From Here to Paternity jj-6

by Jill Churchill

  "I dunno. Fruit of some kind. Don't you like it?"

  "It's okay. Just a funny texture. I'm hungry enough I'd probably eat broccoli if somebody put it in front of me."

  "How did the sheriff explain the papers thrown all over?"

  "Just a fit of pique. He actually used those words, I swear. After hearing of the debate that the genealogy people kept yammering about, he figures she came back, fixed herself a cup of coffee, then got herself all worked up to a temper tantrum and threw her work around. This activity leading, naturally, to a heart attack."

  "But, according to that scenario, why weren't there any papers under her body?"

  "Coincidence," he said. "And the big slob could be right. I told him so. I kept trying to impress on him that I wasn't claiming there was anything suspicious, just trying to convince him there could have been foul play and if he didn't have the scene examined carefully, he might be sorry later."

  "So who won?"

  "I guess I did. He didn't want to look too bad in front of all the gawkers who'd already come and pawed around, disturbing any evidence that might have been there originally. So he called in some more deputies and started checking the place out properly. Too late, but better than just slamming the book shut on the woman without a second thought."

  "You've done your duty, then."

  The waiter took away their salad plates, leaving tiny palate-clearing scoops of lime sorbet, then was back shortly with a mystery soup and some little muffins with bits of leaves cooked in them. Spicy apple butter accompanied the muffins. Jane offered hers to Mel, not mentioning that she'd eaten his appetizers, and he wolfed both muffins down.

  "I'll probably find an elk head in my bed tonight," he said around half a muffin.

  Mel refused to talk any more about Doris. Instead, they concentrated on their dinners. Mel's buffalo steak turned out to be what Jane called Swiss steak — a pounded, slow-cooked meat. The waiter explained that buffalo, though growing in popularity, was a much tougher meat than cow and needed more cooking. Mel claimed it was delicious, but complained that the blue cornmeal dressing tasted blue.

  "Tastes blue? What in the world do you mean?" Jane asked, laughing.

  "I don't know. Just blue. I've never eaten blue food before. I don't think in the cosmic scheme of things we're meant to. How's your elk stew?"

  "It doesn't have much meat in it. It's mostly vegetables and dumplings," Jane said. But after she'd tasted it, she realized why. The elk was a highly flavored meat and any more of it would have been overwhelming. The cattail pollen dumplings, however, were absolutely delicious, with a sweet, nutty taste unlike anything Jane had ever eaten. It was, all in all, an instructive and flavorful meal.

  The restaurant was, like most now, nonsmoking. Since Mel didn't smoke and Jane had been quitting in slow motion for over a year and was now down to only a half-dozen cigarettes a day, this didn't bother them, but they were pleasantly surprised when the waiter invited them to take their dessert and a complimentary after-dinner brandy in the Cigar Room. This well-screened appendage to the dining room turned out to be an interesting and attractive room with excellent ventilation, windows on three sides looking into deep woods, and small, intimate tables. There was a dessert trolley that was rolled silently toward them as they took a table near the inside wall.

  Jane chose a parfait glass beautifully layered with raspberries, white chocolate shavings, and cream, while Mel picked a custard with a caramel-and-ground-hazelnut topping. Neither of them could finish their desserts. Jane sat back, looking over the other people in the room. "See that man over there with the light orange hair?" she said. "That's Dr. Lucke. Lucky. He's the president or chairman or whatever of the genealogy group. He's very nice."

  "And who's that with him? The slick-looking one."

  "I'm not sure, but he was standing near the podium when I went to the door of the room the debate was in. I think maybe he's the man who devastated poor Mrs. Schmidtheiser. Gordon? Gorton? Something like that."

  "And in that corner?" Mel asked, tilting his brandy snifter slightly to indicate where another two men sat talking seriously.

  "Hmmm. That's an interesting combination. The dark, handsome one is HawkHunter. I'll have to fill you in on all the Indian business. The funny thing is, the man with him is Pete Andrews. He's the nephew of the owner of the resort."

  "I thought he was somebody official. He turned up at Mrs. Schmidtheiser's cabin while the sheriff was there. He seemed sincerely upset about her death. I guess he would be. Resorts don't like guests dying."

  "He actually knew her as well. You know she was promoting Bill Smith as Tsar of Russia. Well, Pete's the nephew who encouraged her and the Holnagrad Society people to come here for their conventions in the first place."

  "What do you mean about it being an interesting combination?"

  "HawkHunter is giving the owner a lot of trouble, and the only time I met Pete Andrews, he was complaining bitterly — almost hysterically — about Hawk-Hunter. But they look like they're getting along now." She explained briefly about the conflict over the ownership of the land.

  She frankly stared for a few minutes. The two were talking seriously, but there was no hint of either cordiality or animosity in their appearances. A waiter hovered near them.

  "Mel?"

  "Hmmm?" he responded dreamily.

  "If her death weren't natural—"

  "Jane!"

  "No, I'm not suggesting we butt in. I'm just curious. An intellectual exercise. If it weren't natural, why do you think anybody would have done her in? She was obsessive and not terribly likable, but—"

  "Jane, I don't know enough about her to speculate and neither do you. More important, I don't want to. I'm on vacation. I've already involved myself a lot more than I should have. It's Sheriff Plumbasket's problem now."

  "Plumbasket?"

  "Something like that."

  "I'll probably find out that his name is Jones," Jane muttered.

  "Jane, I wonder if the hotel is full."

  "I have no idea. Why?"

  "I was just thinking… since our rooms and travel and meals are all paid for, this trip is virtually free. Except for tips and things."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, it seems downright ungrateful not to pay for at least one room. A room where, maybe, you and I could be alone for a few hours." He ran his hand lightly along her forearm.

  "I didn't bring along a decent nightgown," she warned him, smiling.

  "My only interest in your nightwear is getting you out of it, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "I had noticed. And don't think I don't appreciate it. Although I hate to think of the money I've wasted at Victoria's Secret in the last couple months."

  Their love life was about as spontaneous as building a pyramid, Mel had sometimes complained, but the complaint wasn't too serious. He'd accepted, with fairly good grace, Jane's "rule" which was that she was simply too bone-deep old-fashioned to conduct an affair in her own house.

  "I'm the mommy there," she had told him. "It's not that I imagine my kids don't know the nature of our relationship, but I just couldn't get 'into the spirit' of the thing with them roaming around the house, blabbing on the phone in the next room, or banging on the bedroom door to ask where I put their favorite jeans."

  She'd gotten so wholeheartedly "into the spirit" when she was away from home — at his apartment and on the two weekend trips they'd taken — that he'd have been a fool to mess with a good thing.

  She hadn't added to her prohibition to lovemaking in her home, Unless we were married, because that was a word neither of them wanted to use.

  Yet.

  Or maybe ever.

  "I think you're right," she said. "It would only be polite to pay for a room. Just as a way of thanking our hosts, of course. An entirely unselfish plan."

  "I'll see if there's anything available. Wait right here," he said.

  Jane watched as he left the room.

  "Jane… Mrs. Jeffry. Are you al
one? Would you like to join us in an after-dinner stroll?"

  Dr. Lucke and his dinner companion were standing next to her table.

  "Thank you, Lucky, but I'm alone only for the moment. My friend has gone to — to make a phone call," she improvised, wondering if she was blushing, and if so, whether they could tell in the dim lighting.

  Lucky introduced the other man as Stu Gortner, the person who, as Jane had guessed earlier, had debated Doris Schmidtheiser that afternoon. As soon as the introductions were done, Gortner begged off the walk idea. "Been a long day. Think I'll turn in," he said with a wink. Jane shuddered. She hated it when men she didn't know winked at her. There was something intimate and creepy about it.

  "Ah, well, maybe I'll give it up, too," Lucky said. "And just sit with Jane for a minute. Do you mind?"

  "Not a bit," Jane said politely.

  When Gortner had gone, Lucky sighed and said, "I'm sorry. I won't intrude on your evening. I just had to get free of him."

  "Why is that?"

  Lucky sighed again. "I don't like to talk behind anyone's back, but that man is awful. Just awful. Invited me to dinner, then spent the whole time crowing about what he did to Doris. And poor old Doris dead! You'd think he'd know to show a little respect."

  "Oh, you know she's dead? I didn't want to be the one to tell you. Craven of me, I guess."

  "Yes, I know. Tenny called me to get some information for the sheriff about her family and who should be notified and such. But even if she hadn't, I'd have heard. Word's gotten around already."

  "I didn't get to hear the debate," Jane said. "I understand Mr. Gortner made her look silly."

  Lucky nodded. "And he wasn't playing fair, if I can use such a childish term. He's one of those people who tries to win people to his side by ridiculing his opponent."

  "So his arguments on behalf of his — uh— candidate weren't better than hers?"

  "Hell, no! Excuse me. Heck, no. He didn't present any really convincing evidence at all, just made everything Doris said look foolish. And, bless her heart, Doris could look pretty foolish all by herself without any help."

  "Why would he need to do that? Just a naturally competitive spirit?"

  "I wondered about that, too. Until tonight. See, part of the reason he invited me to dinner was to ask for the Society's backing on some plans he's got."

  "Which are—?"

  "See, Stu is an old P.R. man. Made a mint over the years pushing everything from pretzels to presidents of corporations. You wouldn't believe some of the people and things he claims took off like Roman candles because of his publicity. Anyhow, he's really latched onto his candidate, as you put it. He retired two years ago, and when the Iron Curtain came down, he took a trip to Holnagrad and met this guy— Stanislas Romanov."

  "Is that really his name?"

  Lucky looked at her. "That's a very perceptive question. I wish more people had the brains to ask it. I have no idea."

  Jane kept glancing over her shoulder as tactfully as she could. No sign of Mel yet. "So he met Stanislas?"

  "Right. Stu says he took up with him just to keep his hand in the business. Sort of like I work one day a week at the free clinic just to keep in touch. But Stu naturally turned his mind to how to make money off this man."

  "He's found a way?"

  "Has he ever! That's what he was bending my ear about. He's signed himself up as this guy's agent. Says he's very attractive — speaks English with a sexy foreign accent, has great Continental manners. All that. Stu wants to bring him over to this country, get him on TV, sell movie rights and book rights and Lord only knows what else. And he wants us to back him up. Sort of be his cheering section. The nerve!"

  "That does sound sleazy. The Society won't go along with it, will they?"

  "Not if I have anything to say about it. But Stu knows how to convince people of almost anything. He's already got a bunch of members in his corner. They say it's a great way to draw attention to our group and its concerns, make people aware of our heritage, enlist new members, all that. 'Course, they're being had. Stu's convinced them he's doing all this for the Society when he's just doing it for himself."

  Mel came through the doorway and Lucky stood up suddenly. "I'm sorry for bending your ear like that. Just got a crawful. Have a nice evening."

  Oh, I think I probably will, Jane thought.

  It wasn't until Jane and Mel were leaving the lodge that she realized she was still carrying around Doris Schmidtheiser's file folder.

  Chapter 9

  "Do you know what I liked best?" Jane asked an hour and a half later.

  "This?" Mel said, demonstrating. "Or maybe this?"

  Jane laughed. "That's not what I meant. What I liked best was that before we came here, you'd already called and made sure the boys were all settled in your place with their dinner and their new Nintendo game."

  "Only because I knew if I didn't, you would — and possibly at an inopportune time," he said, lazily stroking the curve of her shoulder.

  Jane sat up, turned on the bedside light, and started looking around for her clothes. "That's exactly what I did mean. That you understand."

  "I guess this is leading up to you turning back into Mommy any minute now."

  Jane shrugged. "It is my job. And unlike you, I don't ever get a vacation. Do you mind horribly?"

  "And if I did? Never mind. I don't want to know. I'll fix us some coffee."

  "Darn it! I've still got that folder," Jane said, sorting through her things. "Doris Schmidtheiser's. I meant to give it to Lucky and it went right out of my mind when he started talking about that Gortner man."

  As Mel walked Jane back to her cabin, she told him about her conversation with Lucky. "He was really shocked by and disgusted with Stu Gortner's attitude."

  "And you think that means this Stu person killed Mrs. Schmidtheiser?"

  "You're ruining my punch line. No, I don't mean that. But if it turns out that her death wasn't natural, I think he bears looking at. After all, her death removes the main obstacle to his promoting his candidate. Bill certainly isn't going to pursue his claim, and Pete doesn't know enough about genealogy, I don't think, to push it along himself."

  "This is too strange to accept, Janey — the whole idea of trying to put somebody back on the throne in Russia."

  "Of course it's nuts, but I don't think Stu Gortner has any interest in that angle of it. He just wants an interesting figure to promote as the rightful Tsar without getting involved in actual politics. Sort of a new Anastasia. Somebody had to have made a lot of money out of that poor woman. At least that's what Lucky led me to believe. Gortner just wants a celebrity to make money off of. Lucky talked about book contracts, movie rights and things like that."

  "So what difference would Mrs. Schmidtheiser have made in the plan?"

  "She was an outspoken fanatic who might well have trailed him around, debunking his guy's claim."

  "But, Jane, it's absurd to think anybody would care enough about this to kill someone."

  "It's absurd to us. But not to them. And as far as Stu Gortner is concerned, it's all about money. Maybe a lot of money. Isn't that what most people kill for? When someone is threatening their financial well-being?"

  They'd reached her cabin. "We don't know that anybody was killed for anything, Janey. And even if she was, it's not our problem to solve. It's what's-his-name's. The sheriff."

  "But—"

  "But nothing. Say good night, Gracie."

  Jane laughed. "Okay, okay. I give up." She rummaged in her purse for her key.

  "Where've you been?" Katie asked when her mother came in.

  The girls had MTV on, but, knowing Jane's loathing of the station, they switched to a movie channel as soon as she appeared.

  "Oh, here and there," Jane said. "Mel and I ate at the fancy restaurant. You wouldn't believe what we had for dinner. Oh, look what movie's starting!"

  "Just some old thing," Katie said, glancing over her shoulder.

  "Some old thing!
That's blasphemy! It's An Affair to Remember! Don't tell me you've never seen it."

  "Naw, I don't think so."

  "Then sit down right now. You can't grow up until you've watched it. You'll love it. Believe me."

  Katie and Denise exchanged quick looks that said, Mothers. What can you do? and dutifully took their places side by side on the sofa.

  "Did I see some microwave popcorn in the kitchen?" Jane asked. "I'll fix us a bunch. And find a box of tissues. You'll need them before it's over."

  Two hours later, they all stumbled to bed, weeping happily.

  Saturday morning, Jane called Shelley, "I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "No. I was debating about when to call you," Shelley replied.

  "How'd your dinner go?"

  "Lovely. Tenny arranged it all and the food was fantastic. I called around, trying to find you about nine last night. Where were you?"

  "Oh… here and there. Want to come over? I've got lots to tell you. Did you know Mrs. Schmidtheiser died last night?"

  "No! Oh, how awful. Poor thing. What was it? A heart attack?"

  "Maybe so. Maybe not."

  "Jane! What do you mean by that?"

  "I'll tell you all about it when you get here. Give me about twenty minutes. The girls are going to try skiing, and I told them I'd go over to the bunny slope with them and make sure they had everything they need. Like money, I suspect."

  Jane was slightly delayed by Willard. The green-eyed white cat had made another casual appearance on the deck, and this time Willard saw it and went berserk. When she took him outside a few minutes later, he was determined to find the cat and, as he was on a leash, dragged Jane all over the woods before she managed to haul him back inside. But she and the girls finally got on their way.

  It had snowed again overnight, and there hadn't been enough skiers yet to mess up the pristine sweep of the slope. A few hearty souls had already trudged up the hill, making a sloppy herringbone pattern with their skis and wobbling tracks coming back down. The three instructors were helping others get ready to ski. Jane sat down on a bench at the bottom of the slope and waited patiently as the instructor showed the girls how the skis attached to their boots, demonstrated a few basics, and sent them up the hill.