by Mary Daheim
“Margo’s no taller than that,” Renie noted, regaining her balance. “What if Ward was sitting down?”
“Where?” Judith looked around. The armchairs were at the other side of the room.
Renie pointed to the space between the windows. “On the honor bar. Heck, anywhere. Whoever killed him must have had to push him out the window.”
“That indicates strength,” Judith said, running her hands through her hair which had gotten quite wet while she hung out of the window. “Oh, shoot—we’ve been through all this. An adrenaline rush can accomplish just about anything.”
Renie was heading for the door. “I’ve had a good time, but this wasn’t it,” she said. “Let’s finish our fruitless search.”
“Okay,” sighed Judith, then stopped next to the bureau. “Did you see this?”
“What?” Renie sounded impatient.
Judith bent down. “It’s some kind of pin. You must have knocked it loose when you fell against the bureau. It says, ‘Bell System—twenty-five years service.’”
Renie examined the pin and nodded. “So who has twenty-five years of service before coming to OTIOSE? Ward comes to mind. It’s probably his.”
Judith’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “Oh, well. I was hoping it would point to somebody else.” She took the pin from Renie and placed it on the bureau.
It didn’t surprise the cousins to find that Margo had locked her door. Nadia’s was open, however. Unlike the other rooms, hers was cluttered. Clothes, cosmetics, notebooks, paperbacks, perfume, and enough lingerie to last through an arctic winter filled every nook and cranny. But none of it seemed pertinent to the murders.
“This must be Frank’s room,” Judith said, nodding at the door next to Nadia’s.
It was also unlocked, and if not cluttered, it was messy. Frank Killegrew was obviously not a man who was used to looking after himself. The bed was unmade, the cap was off the toothpaste tube, the sink was full of whiskers. But except for evidence of being spoiled, the cousins found nothing.
“That’s it,” Renie declared. “We flunked. I think I’ll go downstairs and smoke a lot.”
Judith started to trudge after Renie to the elevator, then called to her cousin to wait up. “Leon—we forgot about him.”
“He’s eminently forgettable,” Renie responded. “Alas, poor Leon.”
The room was unlocked. The bed, where Andrea had waited for the man who never came to share his angel food cake, was still in disarray. The extra pillow, which Judith had put behind Andrea’s head, remained in place.
The only difference was that Nadia Weiss was lying on the spare bed, and she was obviously quite dead.
SIXTEEN
“THIS…CAN’T…BE…happening,” Judith gasped.
Renie was stunned. She neither spoke nor moved, but simply stood at the foot of the bed and stared at Nadia with unblinking eyes.
“Coz…” Judith began, but also found herself at a loss for words.
Nadia Weiss lay on her side, the right arm extended, the left curled around her stomach. Her face was contorted and her stockinged feet dangled over the edge of the bed. She was fully clothed, though her large-rimmed glasses lay carefully folded on the nightstand.
Judith knew it was useless, but she finally moved closer and tried to take Nadia’s pulse. “She’s still warm.” Judith let Nadia’s right arm fall away.
“Of course she’s still warm,” Renie murmured. “We saw her downstairs not more than an hour ago.”
Judith gazed at the spectacles, then noticed the glass and the pill bottle. “Good grief! It’s the old sleeping pill trick, just like Andrea. Or almost,” she added on a more thoughtful note. “Look, coz.”
Edging closer, Renie’s foot struck something under the bed. “Hold it—what’s this?” With her toe, she nudged the obstacle into plain view.
It was an empty pint of gin. “An added attraction?” Judith remarked, then turned her attention back to the pill bottle. “Triclos. ‘Take one capsule before bedtime. Do not mix with alcohol.’ The prescription is dated last week and made out by a Dr. Robert Winslow for Nadia Weiss. The pharmacy is located above downtown, in the hospital district.”
Renie nodded. “Nadia mentioned having her own sleeping pills, and she told me once that she’s lived forever in one of those elegant older apartments within walking distance of downtown. But this time the killer was more thorough.” Renie pointed to the empty water glass, then to the gin bottle. “Maybe the stuff’s more lethal if you mix it with booze. The killer might have known that and added the gin for effect.”
“Maybe.” Judith seemed distracted as she gestured at the fireplace. “Why light a fire? No one’s staying in this room.”
Renie turned. “That is odd. It’s not much of a blaze, though. It’s practically out.”
Rushing to the hearth, Judith all but shoved Renie out of the way. “Look! There’s no sign of a log in the grate. Kindling, maybe—and paper.” She gazed at Renie, who had joined her in front of the fireplace. “What do you think got burned in here? Andrea’s files?”
Renie grabbed the poker and leaned down. “There’s not much left, but I see some charred paper clips and those metal fasteners that hold files together.” She stood up. “You’re right, maybe Nadia burned the files.”
“Why?” Judith’s dark eyes scanned the room. “Did she take them from Andrea’s room? Did they include the so-called hooker files? Look, coz,” she continued, pointing back to the grate, “there’s not a lot of paper in there. Andrea’s files were two, three inches thick, which is why we didn’t take time to go through them.”
“Maybe Nadia only wanted to burn certain incriminating data,” Renie suggested.
“Incriminating to whom?” Judith asked, beginning to pace the small room.
Renie shrugged. “I don’t know. Herself, maybe. Or whoever killed her.”
“This is wrong,” Judith declared, making a slashing motion with her hand. “This seems all out of kilter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renie admitted.
“I don’t either. That’s the problem.” Judith bit her lower lip and scowled.
Renie started for the door. “Shall we go break the latest bad news?”
Judith shook her head. “Not this time.”
“What?” Renie was flabbergasted.
“No. We’ll go back downstairs, as if nothing’s happened. Let’s see how the rest of them—what’s left of them—react.”
Renie gritted her teeth. “Okay—if you say so. I’m not much of an actress.”
“You’ll manage,” Judith said dryly. “Just play dumb. I know you can do that.”
Upon reaching the game room, the cousins discovered a fragmented contingent. Max Agasias was furiously hurling darts at a board on the far wall. Ava Aunuu was lying on the pool table, crying her eyes out. Gene Jarman, Jr., stood under mounted elk antlers, chewing on his knuckles. The rest were nowhere in sight. The big windows that ran along most of one wall showed nothing but snow, a bleak, suffocating sight.
Of the three who remained in the game room, Gene seemed the most approachable. “What’s going on?” Judith asked in a hushed voice.
Gene recoiled as if Judith had slapped him. “Nothing,” he said sharply. “Nothing you need to know.”
Judith backed off. Renie had gone to Ava, gently prodding her heaving shoulders.
“Go away,” Ava blubbered. “Leave me alone.”
With a puzzled glance for Judith, Renie withdrew. Max was still throwing darts, going dangerously wide of the target. Margo entered the lobby from the direction of the women’s restroom. She looked absolutely furious.
“I hate everybody,” she announced. “I wish I could shoot you all.” For good measure, she jiggled her suede bag, then glanced at the elk antlers, as if she were envisioning one of her co-worker’s heads in the same place.
“There must be a reason for your hostility,” said Renie in a strange, strangled voice. “You might f
eel better if you talked about it.” She turned to Judith, speaking in a whisper. “Do I sound like Bill?”
“You sound like hell,” Judith shot back. “But go for it.”
Ignoring Renie, Margo stalked past the cousins and went to the near wall which was decorated with Haida masks and jewelry. With her back to the others, Margo stood rigidly, one hand clenching at her side, the other clutching her suede bag.
“What happened to the buddy system?” Judith murmured.
Renie shook her head. “I don’t know. Who’s missing? Frank and Russell?”
She’d hardly finished speaking when both men entered the game room. Frank Killegrew looked distraught and Russell Craven appeared miserable. Max whirled around, unleashing a dart that sailed between the two men’s heads.
“We’ve got to calm down!” Killegrew cried, jerking around to watch the dart land out in the hall. “A mutinous crew can cause a shipwreck.”
“Sorry,” Max mumbled. “That was an accident.”
Margo turned her head. “The ship has sunk, Frank. Glub, glub, glub. That was my point. That’s why I’m quitting. Don’t you get it? I’m not going down with your stupid S.S. OTIOSE.”
“Now, now,” Killegrew began, “you’re considering just the short term…”
“Don’t start again!” Ava cried. “I can’t stand it!” She buried her face against a side pocket.
“I’m confused,” Russell said in a disconsolate voice. “Margo, I thought you liked Alan Roth. I’m the one who should be upset. I am upset. My career is over.”
“Now, now,” Killegrew repeated, “you don’t know that for sure, Russell. If the board agrees to change the by-laws and I stay on as CEO, it won’t matter if we merge with WaCom. I’ll still have an oar in the water.”
“But you won’t!” Ava declared, attempting to sit up on the pool table. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! That’s why it doesn’t matter if you name me as Ward’s successor. Do you think Alan Roth will want any of us working for him after what happened to his wife this weekend?”
Judith and Renie glanced at each other. “Ava as executive vice president?” Judith said under her breath.
“Why not?” Renie whispered. “She’s very capable.”
Killegrew had assumed an authoritative stance in front of the dart board. Max’s homely face was belligerent, but he set the last two darts down on the wet bar. Gene moved out from under the antlers while Margo finally turned all the way around to face the others.
“It may be,” Killegrew said, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders, “that this weekend—as tragic as it’s been—could work in our favor.” Seeing the dismay and even horror on the faces of his employees, Killegrew held up a hand. “Now, now—don’t get me wrong. Nobody is more upset by what’s happened here than I am. But there’s always an upside. Ava’s got the right idea about Alan Roth. He may not want anything to do with us now that Andrea’s…passed away. But that might mean WaCom will scrap the whole merger idea. This crew has scurvy, right? We’re contaminated. There are other telecommunications companies out there to merge with.” Killegrew looked at Gene. “What about Alien Tel? Settle the damned suit out of court and let WaCom gobble them up.”
Gene Jarman stiffened. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. It’s a point of…It’s a legal point.” Gene turned away.
Killegrew jabbed a finger at his legal counsel. “You’ll do it if I tell you to! We can’t afford a personal…” The CEO swung around to Margo. “Well? What can’t we afford?”
Margo sighed. “The word’s ‘vendetta,’ Frank.”
“Vendetta?” Killegrew wrinkled his blunt nose. “Okay, we can’t afford that. So drop it, first thing.”
Gene said nothing; his face was expressionless.
Max picked up a pool cue and broke it in two. “So where the hell does that leave me?”
“Right where you belong,” Killegrew shot back. “You and Russell both. If we can get out of this WaCom deal, your departments stay as they are.”
“If,” growled Max. “That’s a damned big word, Frank.”
“We’ll see.” Killegrew moved toward the wet bar, which someone had stocked with the dwindling number of liquor bottles. “It’s almost eleven. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to run up the cocktail flag a little early. Nadia, mix me a Scotch and soda, will you?”
The request seemed to echo off the plate glass windows and disappear among the high polished beams of the ceiling. Judith and Renie had moved close together, scrutinizing each of the six remaining conferees. Ava, who had dried her eyes, glanced behind her; Gene’s stance became less rigid as he looked around the room; Margo moved closer to the group and frowned; Max, looking curious, rested the broken pool cue pieces against his thigh; Russell sat on a chessboard, oblivious to the pieces he had knocked over, including the bishop that was poking into his backside. It was only Frank Killegrew who showed immediate dismay, and for all the wrong reasons.
“Where’d Nadia go? I said I could use a drink. What’s wrong with that woman? Doesn’t she know who signs her checks?”
“Leon used to,” Margo said. “As chief financial officer, he signed all our checks.”
Killegrew glowered at Margo. “You know what I mean. Didn’t Nadia go with you to the restroom a while ago?”
Margo shook her head. “She left the game room before I did, Frank. You asked her to get you a coffee refill.”
“Which,” Killegrew declared with great umbrage, “she did not do. Where’s her sense of loyalty?”
Ava struggled to get off the pool table, while Gene began to shift nervously from foot to foot. Margo swung the suede bag in an ominous gesture and Max started for the dining room.
“She may still be in the kitchen,” Max said over his shoulder. “I’ll check.”
“Not without a bodyguard,” Gene called out, and hurried to join Max.
Russell swerved on the chessboard, sending several pawns and a rook onto the floor. “Where’s Nadia?” he asked in a vague, bewildered voice.
“Russell…” Margo began, but she sounded weary and went mute.
Ava was hugging herself, her chin sunk into the high rolled neck of her navy sweater. “I can’t…she couldn’t…Oh, God!”
Max and Gene returned via the corridor that led through the laundry room to the kitchen. “She’s not anywhere we could see,” Gene announced in a tense voice. “Should we look in the basement?”
“Why,” Killegrew demanded, “would Nadia be in the basement? There’s no coffee pot down there.” But the usual bluster had gone out of him; he sounded frightened and unsure.
Judith was beginning to doubt the wisdom of keeping the others in the dark. She plucked at the sleeve of Renie’s sweatshirt and drew her back towards the lobby entrance.
“Maybe we should tell them,” she whispered.
Renie shook her head. “It’s too late. Let it slide.”
Margo was staring at her watch. “How long has Nadia been gone? Half an hour?”
“More than that,” Killegrew responded. “It wasn’t quite ten when I asked her to get me some more coffee. It’s bangup eleven now. Six bells,” he added, but his voice broke on the nautical reference.
Taking in Killegrew’s obvious distress, Gene Jarman joined his chief on the hearth. “Let’s divide ourselves into threes,” he said, then apparently remembered Judith and Renie. “I mean, fours. Half of us will search the rest of this floor and the basement. The other half will go up to the second and third floors. Ava, Margo, Max—will you come with me?”
Max stepped forward at once, but neither woman seemed anxious to take part. Briefly, they stared at each other, and some sort of understanding must have passed between them. Margo actually gave Ava a hand to help her down from the pool table.
“Why,” Margo murmured, “didn’t I resign last week?”
“You had no reason then,” Ava said.
“Yes, I did.” Margo trooped out of the lobby with Ava, Gene, and Max.
The cous
ins were left with Frank Killegrew and Russell Craven. “I don’t think I can do this,” Killegrew declared in a weak voice. As he reached for the Scotch, his hand shook. “I never dreamed it would come to this.”
“To what?” asked Russell, who was still sitting on the chess board.
But Killegrew. didn’t reply. He sloshed Scotch into a glass and drank it down in one gulp. “Okay,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “let’s go.”
The foursome took the elevator to the second floor, which meant that they would begin their search at the opposite end from Leon’s room. Judith tried to think of a way to curtail the suspense, but nothing came to mind. Renie was right. It was too late to admit they’d found another body. Judith didn’t dare tip her hand.
They started with the cousins’ room, checking the bathroom and under the beds. This time, they remembered to look out the windows. It was still raining hard, and the snow had melted another three inches. Through the steady downpour, Judith could see into the distance. There was nothing but the tops of trees, some of which now showed bare branches. The wet, drooping evergreens look dejected in the rain.
Down the hall they went, finding everything the same as when Judith and Renie had made their search earlier in the morning. Or so it appeared until they reached Gene’s room. It was now unlocked. Killegrew strode inside, calling Nadia’s name.
Judith glanced around. There was an open briefcase on the bed, a cardigan sweater hanging on the back of one of the ubiquitous armchairs, an empty glass on the nightstand, and a half-filled laundry bag on the floor. There was, of course, no sign of Nadia.
Margo’s room was still locked. Killegrew swore under his breath, then knocked hard three times and again called for Nadia. With a shake of his head, he led them on.
As before, Leon’s was the last room they checked. Killegrew turned the knob, opened the door, started to mouth Nadia’s name, and staggered.