Snow Place to Die

by Mary Daheim

  Nadia blanched at the implied violence. “That’s awful! Who would do such a thing?”

  All eyes avoided Nadia. “We could check,” Gene said, his usual self-confidence slipping a notch.

  “Then do it,” Killegrew ordered. “We’ll all go this time.” He stood up. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  “No!” Nadia cried. “I’m not going back to that room!”

  “Neither am I,” Ava declared.

  “Dead people make me throw up,” Margo asserted.

  “I’m squeamish,” said Russell.

  In the end, Killegrew, Gene, Max, and Ward headed upstairs. The others retreated into the library, apparently in search of a different venue. Judith had tried to prod Renie into joining the upstairs contingent, but there wasn’t room for a fifth person in the elevator. Renie suggested that she and Judith take a look at the room later.

  “How do we get in?” Judith asked, putting another log on the fire.

  “Good question,” Renie replied. “Ava said Andrea’s door wasn’t locked when she and Nadia went up there this morning. As far as we know, the key is still in Andrea’s room. I assume someone will look for it now. We’ll have to ask.”

  “With Gene on hand, they won’t search the place,” Judith pointed out. “Which means they’ll have to leave the door unlocked.”

  “Good point,” said Renie, taking a cigarette from her purse and indicating the bottles on the coffee table. “Dare we?”

  “At ten A.M.?” Judith gave a little shake of her head.

  “It’s ten-thirty,” Renie said dryly. “Anyway, who’s counting? This isn’t exactly a typical Saturday morning in January.”

  “It sure isn’t,” Judith began, and then stopped. A strange buzzing noise sounded from somewhere close by. “What is that? A timer?”

  “It sounds like my new oven,” Renie said. “It beeps at me when the temperature gets up to whatever I’ve set it for.”

  The noise stopped. Judith went to the big front windows, gazing out at the snow. “It’s drifted so that I can hardly see anything,” she said. “I wonder how much fell during the night.”

  “Three, four feet maybe? Can you tell if it’s still snowing?”

  “Not from this part of the lodge,” Judith responded, glancing toward the big windows where the snow had piled up almost to the top frame. “I don’t suppose I dare open the door.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Renie finished her cigarette and threw it into the grate. “It’s sure quiet around here. At least it is between murders.”

  But the quiet was broken by the buzzing noise. Judith came back to the sofa, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is it a clock? The electrical system? An intercom?”

  The cousins gazed around the lobby. There was nothing to suggest what had caused the sound. “Maybe it came from one of the conference rooms,” Renie offered as the noise stopped again. “Somebody might have left a microphone on.”

  Judith didn’t agree. “It’s closer than that. It’s right here, in this part of the room.”

  “Weird.” Renie stared at the collection of bottles. “To hell with it,” she said, and reached for a fifth of Canadian Club. “I’ve had too much coffee and I’m not in the mood for my usual daily half-gallon of Pepsi.”

  “Okay, okay,” Judith sighed. “Pour me some of the Dewar’s scotch. How’s the ice holding up?”

  Renie shot Judith an ironic glance. “I don’t think ice is a problem around this place, coz. What did you make of Margo’s comments regarding Andrea and her husband, Alan?”

  “It sounded as if Margo has the hots for Alan Roth,” Judith replied, examining her fingernails. “Drat, I wrecked a nail somewhere along the line.” She dug into her shoulder bag for an emery board, then continued speaking. “That would explain the flare-up between Margo and Andrea at lunch yesterday. Just now I got the impression that Margo wanted to marry the guy. I mean, why else would she care if Andrea wouldn’t divorce him?”

  “Exactly,” Renie agreed. “Margo may be painfully plain, but she doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting men. A regular boudoir bawd, goes the rumor mill.”

  “She’s not all that plain,” Judith noted, filing her snagged nail. “She has lovely eyes and perfect skin. Not to mention a vivid personality.”

  “She dresses well, despite the fact she has no figure,” Renie said, then tensed as the mysterious noise sounded again. “Damn! What is that? It’s really close by.”

  Judith looked all around the sofa where she was sitting. She dug among the cushions, feeling deep into the sides and back. “Maybe somebody dropped something down here,” she said, her voice muffled.

  Renie was on her hands and knees, searching under the sofas, chairs, and coffee table. “I don’t see anything. Maybe we should get that flashlight.” She started to stand up and accidentally knocked over Judith’s shoulder bag. Some of the contents spilled out onto the floor. Renie let out a little yip. “It’s your pager, you moron! Somebody’s trying to reach you!”

  At that moment, the elevator opened, and Max, Gene, and Ward entered the lobby. Between them, they were awkwardly carrying an unconscious Frank Killegrew.

  TEN

  “HE PASSED OUT upstairs,” Max announced in a tense voice. “We think he may have had a heart attack.”

  Russell, Nadia, Ava, and Margo emerged from the library. Nadia in particular looked stricken, a thin hand at her throat and her skin suddenly turning ash-gray. “Not Frank!” she gasped.

  Ava, however, seemed less affected. “Is he dead?” she asked in a manner that suggested her CEO’s demise wasn’t unappealing.

  “No,” Ward responded, as they carefully placed Killegrew on one of the sofas. “Frank’s going to be just fine. He’s one tough customer.”

  “Really,” Russell squeaked, “if he isn’t, I’d rather be somewhere else. Terminally ill people upset me.”

  “Buck up, Russell,” said Ward. “I’ve seen Helen through worse crises than this. My wife once had three heart attacks in one day.”

  “I’ll bet,” murmured Margo.

  Nadia had rushed to Frank’s side. “Frank! Frank! Wake up! I’m here, I’ll help, I’ll do anything! Just say something!”

  Frank’s eyes remained shut. Nadia started to shake him, gently at first, then with more vigor. “Frank! Please, please, tell me you’re all right! What would I—what would we—do without you?”

  Gene put a hand on Nadia’s shoulder and firmly pulled her away. “Does anyone know CPR?” he inquired.

  “Isn’t that for people who are drowning?” Russell said in his usual vague tone.

  “I’m not certain,” Gene admitted. “We wouldn’t want to do the wrong thing and have Frank’s heirs sue us.”

  “Andrea’d know if she weren’t dead,” Ward murmured. “Her human resources folks are the ones who handle first-aid classes.”

  Judith, who had learned emergency measures to treat guests, started to speak up just as Killegrew appeared to come around. “Am I all right?” he demanded, blinking rapidly. “Did someone hit me on the head with an Eskimo?”

  “No, Frank, certainly not,” Nadia responded, her slim shoulders slumping in relief. The antidote to her attack of nerves appeared to consist of making herself busy. She deftly poured out a shot of Scotch and offered it to Frank. “Drink this,” she urged. “It’s a stimulant.”

  “It’s Scotch,” Killegrew murmured, but he accepted the tumbler. “Oh, my God! What’s happening to us? This can’t be real!” He attempted to sit up; Nadia and Ward each supported his effort.

  “What happened?” Judith asked Ward, as the pager went off again in her purse.

  No one seemed to hear the sound. “We were sort of moseying around Andrea’s room, checking things out—without touching, mind you,” Ward added with a quick glance at Gene Jarman, “and then we finally decided we’d better have a look at that pillowcase. Gene allowed as how it probably would be okay as long as we sort of held it up by the corners. Sure enough, there were some
marks on it—kind of a reddish one and sort of a blackish one. When Frank saw that, he just keeled over.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Killegrew grumbled. “My entire staff is being wiped out!” Regaining his usual jocund manner, he gave Margo a belligerent look. “If I knew which one of you was doing this, I’d use that gun of yours and take matters into my own hands!”

  “If you knew,” Margo said between clenched teeth, “I’d let you.”

  Nadia was leaning into Killegrew. “Are you all right? You shouldn’t get so upset. It’s bad for your digestion.”

  “Screw my digestion,” Killegrew growled. Then he put a hand on his chest. “If I had a heart attack, I’m over it. Whatever it was, nobody can blame me for a collapse.” He glanced at Ward. “You’re right. I’m one tough customer. Everybody knows that Frank Killegrew is fit as a fiddle and still captain of the good ship OTIOSE!”

  “Yes, sir,” Ward replied with a crooked grin. “I mean, aye, aye.” He saluted his superior.

  “I think,” Gene said slowly, “that one of us has to try to get out of here and seek help.”

  “How?” Margo demanded with a sneer. “The good ship OTIOSE doesn’t have wings.”

  “I looked outside from upstairs,” Gene went on, ignoring Margo. “The snow is letting up and the wind is down. There are skis in this lodge. There might even be a snowmobile around here someplace. If we could dig a path from one of the entrances, we could get somebody out. Who skis besides Frank?”

  “I do,” Ward responded, “but it’d take hours to shovel the snow away from the doors.”

  “If a path can be cleared, I can get out of here,” Ava volunteered. “I ski, so does Margo.”

  Margo was still sneering. “It’s at least a mile to the highway. The snow’s covered all the landmarks. We’d get lost. Count me out, I’m not going on any suicide mission.”

  Russell quivered. “Don’t use that word.”

  “Put a sock in it, Russell,” Margo snapped. “Andrea didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered. Just like everybody else.” All of Margo’s bravado evaporated, and she swayed slightly, but caught herself on the mantelpiece.

  “At least we could try,” Gene persisted. “This situation has gotten completely out of control.”

  “You might say that,” Ward said, acknowledging the understatement.

  “Accidents,” Killegrew muttered. “We’ll say they were accidents.”

  “For Chrissake!” Max burst out. “Are you talking about a coverup? That’s crazy, Frank!”

  “Let’s talk about it,” Ward said in a calm voice. “It’s about time we considered damage control.”

  “Holy cats!” Renie said under her breath. “Let me out of here. I can’t listen to this bilge.” She stomped off to the library.

  Judith followed, closing the door behind her. “Killegrew can’t be serious,” she said.

  Renie had flopped into a leather wingback chair. “Yes, he can. You’d be shocked by the things that CEOs and other executive types think they can get away with. Have you forgotten Watergate?”

  “This is far worse,” Judith asserted, sitting down in the mate to Renie’s chair. “People are being murdered. If they attempt a coverup, the killer will go free.”

  Renie rolled her eyes. “You still don’t get it, do you? The people—excuse me, the persons in the corner offices don’t think like the rest of us. They live by a different set of rules and ethics. Try looking at it from Frank’s point of view. If they get out of here with most of them still alive, and can actually pass off the three deaths as accidents, then allowing the murderer to go unscathed is a small price to pay to preserve not only OTIOSE’s public image, but the company itself. The others would keep their mouths shut in order to keep their jobs. That’s the way it works—or can—on the executive floor.”

  “Margo’s already said she’s going to quit,” Judith pointed out. “She won’t keep quiet.”

  “Maybe not, but it might depend on the package they offer her when she leaves. It could be very lucrative—and very tempting. Besides,” Renie went on, “you’ll notice she didn’t mention quitting in front of the others. As far as we know, she only talked about it to us.”

  Judith mulled over Renie’s words of corporate wisdom. It was peaceful in the library, especially to Judith, who had always sought solace among books. Someone had built a fire in the small grate. For the briefest of moments, Judith tried to imagine that she and Renie were having a cozy chat on a wintry weekend in the mountains.

  The pager went off again, shattering the illusory respite. “Damn!” Judith exclaimed. “I forgot about that thing! How do I make it stop?”

  Renie sighed. “First off, you look in the little window to see who’s calling you. Then you press a button that’ll keep it from reringing. Those things are set up so that they keep going off until you acknowledge that you’ve taken the call.”

  “Oh.” Judith fished the pager out of her purse. “This is hard to read.” She held the little device under the table lamp next to her chair. “Drat. It’s my home number. It could be Mother. I wonder what’s wrong? How do I answer this?”

  “You can’t, without a phone,” Renie said, then brightened. “This might be a good thing, coz. If it really is an emergency, then maybe somebody will figure out that you can’t call back.”

  Judith looked askance. “Meanwhile, Mother is lying on the floor of the toolshed with her dentures wedged in her gullet?”

  “Something like that,” Renie murmured. “Now if it were my mother, she would already have tried to page me about fifty times. It’s a wonder she hasn’t given me a pager for my birthday or Christmas. I keep hoping she won’t figure out how they work. Her half-dozen phone calls a day are already enough to make me nuts.”

  Judith was well aware that Aunt Deb’s obsession with the telephone—and with Renie—went to extremes. But Gertrude abhorred the phone and disdained the pager. She wouldn’t try to contact Judith unless something serious had happened.

  “Now I’m worried,” Judith said, getting up and starting to pace around the library.

  “That makes a lot of sense,” said Renie. “You’re worried about something that may or may not have happened and about which you can do absolutely nothing. In the meantime, we’re sitting here like…sitting ducks.”

  Judith stopped pacing. “Meaning what?”

  Renie laid her head back against the soft brown leather. “Meaning that you and I are not OTIOSE employees. We have nothing to gain by keeping our mouths shut. That, in turn, means that the killer has nothing to lose by getting rid of us. Now do you get it?”

  Judith got it.

  Lunch was a moribund meal. Judith and Renie served sliced ham and turkey, three kinds of bread, four varieties of cheese, what was left of the fresh fruit, and a pasta salad prepared beforehand at Hillside Manor. For the most part, the conferees picked at their food and kept conversation to a minimum. Whatever had gone on during the damage control meeting had markedly dampened their spirits.

  “Poison,” Judith heard Nadia whisper. “What if we’re all being poisoned?”

  “We’d have keeled over by now,” Ward said, but he closely inspected his ham.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Russell said, and spit out a strawberry.

  “Don’t be silly,” Margo remonstrated. “You’re imagining things.”

  “We have to eat to keep up our strength,” Killegrew declared. “Look at me, I’m not afraid.” He took a big bite out of his sandwich to prove the point.

  Judith returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later, after the cousins had eaten their own turkey sandwiches, she suggested that they check out Andrea’s room.

  Renie grimaced. “Must we?”

  “It’ll be okay. Gene covered Andrea with a sheet. We might as well do it now. When I went into the dining room the last time, it didn’t look as if anybody intended to stir for a while.”

  The cousins used the back stairs. As they’d guessed, Andrea’s door was unlocked. Upo
n entering, Judith and Renie both paused, lost in morbid thought.

  “Gruesome,” Renie whispered, gazing at the figure in the bed.

  Judith was examining the extra pillow, which had been turned over to show the cosmetics smudges. “Andrea had put on fresh makeup for Leon and some of it had gotten smeared when she found out he was dead. But I knew there’d be enough left to make a mark on the pillowcase. This is a vital piece of evidence. I hate to see it left lying out in the open with an unlocked door.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Renie said faintly.

  Judith folded her arms across her bosom. “I would, if I thought it would help convict a killer.”

  “Aren’t we in enough trouble already?”

  “Not quite.” Gingerly, Judith slipped the case off the pillow.

  “Oh, great!” Renie reeled around the room, accidentally knocking Andrea’s briefcase off a shelf by the bathroom door. Hastily, she bent down to pick it up.

  “Keep that briefcase,” Judith ordered.

  Renie stared. “You are deranged.”

  “Endangered, not deranged. You said so yourself.” Judith began to pull out drawers, then go through the small closet. “We’re buying life insurance,” she said, opening Andrea’s suitcase. “We’re taking whatever evidence we can find and we’re going to stash it and then we’re going to threaten the OTIOSE crew.”

  “Good grief.” Renie had sat down on the spare twin bed. “What with? Margo’s gun, which we’ll wrestle away from her in a dazzling display of martial arts?”

  “No, of course not.” Finding nothing of interest in the suitcase, Judith put it back in the closet. “We threaten them with the evidence.”

  “Which consists of one smudged pillowcase.” Renie shook her head in a forlorn manner.

  “So far.” Judith pointed to the briefcase. “We might find something in there. Come on, help me collect the water glasses and the sleeping pill bottle.”