Snow Place to Die

by Mary Daheim

  Max took a big drink from the martini glass. “It doesn’t seem to matter, does it? Whoever our killer is somehow manages to get the job done.” He waved a big paw at the collection of bottles. “You want something? You’re Scotch-rocks, right?”

  “Yes.” Judith smiled, surprised that Max would have noticed. But of course he was a marketing man; such types were paid to acquaint themselves with the habits of potential customers and thus to win their hearts, minds, and new accounts.

  “Here,” he said, deftly pouring the whiskey over a half-dozen cubes. “How come you aren’t cowering in a corner?”

  “I don’t work for OTIOSE,” Judith replied. “Besides, my cousin and I have our insurance policy.”

  Max downed the rest of the double, then began mixing another. “We’ve all seen the garrote, the empty pill bottle, and the pillowcase. They don’t add up to much, if you ask me.” He loomed over Judith, his hazel eyes glinting dangerously. “What else have you got? It must be something you saw or heard.”

  Judith backpedaled a couple of steps. “We’ve seen and heard quite a bit,” she said in a small voice. Then, because Max’s size and stance were so intimidating, she blurted out one of her more outrageous fibs. “We saw someone in the corridor about the time of the murder. It must have been the killer.”

  Max Agasias recoiled, spilling some of his drink. “Who did you see?” he demanded.

  Judith clamped her lips shut. Max used his free hand to grip her shoulder. “Who? Tell me, dammit! Who was it?”

  There was no right answer, yet Judith had to say something. Judging from Max’s frantic attitude, she realized what he expected—or was afraid—to hear.

  “You,” she gulped. “But someone else, too.”

  “Besides me?” Max let go of Judith. “Who?” he asked again, now more bewildered than agitated.

  She shook her head in a helpless manner. “I’m not sure. It was shadowy in the corridor. The lights had dimmed, ever so briefly.” The fib was growing, taking on a life of its own, mutating into a colossal lie. “It could have been…anyone.”

  Somewhat glassy-eyed, Max was staring off into space. “You’re right. It could. Except maybe…” He stopped, suddenly asserting a modicum of self-control.

  Judith relaxed a bit. “What were you doing in the corridor?” It took nerve to inquire, but the Scotch gave her false courage.

  Max’s broad shoulders slumped. “I was looking for something in Andrea’s room. It belonged to me.”

  Judith made a quick mental inventory of the items that she and Renie had returned. “Did you find it?”

  Dejectedly, Max shook his bald head. “It was gone. Somebody got there ahead of me.”

  Judith stiffened. Was Max referring to Barry Newcombe’s belongings? But no one knew they’d been stolen from Judith’s shoulder bag. No one, Judith reminded herself, except the person who had stolen them…

  “Are you okay?” Renie had poked her head around the corner.

  Judith offered her cousin a tentative smile. “Yes, we’re fine. We thought we’d have a quick drink. How about you?”

  “Are you kidding?” Renie asked. “Most of our fellow diners are already ripped. Somebody has to stay sober. I nominate me.”

  “I’m not ripped,” Judith murmured as she and Max returned with Renie to the dining room. “But we need to talk. Let’s clear the table.”

  “Unh-unh,” said Renie. “Ava’s going to do that. You need to talk to her, remember?”

  “Trade you Ava for Max,” Judith whispered as they approached the table. “I already did him.”

  “We’ll see,” Renie hedged, sitting down in her place between Gene and Margo.

  “Fiber optics, my butt!” shouted Margo. “Until you give customers more underground wiring, they won’t give a rat’s ass if…”

  “Too many numbers, not enough numbers,” muttered Ava. “Everybody has to have a private line, a fax line, a cell phone. Before we know it, it’ll take forty-seven numbers just to dial your…”

  “If you can’t beat ’em, sue ’em,” Gene mumbled. “I love lawsuits. They get me out of the office.”

  “Analog, digital,” Russell said in a sing-song voice. “Digital, analog. Diggity-do, loggity-dog, we’re all lost in a big thick fog.”

  “That’s it!” Frank Killegrew bellowed, getting to his feet in an unsteady fashion and brandishing his slide rule like a sword. “You’re out of order! All of you! Be positive! Keep the ship on the rails! How did I ever think I could turn this company over to such a bunch of whimpering nincompoops?”

  Nadia put up a restraining hand. “Please, Frank—you’re getting very red in the face. You don’t want to have another…spell.”

  Killegrew shoved Nadia’s hand out of the way. “Spell? I didn’t have any damned spell! I was shocked, that’s all. I’m as hale and hearty as a nuclear sub.” Despite his protests, he sat down abruptly.

  “Hell, Frank,” Max said, finishing his second double martini and filling his glass with red wine, “you ought to be glad that some of us are still alive. If you ask me, this weekend has put a whole new meaning to downsizing.”

  Killegrew’s face was still red. “That’s not funny. If you’re all so damned smart, why don’t you figure out who’s killing us off?”

  Margo pointed to Judith and Renie. “They have. Maybe we should hire them to replace Ward and Andrea and Leon.”

  “But there are only two of them,” Russell said, replenishing his blackberry cordial. “Mmm—this is very sweet. I like it.”

  “Numbskull,” Killegrew muttered. “I’m surrounded by numbskulls and pansies.”

  “Pansies?” thundered Max, pounding on the table with both fists. “I’m no pansy! I was in ’Nam!”

  “Right,” Killegrew said on a grudging sigh. “You were a real hero. How come you never made it past Private E-2?”

  “Hey!” Max began, but Margo hit him over the head with her empty plate.

  “Shut up, Max! Let’s not get on the old war horses again! I’m sick of it! Who gives a damn?”

  “Some people don’t like war,” Nadia said quietly, then peered at Gene over the rims of her glasses. “You were a protester at Berkeley, weren’t you?”

  Gene drew back in his chair. “So? That was in my undergraduate days at Cal.”

  “You were a member of SDS.” Nadia gave Gene an arch little smile.

  “I was not!” Gene shouted. “I kept away from all those radical movements!”

  Nadia wasn’t backing down. “But you protested the Vietnam war.”

  “That’s different,” Gene retorted. “Everybody did that at Berkeley. Once I got into law school at Stanford, I stayed clear of politics.”

  Nadia’s thin face took on a conciliatory expression. “Maybe you shouldn’t have. Given your background in an Oakland ghetto, didn’t you feel a need to help your so-called brothers and sisters better themselves?”

  “My…?” Gene looked on the verge of apoplexy. “I’m middle class! I was always middle class! I’m more than middle class, I’m a lawyer!”

  “Who are in a class by themselves,” Margo murmured. “Calm down, Gene. You made it. Nobody cares about your beginnings.”

  Ava leaned across the table towards Nadia. “What about your origins? You never talk about your background, Nadia. Is it true that Frank found you under a cabbage?”

  Nadia’s nostrils flared. “That’s silly! Why don’t you tell us how you got here from Samoa?”

  A spurt of anger crossed Ava’s face, then she composed herself. “I took a plane. That’s all anyone needs to know. But,” she went on, “maybe this is the time to make an announcement.” Getting to her feet, she glanced at each of the others in turn. “I was going to save this for the last day of the retreat. Considering how this weekend has gone, several of us have already seen our last day, period.” She paused, noting the sobering effect of her words. “Thursday afternoon, I received a call from a former employee of mine at WaCom. Next week, they’re going to tender
a merger offer with OTIOSE.”

  A stunned silence enveloped the dining room. Max was the first to speak, his usual resonant voice unsteady.

  “That’s not a merger—that’s a takeover!”

  “We’ll fight them in court,” Gene asserted, but he was obviously shaken.

  “Cutbacks, layoffs, early retirement,” Nadia whispered. “Just like the divestiture era. Oh, my!”

  “Geniuses,” said Russell. “Hordes and hordes of geniuses at WaCom. They have more ideas than I could ever think of!”

  “Who cares?” said Margo.

  Judith gazed at each speaker, noting that all of them were—as usual—self-absorbed and isolated from one another. Finally, she looked at Frank Killegrew, who had said nothing.

  He was facedown in his game hen carcass.

  FOURTEEN

  UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, it was natural for everyone to assume that Frank Killegrew was dead, either by accident or design. As Nadia finally noticed her superior’s collapse, she screamed and began shaking him. The others watched in horror until Margo grabbed Russell by the shirt collar.

  “You said you were a medic in ’Nam,” Margo shouted. “Do something!”

  “I never went to ’Nam,” Russell said, quaking in his chair. “I was assigned to NATO in West Germany.”

  “Ohhh…!” Margo gave him a hard shake. “Do something anyway, you little twerp! You’re still a medic!”

  “I was discharged in ‘sixty-nine,” Russell insisted. “I can barely find the Band-Aids in the official OTIOSE first-aid kit.”

  “No wonder you didn’t know what CPR is,” Margo railed. “You’re the most worthless, futile…”

  But Frank Killegrew didn’t appear to need medical help. He had lifted his head and was beginning to sputter.

  “Oh, my,” Ava remarked, “he’s not dead after all. What a relief.”

  Judith thought Ava sounded more sarcastic than relieved, but the CEO was now sitting up and blustering mightily while Nadia wiped white and wild rice stuffing from his face.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he asserted. “It’s just another damned shock I didn’t need.” As Nadia finished her task and resumed her seat, Killegrew glowered at Ava. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”

  Looking weary and wan, Ava hesitated before replying. “I tried to, Frank, when we were alone after the first session yesterday. But somehow, I never got the chance.” She lowered her eyes and folded her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “WaCom can’t do this,” Killegrew declared. “The state utilities commission won’t allow it. Gene, you jump on this first thing when we get back. Alert our public affairs people, have them get the lobbyists in gear. It’s one thing for WaCom to gobble up other computer companies, but they won’t get their greedy mitts on us.”

  Max, who was feeling his bald head to see if Margo’s plate had left a lump, turned to Ava. “Who runs WaCom since Jim Clevenger’s out of the picture?”

  Briefly, Ava’s dark eyes met Max’s gaze. “Dick Freitas, the second-in-command, took over as acting president and CEO. WaCom’s been on a year-long talent search. They want someone new, a fresh face, an outsider. I don’t know if they’ve made a final decision yet or not.”

  “They have.” Margo looked smug. “On Tuesday, they’ll announce that their new chief is Alan Roth.”

  Judith and Renie couldn’t stand the clamor that ensued after Margo Chang’s announcement. After the first five minutes of incredulous shrieks and outraged wails, the cousins retreated to the kitchen.

  “Andrea’s husband?” Judith was as disbelieving as the OTIOSE executives. “Does that make sense?”

  “Maybe he really is a computer genius,” Renie said, clearing her plate into the garbage. “Just because he didn’t have an official job doesn’t mean he wasn’t working. He might have been some kind of consultant to WaCom.”

  Judith sat down on one of the tall stools. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t a CEO have organizational and administrative skills?”

  Renie smirked. “Look at Frank. Does he strike you as a managerial wizard? His strength is delegating. Maybe Alan can do that, too.”

  “You know,” Judith said, still looking perplexed, “if OTIOSE is an example of how the world of commerce runs, I’m beginning to wonder how any companies or businesses keep from going belly-up.”

  “You’d wonder more if you had to deal with them like I do,” Renie said. “Management has no loyalty to employees and employees have no loyalty to the workplace. Common sense seems to have gone out the window years ago. Everybody spends more time in useless meetings than getting things done. And everybody brings their private lives to the office, which becomes a group therapy session. Boy, am I glad I work for myself. I’m a lousy boss, but I know how to take criticism. I just tell myself to shut up and get down to business.”

  “Hillside Manor is such a quiet, nonpolitical, uncomplicated place,” Judith sighed. “Sure, I get crazy guests and my mother drives me nuts and it’s hard work, but compared with what goes on downtown, I’ve got it made.”

  “Me, too,” Renie agreed. “Working for yourself is the only way to go. I’m sure that’s why Bill and Joe are anxious to retire. They can’t be their own bosses. Joe’s got a tough chain of command with the police department, and even though people who don’t know any better think professors live in an ivory tower, it’s covered with thorns. There’s a hierarchy, politics galore, and all kinds of budget crises, especially at a state university.”

  “At least Joe and Bill accomplish something,” Judith pointed out. “Joe may get frustrated, but he does protect and serve. If you save only one life in the course of a year, that’s a huge contribution.”

  Renie nodded. “You bet. And Bill may feel as if most of his students are only slightly smarter than your average artichoke, but every so often he realizes that he’s made a big impression on someone that will last a lifetime. How many other people can say that about their so-called careers?”

  Judith blinked at Renie. “Yes,” she said in an odd voice. “How many people can?”

  “What?” Renie regarded Judith with curiosity, but there was no chance for an explanation. Ava entered the kitchen, looking somewhat sheepish.

  “My bombshell has sent everyone back to the bar,” she said. “Margo didn’t help things, either. I had to get away. Let me help clean up.”

  “Go ahead, coz, take a breather,” Judith responded, still sounding unlike herself.

  Renie looked uncertain, but headed for the lobby. Judith and Ava returned to the dining room. It was a shambles, with overturned chairs, spilled wine, and scattered food littering the tablecloth and floor.

  “They were very upset,” Ava said in apology. “No one who knows Alan Roth—except Margo—can believe he’s qualified to run WaCom.”

  Judith began collecting dirty plates. “Andrea must have known about this, don’t you think?”

  “Probably,” Ava agreed, picking up silverware. “She and Alan had their problems, but they were still married. If he was about to be given a big job like the one at WaCom, he must have discussed it with her.”

  “But Andrea didn’t tell Frank,” Judith pointed out, heading back to the kitchen.

  “Obviously not.” Ava had grown thoughtful. “Nadia was right—a merger will mean cutbacks and layoffs and all the rest of it. Andrea would know that, which means…” She stopped, staring at the silverware she’d just put into the dishwasher.

  “What?” Judith asked.

  Ava’s expression was wry. “Where did Nadia get all that information she was spouting at the dinner table? Especially the old stuff about Gene and Max and Russell? She was about to start in on me, as well. Where did she get her data, and why bring it up now?”

  Judith thought back to the conversation, though the word was only a euphemism for wrangling. “Frank was needling people, too. Surely military records would be common knowledge.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Ava said. “People lie on their resum
es, they omit things they’d rather not have in their files, they add accomplishments that didn’t happen. But somewhere along the way, particularly when someone is being considered for a big promotion, a company will do a background check. It’s usually done by the security people who fall under human resources at OTIOSE.” Ava gave Judith a meaningful look.

  “So Andrea would have been privy to all the dirt?” Judith asked.

  Ava nodded. “That, and what she’d pick up from rumor scavengers like Barry Newcombe. But my point is, why now? Did Andrea bring her files with her? Did Nadia get a look at them and pass the information on to Frank?”

  Judith tried to recall what she and Renie had found in Andrea’s room. There had been personnel files, but they had been so thick that the cousins hadn’t taken time to peruse them. Judith, however, couldn’t admit as much to Ava; no one must know they’d searched Andrea’s belongings.

  “If that’s true,” Judith temporized, “Nadia must have found those files after Andrea died.”

  Ava gave a single nod. “The question is, how soon after she died?”

  Judith’s eyes widened. “You think Nadia is the killer?”

  Ava made a helpless gesture with her hands. “No. Not really. Unless…” She bit her lower lip.

  “Unless what?”

  “Nothing. It’s all so…difficult.” Ava started for the dining room. “Let’s finish cleaning up this mess.”

  Judith decided she might as well change topics. “You started in on Nadia’s background,” she remarked, removing glassware from the table. “I take it you weren’t referring to the personnel files.”

  “I wasn’t,” Ava responded. “The story I’ve heard is that Frank met Nadia when he went back for his tour of duty at AT&T. It used to be that anyone from the associated companies who was on the rise spent a couple of years at headquarters in New York. Nadia was a clerk-typist in what they called the plant department then. Frank was already married, but his wife didn’t move to New York with him. Patrice Killegrew came from a wealthy family, and could afford to fly back and forth to join him for long weekends. They had children in school, and she didn’t see any point in uprooting them and moving back east for what would be a relatively short time. As you might guess, the inevitable happened.”