From Here to Paternity jj-6

by Jill Churchill

  "Please do," Shelley said.

  It would be impossible not to warm to this woman. She was the quintessential grandmother type. Plump, with faintly purple, beauty-shop hair, Joanna Smith even had a big soft bag with her from which she pulled a garish, half-done granny square and proceeded to crochet while they talked. "I hope Tenny's taking good care of you," she said, peering over half glasses that were looped around her neck on a cheap, gilt-painted plastic necklace.

  "Wonderful. Yes."

  "I knew she would. Tenny is a dear, dear girl. I don't know what we'd do without her. She's my sister's girl, you know. Her father came out here from Tennessee and missed his home. That's why they named her Tennessee, you see. I thought it was an awful thing to do to a child when she was born, but it suits her."

  "It is a pretty name," Jane said. "I think it used to be very common to name people for places. My grandmother's best friend was named Philadelphia."

  "Is your sister involved with the resort, too?" Shelley asked.

  "Oh, no. My poor sister, bless her soul, died when Tenny was just four. She and her husband both. My parents took Tenny in as their own. She was more like a little sister to me. I was only seventeen at the time. Then when I married, I brought Tenny along with me. My folks were in failing health by then, and bringing up a little girl was too much for them. Bill and I never had children — I try to believe that was God's will — and so we raised Tenny."

  Jane was doing some mental arithmetic. Tenny looked only about forty, but she could be as much as fifty years old. Which would make Joanna Smith in her early sixties. The same age as Jane's mother. But the difference was amazing. Cecily Grant was trim, fit, and stylish. This woman looked much older. Or perhaps only from a different era. That was it. She wasn't so much old as old-fashioned.

  "Is that part of an afghan you're working on?" Jane asked.

  "Yes. I'll have to keep it in our own apartments, though. Back in the early days, when it was just hunters who came here, I made things like this for the cabins. But when we rebuilt it as a resort and Tenny took over all the decorating, she told me I had no taste."

  "No! I can't imagine Tenny saying a thing like that!" Shelley exclaimed.

  Joanna waved her hand deprecatingly. "Oh, but she's quite right, my dear. Tenny has lovely taste. I wouldn't dream of interfering in her decorating. Bill and I are just old frumps. Back when these were just hunters' cabins, we were fine. Bill could talk hunting all day with the guests, and I'd cook plain-cooking dinners for them. Big old roasts and buckets of stew and fried chicken. But when we expanded and made it a resort — well, we were out of our element. Bill was a wonder with the finances, but me and him don't know a thing about skiing or any of that kind of thing. As far as I'm concerned, all this snow is just something you have to put up with. Can't imagine grown people wanting to play in it. And my sort of cooking isn't what appeals to the kind of people who come here." She laughed. "It doesn't even appeal to me anymore. I've gotten used to Tenny's chefs and eating in the dining room. Not sure I even know how to cook anymore. When we retire, I'll have to learn all over again."

  "Are you looking forward to retiring?" Jane asked, just to keep the conversation going. "My father keeps talking about retiring, but I think he's scared to death somebody will take him seriously."

  "Not us. We're ready. At least Bill is. A place like this is an awful lot of work and worry," she said, blissfully unaware that this wasn't the kind of thing a seller should be saying to a potential buyer's wife. "Every time some pipe bursts in the middle of the night or half the maids come down with the flu at the same time or some group that's booked a big block changes their mind, Bill has to take care of it. Tenny's a big help, but it always comes back to Bill one way or another."

  Bill had finished talking to the concession attendant and joined them. He wasn't a big man by any means, but he had a wiry, rugged look. And, as soon became apparent, the manners to match. Joanna introduced him to Jane and he merely grunted noncommittally. "That damned kid thinks he's on vacation or something," he groused.

  It took them all a moment to realize he meant the employee he'd just been talking to. "Told him twice to clean the storeroom and it hasn't been done yet. I told Pete it was a mistake to hire a white kid for the job. The Indians work much better. They don't want to yammer around socializing with all the swimmers. They just want to do their job and get paid and go home."

  "Now, Bill," Joanna said soothingly, "you know the guests like Tory. They're always saying how nice he is."

  " 'Nice' don't get the storeroom cleaned. And what the hell kind of name is Tory, anyway?"

  Jane suddenly understood why he'd been so happy with the hunters' cabins and felt the resort was such hard work. The man wasn't suited to it at all. He was a tough, macho, reactionary old buzzard. Still, it had been his own choice, and in his own way he was good at it. At least, he must be for the place to be so nice and successful. Tenny's responsibilities must have extended to keeping him out of the way of the guests. Jane noticed that Joanna had finished a light yellow row on her granny square and had selected a bright neon pink for the next row. Yes, between hiding Joanna's ghastly domestic products and Bill's abrasive personality, Tenny had a full-time job.

  As they'd been talking, Jane had been watching Todd and John, who were starting to look like big white raisins with blurry red eyes. She excused herself, got them out of the pool and dried off, and insisted, over their halfhearted protests, that it was time to get dressed and rest for a while. While they were getting ready, she brought them burgers and fries packed in the reusable padded boxes the resort used for carry out orders.

  When she came back to the pool, the boys were bundled up and ready to go. She took her leave of Shelley and the owners, saying she needed to dress for dinner, and abandoned Shelley to the Smiths. Shelley wouldn't mind; she was in corporate-wife mode. Jane had tried to get the girls out of the pool, but they were determined to stay and claimed that Tory had told them they could eat dinner at poolside. Jane and the boys walked back to her quarters, taking the shortcut through the woods this time. It had gotten dark quite suddenly and snow was falling, but the path was clear and lighted at five-foot intervals with little lanterns. She reached her door just as Mel did from the other direction.

  "You've napped. I can tell," Jane said.

  "Sheet creases on my face?"

  "No, just bright eyes and a nice smile. Are you ready for dinner?"

  "I can't ever remember being hungrier."

  "Good. I'll change fast."

  "I'll go back and let the boys in and get them set-tied for the evening," he offered. He returned a few minutes later and came in and turned on CNN in the living room while Jane ran a comb through her hair, put on fresh makeup and some of her new clothes. Shelley had made her shop before coming on this trip, and her "best dress" for the resort was a long red suede skirt that not only had been on sale, but fit her perfectly. Shopping never went that well for her unless Shelley was along. Bargains of this sort seemed to call a siren song to Shelley as she stepped over the threshold of a dress shop. She'd stand for a moment, head cocked, eyes half closed, then head directly for the best deal in the store. With the red skirt, Shelley had selected a cream silk blouse and a sweater/jacket with the cream of the blouse, the red of the skirt, and several shades of khaki and brown in a splashy leaf-like pattern. It was really a stunning outfit.

  "Wow!" Mel said, when she reappeared. "You look great!"

  "Shelley picked it all out," Jane admitted. "Let's go. Oh, I almost forgot again. I've been carrying around a folder that belongs to one of the genealogy people."

  "Why are you carrying it around?"

  Jane explained briefly about the genealogy debate and how she'd run into Doris Schmidtheiser and helped pick up her papers, but Doris had fled in mortification before Jane could hand these over. "I just need to drop them off on the way to dinner. I checked on where she's staying and it's on our way. I meant to leave them as I came here, but forgot." />
  "Okay, but you won't stay and talk, will you? I'm starving."

  "Promise."

  Jane's sweater/jacket had a hood that looked warmer than it turned out to be. She was stylish, but freezing by the time they got to Doris's cabin. She had tried to ignore the cold by talking a blue streak about Doris, the Holnagrad Society, and Doris's claim that Bill Smith was the rightful Tsar. When they arrived, Jane tapped lightly on the door and it swung open under her touch. Doris must have been so disconcerted when she returned that she hadn't pushed it closed properly.

  "Mrs. Schmidtheiser?" Jane called through the open doorway. "Yoo-hoo! Are you home? Mrs. Schmidtheiser?"

  There was no answer.

  "I'll just put it inside," Jane said. But the moment she stepped inside she knew something was wrong. "Mel," she said softly.

  The alarm in her voice brought him instantly to her side.

  The cabin was arranged just like Jane's, with an entry hallway that opened onto the living room straight ahead and the kitchen to the left and the bedroom hallway to the right. In front of them, papers were strewn all over the floor.

  "Stay here," Mel said sharply.

  He went into the living room and Jane, in spite of his orders, followed him.

  Doris Schmidtheiser was crumpled on the floor, next to the coffee table. Mel was kneeling beside her, feeling for a pulse. "Janey, you better wait outside."

  "I'll freeze out there," Jane said. "Is she dead?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Heart attack? She took heart pills."

  "Probably. I'll call the police, then alert the hotel people about what's happening."

  He went to the phone, but pulled out a handkerchief to put in his hand before he picked up the receiver. He dialed 911, spoke briefly, then dialed the hotel operator. "Who's the owner, Jane?" he asked while waiting for the hotel operator to pick up.

  "Bill Smith, but I think you probably want to ask for Tenny Garner."

  He did, then identified himself and told Tenny that a guest had died and he'd already summoned help.

  "Why the handkerchief?" Jane asked after he'd hung up. "If you think it was a heart attack."

  "No reason especially. Just habit."

  Jane looked at him.

  "Well, that and the mess. Whenever you have a death in the midst of this kind of disorder, you have to wonder."

  "You think it's murder?"

  "No!" he said emphatically. "I don't think any such thing, and don't let your imagination go rocketing off, either. She's an old lady who had a bad afternoon. She had heart troubles and was under a lot of stress at a high altitude. That's it."

  "Okay, okay. I was just asking."

  Still, she took a quick look around, careful not to touch anything. There was a coffee cup on the low table, nearly empty. Doris was still wearing her outdoor boots, though her coat was nowhere to be seen. Presumably she'd hung it up when she came in. There was a faint odor of overcooked, almost burned coffee in the air, and Jane discovered that the coffee-maker in the kitchen was still on and the coffee had cooked down to a half inch of dregs. She turned it off, fearing nobody else would think of it. Doris's briefcase was upside down on the floor next to her, the papers and folders spread in a messy circle. Jane crept down the hall to the bedroom — this cabin had only one — and it, too, was littered with papers. Several notebooks gaped open, their pages awry as if the contents had been skimmed in a frenzy.

  Jane heard a siren and went back to open the front door. A moment later, an ambulance pulled up and medical attendants leaped out and ran in with their equipment. A few seconds behind them was a patrol car. A good ol' boy of a sheriff hoisted himself out of the driver's side, and a rabbity deputy hopped out the other door. The sheriff ignored Jane as he rolled past. "Excuse me, miss," the deputy said.

  "Well, are you the fella who called this in?" the sheriff boomed.

  "Mel VanDyne. Yes, I placed the call."

  "You a relative?"

  "No, I've never seen this woman before. But my friend had some papers to return to her. When we got here, the door was open and we found the body."

  "Well, now, ain't that convenient."

  Uh-oh, Jane thought.

  Mel came into the front hallway. He didn't look pleasant.

  "Jane," he said with deadly formality, "I think maybe you better go down to the lodge. I'll join you in a few minutes."

  "Mel! Why didn't you tell him you're a detective?" she whispered.

  "Because I'm not. Not here and now. I'm on vacation. Go on. I'll be with you shortly."

  "Okay. But I'm going to order drinks and appetizers the minute I sit down, so you better hurry."

  Chapter 8

  They had dinner reservations in the more formal restaurant. It was an elegant, dimly lighted, artfully arranged room that overlooked the small lake. From her table next to the windows, Jane could watch the skaters below. The table itself was set with superb pink linens, the best-quality restaurant silverware, and beautiful china with a muted pink-and-gray Oriental floral pattern. Although it seemed late to Jane, her internal clock having been completely undone by her earlier nap, the restaurant was just starting to fill up for the evening.

  Jane finished her glass of wine and half the appetizers (bite-sized egg rolls with a spicy crab filling). After a while she finished the rest of the appetizers and drank Mel's wine. Then she ordered coffee and nibbled the Italian parsley that had decorated the appetizer plate. Starving, bored senseless, and bursting with curiosity, she couldn't even tell Shelley what had happened, because this was the night Shelley was being hostess to the investors at a cocktail party and dinner in her and Paul's condo.

  She studied the other diners for a long while, but decided she was drawing as much attention as she was giving. One middle-aged man with what he no doubt imagined was an attractive two-day beard stubble and a lot of gold chains winked at her. My God! He thinks I'm a hooker! she thought with horror.

  She told the waiter she'd be back and ran to the little magazine-and-book shop next to the front desk, then checked on Katie and Denise, who had finally emerged from the swimming pool and, fully dressed, were eating burgers at a table on the pool apron. Back with something to read, she drank another cup of coffee, then visited the rest room for the second time. Just as she was returning to her table, the waiter approached to tell her there was a phone message that said she was to order two dinners and her companion would be with her in a moment.

  After studying the menu one last time — she nearly had it memorized — she ordered two of the more interesting entrees on it: elk stew with cattail pollen dumplings for herself, and a buffalo steak with horseradish/rosemary sauce and blue cornmeal dressing for Mel.

  Mel managed to arrive before the meal did.

  "What took you so long?" Jane asked.

  "The local sheriff is an ass!" he said, sitting down heavily. Jane could hear his stomach rumble. "He was all for just carting off the body and letting your pal Tenny Garner send in a maid to clean up the room."

  "And you tried to stop him?"

  "Of course I did. That's not the way to treat a sudden death."

  "I thought you were the one who said there was nothing suspicious about it."

  Mel took a deep breath. "I don't know whether I should tell you this or not—"

  "You might as well," she said sweetly. "After all, we're both on vacation. It has nothing to do with us."

  He cocked an eyebrow at her and thought for a long moment before finally saying, "Did you notice the 'distribution' of all those papers?"

  "Yes; they were everywhere."

  "No, they weren't."

  "Well, I guess there weren't any in the bathroom or the kitchen."

  "That's not what I mean. I'm talking about the living room."

  Jane closed her eyes, picturing the room where they had found Doris. Papers all over. On the coffee table, the sofa, the floor…

  She opened her eyes very wide. "Oh! She wasn't lying on any of them, was she?" />
  "Bingo."

  Their salads arrived. Trendy, rather bitter lettuce with little groupings of berries and slivers of something crunchy like water chestnuts, only pink. Normally Jane would have questioned the waiter about the ingredients, but not tonight. "So you assumed the papers had been flung around after she collapsed."

  "It seemed likely. First I suggested that the sheriff have the remains of the coffee in her cup tested, but he said there was no need for that. She was an old lady and just had a heart attack and he, the sheriff, had a houseful of company at home — his in-laws, who were probably drinking all his best beer while he was wasting time, the in-laws being the greedy sort who would do that kind of thing to an absent host. About that time Ms. Garner got there, heard the last of the conversation, went and puttered around the kitchen and said there was another coffee cup missing."

  "Ah — so maybe she was having coffee with somebody who took the other cup away. Fingerprints, maybe?"

  Mel shrugged. "You never know. So the sheriff— his name is Plunkbucket, by the way—"

  "It isn't!"

  "No, but it's something like that. He says every time he's ever been up here, people are roaming around the grounds with coffee cups and glasses and things, and Ms. Garner admits that's true and the missing one might just turn up in the spring melt. Apparently all sorts of stuff show up when the snow disappears every spring."

  "Didn't you tell him you're a detective?"

  "Oh, I did that. And it made the situation about ten times as bad. He resented me enough before that; then, when he found out I was not only a detective, but from Chicago as well, he really got nasty. City slickers trying to tell him how to do his job, et cetera."

  "But did he agree to test the coffee left in the cup?"

  "Well, yes and no. He's testing it, but only because of my threat to report him to anybody I could find to listen if he didn't."

  "You feel that strongly that her death was suspicious?"

  "No, I don't. But I was pissed off by then. Some of her genealogy chums had turned up by that time, and they were backing him up like mad that it was just an unfortunate but inevitable result of her bad heart and a disastrous afternoon. They told him all about the debate and how she'd been laughed out of the room. What the hell is this stuff I'm eating?"