Snow Place to Die

by Mary Daheim

  Judith’s interest was piqued. “You mean when Santa ran off with Barry Newcombe?”

  Pouring sherry into a juice glass, Nadia shook her head. “No, no. That was over a year ago. This happened during the recent holiday season. We’d offered a nine-hundred toll number so that children could call Santa. Of course there’s a charge for nine-hundred numbers. Quite a few parents became upset because their children ran up rather large phone bills. The story made the newspapers, and OTIOSE was referred to as a Grinch or a Scrooge or just plain greedy, when in point of fact, those irresponsible parents should have exercised some control over their ill-behaved children. Some of them actually made obscene calls to Santa, and we had at least two adults who complained that he didn’t sound like the real one. But the most unfortunate part was that when the article came out that particular Friday in December, none of the officers were around. I never could figure out where they’d all gone, but I was the one who ended up having to field the media’s questions. It was horrible.”

  But not as horrible as murder, thought Judith. Or maybe it was, to Nadia Weiss. “Tell me about the board,” Judith said, picking up the silverware and indicating for Nadia to bring the plates. “Do the members actually control the company?”

  “There are twelve directors,” Nadia replied, following Judith into the dining room. “Three are OTIOSE officers—Frank, Leon, and Ward. It’s traditional that the president, the executive vice president, and the chief financial officer sit on the board. The rest of the members come from throughout the region. They include only the most prominent names in business, education, and private endeavor.”

  In other words, the usual stuffed shirts, Judith thought, laying a fresh cloth on the table. “But you’re short two members,” she pointed out.

  “What?” Nadia looked up from the pile of dinner plates. “Yes, yes, we are.” Her mouth, which seemed to accelerate with every swig of sherry, turned down. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? Two vacancies to fill. Four, really. Ray Nordquist of Nordquist’s Department Stores is about to retire, and William Boring Jr. of the Boring Airplane Company feels he’s overextended.”

  “So,” Judith said slowly, “one-third of the board will have to be replaced. Will Ward and Leon’s successors automatically become members?”

  “Probably, though in the past sometimes the vice president-legal counsel has served instead of the chief financial officer.” Nadia carefully set the plates down on the table.

  “Does the board wield much power?” Judith asked as they returned to the kitchen.

  Nadia uttered a small laugh. “Some say they’re merely a rubber stamp for Frank and the rest of the officers. But that’s because our executives know what’s best for OTIOSE. Once in a great while, however, the other members go off on a tangent and become quite obstinate. Then it’s up to our gang—if you want to call them that—it’s more like family—to dissuade them.”

  The term “family” struck Judith as wildly inappropriate; “gang” was more like it. She recalled Joe’s despair over teenagers who joined gangs. Maybe it wasn’t so different with grownups. Everybody had to belong to something or someone, and at the corporate level, co-workers could become like family. Maybe for someone like Nadia, who seemed to be alone in the world, OTIOSE filled a deep need. Maybe she wanted to be “one of the gang.”

  Judith handed water glasses to Nadia, whose attitude about the murders was disturbingly blasé. “It must be terribly hard on you to have three of your co-workers die in your midst. You seem to be holding up rather well.”

  “Oh, no!” Suddenly, Nadia was aghast. “I’m utterly shattered! Not to mention frightened out of my wits! But I can’t let it show. Why do you think I feel so stupid when my nerves give way? On the executive floor, someone has to keep calm. A steady hand at the tiller, as Frank would say. Often, it’s up to me.”

  “I see,” said Judith, and for once she did. Frank Killegrew, and perhaps the other officers, relied on Nadia. She was the axle to their big wheels. “Like with the Santa Claus phone calls.”

  “Exactly.” Nadia drank deeply from the juice glass. “Of course that was by default. When the news story hit, the officers simply…disappeared.”

  “Including Margo,” Judith said.

  Nadia gave a nod of assent. “Including Margo. Even though it was a situation that fell into her shop. I ended up coordinating the p.r. effort.”

  “Speaking of disappearing,” Judith said, jumping at the chance to change topics, “have you any idea how one of your group could have gotten cut off from his or her buddy at the time Ward was killed?”

  The implication made Nadia wince. “Are you suggesting that…?”

  “Yes, of course. Aren’t we all in agreement that somebody in this lodge is a killer?”

  “I’m not sure.” Nadia turned sulky. “What about that person laughing outside the lodge? We’ve all tried to look from the upper windows to see if anyone is there, but it’s impossible to see very far. Yet we all heard that awful laugh. Surely that could have been the killer.”

  “It’s possible,” Judith admitted, “but I don’t see how. Of course if we could be sure that each person inside the lodge was with someone else, then we’d know we’re all innocent.”

  Behind the big glasses, Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you and your cousin knew the killer’s identity.”

  “What I said was that we have evidence pointing to the killer. That’s not quite the same,” Judith hedged. “It will take a forensics expert to actually pin the murders on this…person.”

  Nadia took a moment to sort through Judith’s ambiguous statement. “You haven’t eliminated me,” she finally said. “I don’t have your note or your evidence.”

  Judith said nothing. Nadia drank more sherry. In silence, the two women carried the remainder of the table settings out to the dining room. When they were back in the kitchen, Judith rephrased her original question.

  “Do you know where everyone was around the time that Ward must have been killed?”

  “Frank and I were in the lobby,” Nadia replied, not looking at Judith. “Then we went to check on the smaller conference rooms. I had to use the restroom, so I asked Margo to stay with Frank. Ava accompanied me to the bathroom. I wasn’t alone—nor was Frank—for more than a minute.” At last, she gave Judith a defiant stare.

  There was no way to prove or disprove Nadia’s story. It seemed to mesh with Margo’s account. Perhaps Frank Killegrew would have a different version.

  Nadia finished her sherry while Judith checked on the game hens and the bean dish. Then the two women returned to the lobby. The interrogation of Ava would have to wait until after dinner.

  Renie and Gene had removed enough snow so that the door could be shut. They were just turning the lock when Judith joined them. Renie was panting from exertion and Gene was mopping his brow.

  “We had to pour all the melted water down the restroom toilets,” he explained, then pointed to the wet-dry vacuum. “We filled that thing eight times.”

  “Good work,” Judith remarked before turning to Renie. “I could use your help in serving.”

  “I’m pooped,” Renie said, then caught the meaningful glint in Judith’s eyes. “But so what? I’m a glutton for punishment.” She took a cigarette from her purse and lighted up.

  “I think I liked it better when you were just a glutton,” Judith murmured, leading Renie not to the kitchen, but to the restroom. “Let’s stop in here first.”

  “I’ve been here a lot,” Renie said, but followed Judith. “Gene and I were so buddy-buddy that he came with me into the women’s restroom to empty the water.”

  Judith made a quick check of the six stalls; they were vacant. “So what did you find out from Gene?” she asked, entering the stall at the near end of the row.

  “He knows we have the pillowcase.”

  Judith blinked several times at the closed door. “He does? And how did he learn that?”

  “I don’t know,” Renie responded over t
he sound of running tap water. “It was a slip on his part. He said something to the effect that, ‘Physical evidence consists of more than proof of foul play.’ Thus, I deduced that he was alluding to the pillowcase—which you had mentioned to him when you were in Andrea’s room—and to the fact that we had removed it.”

  Judith emerged from the stall. “Was he guessing? Or did he know?”

  “I don’t think Gene Jarman guesses,” Renie said, drying her hands on a paper towel. “It’s not his style.”

  “Coz,” Judith began, dispensing liquid soap into her palm, “do you see what that means?”

  “Of course. Gene has been in Andrea’s room since you were there with him. Either he went with someone—or he went alone,” Renie said with an impish expression.

  “Brilliant deduction,” Judith remarked. “So which was it?”

  Renie was in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. “I tried to get a run-down on who he was with at the time of Ward’s murder. Gene had gone into the library with Ava, but he was very evasive about how long they were there. It made me wonder what they were doing. Do you remember yesterday afternoon when we thought we heard somebody in one of the smaller conference rooms? I’ve noticed a certain intimacy between Gene and Ava. How about you?”

  Digging a lipstick out of her shoulder bag, Judith gave Renie a bemused look. “Why not? They’re single, they make a good-looking couple. It’s nobody’s business but theirs. However,” she went on, waving the lipstick at Renie, “they didn’t stay in the library during that whole critical time period. Ava came in here with Nadia, and Gene and Russell were seen talking outside the library. At some point, they separated, if only for a very brief…”

  The pager went off again. Startled, Judith dropped the lipstick which rolled across the floor and under the fourth stall. Renie chased the lipstick while Judith checked the pager.

  “My number,” she sighed. “Do you suppose Mother is dead?”

  “Not a chance,” Renie replied, crawling around on the floor. “My guess is that she wants you to go to the store and bring back a fifty-pound bag of Goo-Goo Clusters. She’s probably forgotten you’re out of town. Meanwhile, my mother is…” Renie stopped, the lipstick in one hand and something else in the other. “It’s a note someone dropped,” she said, standing up.

  The note had been folded several times into a quarter-inch thickness. Renie smoothed the paper and held it so that Judith could read over her shoulder. It appeared to have come out of a daybook and was a list of things to do for Thursday, January 11.

  Take Frank’s suit to cleaners—grease spot on left lapel

  Stop at post office to get change of address forms

  Change Frank’s appointment with Hukle, Hukle, and Huff

  Call cable company re Frank

  Go to liquor store

  “Nadia,” Judith breathed.

  “Dogsbody,” Renie said. “Which, some might say, is another word for wife.”

  “But she’s not,” Judith noted. “On the other hand, she acts like one.”

  “Interesting,” Renie remarked, and pointed to the notation about Hukle, Hukle, and Huff. “Roland Huff is the city’s leading divorce attorney.”

  Judith respected Renie’s knowledge when it came to local law firms. Her mother, Deborah Grover, had been a legal secretary for almost fifty years. Still, Judith had a quibble.

  “So what kind of law do the Hukles practice?”

  “Mostly estate and insurance.” Renie held up a hand before Judith could interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking—Frank Killegrew’s appointment could have been with Burton or Kay Hukle. Still, it’s intriguing.”

  “Maybe.” Judith, however, was gazing not at the items on the list but at the paper itself. “What intrigues me is why this was folded so small and ended up on the restroom floor. What do you do with memos to yourself after you’ve polished them off?”

  “I toss them,” Renie replied. “But this came out of a daybook. People don’t usually rip out the pages, they just move on to the next one. I write my reminders on whatever spare piece of paper I can find.”

  “Good point.” Judith refolded the list and put it in her shoulder bag. “I think I’ll hang on to this. Maybe something will come to me.”

  The cousins entered the kitchen from the back way, through the laundry room. “We should wash our clothes after dinner,” Renie said. “I don’t think we’re getting out of here tonight. It’s still snowing, but not as hard.”

  Dolefully, Judith shook her head. “Meanwhile, Mother is dangling by her thumbs from one of the coat hangers Aunt Ellen made out of macaroni for Christmas presents.”

  “Macaroni?” Renie frowned. “The ones my mother got were fusilli. They’re kind of brittle.”

  Judith opened the oven. “I got a wreath shaped from manicotti.”

  “Mine was a lampshade of egg noodles. It melted when Bill screwed in a hundred-and-fifty-watt bulb.”

  “Joe took the wreath to work and hung it in the deputy chief’s office. He ate it.”

  Renie giggled. “He did not!”

  “I only know what Joe tells me. Aunt Ellen’s a dear, but she does send the strangest presents.” Judith removed the bean dish and set it on the counter. “Speaking of Joe’s co-workers, I wonder if anyone from the department has tried to get hold of Frank Killegrew.”

  “We wouldn’t know if they had,” Renie pointed out.

  The cousins busied themselves with dishing up dinner. It was almost six-thirty when they announced that the meal was served. Ava suggested that Judith and Renie join them.

  “There’s plenty of room at the table,” Ava said in a sardonic tone.

  Judith felt like asking if she could charge for overtime, but thought better of it. Getting out in one piece seemed like her greatest priority. She exchanged questioning glances with Renie, then decided they might as well sit with the others. At first, there was little conversation except for requests to pass the salt and pepper.

  Judith chose to enliven the atmosphere. “Have any of you ever met the lodge’s caretaker?”

  All eyes regarded her with curiosity, but it was Margo who responded. “How could we? This place is off-limits during the retreat.”

  “I heard he was an odd duck,” Max put in.

  “Who told you that?” Killegrew demanded.

  Max looked blank. “Ward? I think he mentioned it when 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.”

  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.

  “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.”