a dial tone! The lines must be down.”
The announcement snapped Judith out of her emotional slide. She started to get up, still trying not to look at Leon. “We can’t do anything about that,” she said, using the counter’s edge to pull herself to a standing position. “How do we deliver the bad news?”
Renie twisted her hands together. “Nadia, I suppose. We start with her. Or should it be Margo? She’s p.r.”
“Stop sounding like a corporate clone,” Judith said, more severely than she intended. “Wouldn’t it be better to go to Frank Killegrew?”
Renie considered. “Maybe. Yes, you’re right. Let’s do it.”
But the cousins had no idea which room belonged to Killegrew. Bewildered, they stood in the dimly lit second-floor corridor and scanned the various doors.
“To hell with it,” Renie finally said, and knocked at the one in front of her. There was no response; she knocked again.
“Maybe,” Judith whispered, “that was Leon Mooney’s room.”
Renie grimaced. “You might be right.” She moved on to the next door on the right.
Only a single knock was required before the cousins heard noises inside. Then Andrea Piccoloni-Roth, attired in a lavender satin robe, opened the door. Seeing the cousins, she blinked twice and gave a little start.
“What is it?” she asked in a low voice.
Renie swallowed hard. “It’s Leon Mooney. I’m afraid—I’m really sorry, Andrea—but he’s dead.”
In a flurry of lavender satin, Andrea Piccoloni-Roth collapsed onto the brightly colored Navajo rug.
“It would have been nice,” Renie said as Judith tried to rouse Andrea, “if they’d included the company medical chief on this trek. Not to mention their head of security.”
Judith didn’t respond. Her concern was for Andrea, who was beginning to move, though her eyes were still shut. At last, the heavy lids fluttered open.
“Oh,” Andrea said in a lifeless voice. “It’s you.”
“Do you want to sit up?” Judith inquired.
Andrea’s eyes, which were a light brown with flecks of green, wandered around the room “I don’t know. I don’t care.” She pressed a plump fist to her carefully made-up cheek. “What happened?” Her voice was hollow.
“We’re not sure,” Judith temporized.
As usual, Renie was less tactful. “Somebody hit Leon on the back of the head with that soapstone carving. I’m sorry, Andrea, but it looks like he was murdered, too.”
Andrea’s mouth fell open, her eyes bulged, and then she began to hiccup. It was a struggle, but Judith managed to raise her to a sitting position.
“Get some water,” she said to Renie.
Renie went off to the bathroom. Andrea’s wide shoulders were heaving; the hiccups continued. Judith fought to keep the other woman upright.
Renie, wearing a curious expression, returned with the water. Andrea tried to drink, sputtered, hiccuped, and finally choked. The hiccups stopped. “Lord have mercy,” she whispered, and crossed herself.
The cousins automatically followed suit. “Was Leon a Catholic?” Judith asked.
Andrea shook her head. The upswept silver hair had come loose, and strands trailed down her back. “No. But I am.”
“So are we,” Judith replied, hoping the religious affinity might somehow comfort Andrea. “Would you like to lie down?”
Together, Judith and Renie got Andrea to her feet and guided her to the nearest of the twin beds. The room was almost identical to the one shared by the cousins, except that the painting was of an alpine meadow, and the photograph showed the completed lodge.
“What’s happening?” Andrea asked in a frantic voice as Judith propped an extra pillow from the other twin bed behind her. “Could there be a serial killer loose in these mountains?”
“I don’t know,” Judith replied in all honesty. “I think we’d all better watch out for ourselves from now on.”
“Oh, my.” Andrea covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this!” she wailed. “Who would kill a decent little man like Leon? Or Barry, for that matter. It’s insane!”
Judith sat down on the other twin bed. “If you have an idea—any idea at all—who’d want to harm them, you ought to say so. This situation is getting more than ugly.”
“But I don’t!” Andrea removed her hands, revealing a face drained of color except for a touch of blush on each cheek. “This isn’t the Mafia, this is the phone company!”
Neither Judith nor Renie responded immediately. Finally, Renie spoke up. “The others have to be told. Are you up to it, Andrea?”
Andrea frowned, appeared to concentrate, then slumped back against the pillows. “No. In fact, I’d like to be left alone.”
There was no choice. Judith and Renie went back into the corridor. They had barely shut the door behind them when Renie grabbed Judith by the arm. “Coz! That’s not Andrea’s room! Didn’t you notice that there were no female-type items anywhere? When I went into the bathroom, there was a man’s shaving kit.” In her excitement, Renie’s voice had started to rise. She quickly lowered her tone, and glanced around to make sure no one had heard her. “There was also a prescription for allergies,” she whispered. “It was made out to Leon Mooney.”
Judith usually wasn’t so unobservant. But between the shock of finding Leon’s body and trying to cope with Andrea, she simply hadn’t noticed the absence of feminine articles.
“She was wearing makeup,” Judith said, then grimaced. “You think she was having an affair with Leon?”
“It’s possible. Men and women possess strange attractions for each other that are sometimes hard for the rest of us to fathom.” Renie pointed to the door
where they’d gotten no response. “I’ll bet that’s Andrea’s room. She was in his, waiting for him. Maybe…” Renie paused and swallowed hard. “Maybe he was bringing them both a piece of cake.”
“Is Andrea married or divorced?” Judith asked, still marveling at the thought of an amorous Leon Mooney.
“Married,” Renie responded, beginning to pace the corridor. “Her husband, Alan Roth, is an unemployed computer genius. You know the type.” Renie raised her eyebrows.
“I know the unemployed part, but the genius eludes me,” Judith replied just as Ward Haugland poked his head out of the door directly across from them.
“What’s going on out here?” he demanded, exhibiting uncharacteristic testiness. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Renie, who disliked being snapped at under any circumstances, turned sharply. “Leon Mooney’s been murdered. Pleasant dreams, Ward.”
“What?” Ward’s usual drawl was swallowed up in a single bellow.
Renie had turned her back on the executive vice president, but perceiving what appeared to be both shock and horror on his face, Judith took pity. “It’s true, Mr. Haugland. We found his body in the kitchen about half an hour ago. Do you think you could tell the others?”
There was no need. Doors were now opening on both sides of the corridor. Margo, Max, Gene, Russell, Ava, Nadia, and finally Frank Killegrew all peered out of their respective rooms.
Ward delivered the bad news, then waited for the cousins to elaborate. This time, Renie deferred to Judith. “She saw him first,” Renie declared in a slightly sulky voice.
Judith explained, briefly, if a bit haltingly. The circle of faces ranged from a distraught Nadia Weiss to a stoic Gene Jarman. Naturally, Frank Killegrew assumed command.
“Let’s go down to the lobby,” he said, his usually broad shoulders slumped under a bright blue bathrobe. “Nadia, call the police. Again.”
“It seems the phone lines are down,” Renie said, not without a trace of satisfaction. “It’s too bad you don’t have underground wiring up here.”