From Here to Paternity jj-6

by Jill Churchill

  "I'd be happy to," Shelley said. "I'll be speaking to him later today when he gets home."

  It had been Jane's turn to keep quiet, and she'd been using the time to wolf down two of the little sandwich triangles, but she had a question bubbling up — well, two questions really, though asking for the recipe for the sandwich filling could wait. "Tenny, do you think other people knew about your aunt's attitude? That she didn't want to move away?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "I was just thinking it might have something to do with your uncle's death."

  "You mean somebody killed him to keep the resort from being sold?"

  "Something like that."

  Tenny thought for a minute. "I'm not sure. Pete should have known, if he ever paid attention to what other people think, but he doesn't. If it doesn't directly concern him, it just doesn't seem to register. And I suppose all her old friends must have known."

  "Friends in the tribe?"

  "Uh-huh. Mostly."

  "Friends who might have told HawkHunter?"

  Tenny and Shelley both looked at her questioningly.

  "Do you mean you suspect HawkHunter of killing my uncle?" Tenny asked.

  "Not really. I was just thinking out loud. The fact is, somebody killed your uncle. And it could have been almost anyone."

  "But if he was killed out in those woods, it really could have been anyone at all. Some passing maniac," Tenny said. "Somebody who didn't even know him."

  "But how likely is that?" Jane asked. "We're hardly in the middle of an urban center. If he died near where he was found, it was a long way from the road. Your passing maniac would have to park the car, go around behind the resort, walk halfway up a long hill—"

  "My God!" Tenny said. "I guess you're right. I just haven't had the time or wits to think this out properly. There aren't people casually passing by out there. Only guests and employees and people from the tribe."

  And the mysterious skier, Jane said to herself. Then, to them: "The mysterious skier!"

  "What are you talking about?" Tenny asked.

  "I've seen him a couple times. Shelley, you saw him this morning, remember?"

  "I have no idea what you're going on about," Shelley said bluntly.

  "It's somebody I've seen on that slope a few times. No, not on the slope. At the top of the hill a couple times and once coming through the woods. This person, I think it's a man, or maybe a very tall woman, looked like a nature nut. Binoculars, cameras, a notepad. A couple times I've seen him stop and take pictures or look over the resort."

  "So you're casting this mystery person as the murderer?" Shelley asked.

  "No, not necessarily. But as a possible witness."

  "Oh," Shelley said softly. "You could be right. You should tell the sheriff."

  "I think I'll mention it to Mel. I've talked quite enough to that sheriff for my lifetime."

  "Thanks for making me sit down and eat, and thanks even more for letting me talk," Tenny said, folding her napkin. "I really should get back and see how Aunt Joanna is doing."

  "Tenny, feel free to drop in on us anytime you want to get away from everything," Shelley said. "And I'll pass what we talked about on to Paul as soon as I hear from him."

  "You know," Tenny mused, "it's been really therapeutic to talk to someone who didn't know Uncle Bill well and can speak calmly and listen dispassionately. Thanks again for letting me bend your ears." She signaled to the waiter, signed the tab with the notation "House Acct — TG," and left.

  "Jane, gulp down the last of your coffee and let's go watch for the kids out in front," Shelley said.

  "Did you get her to tell you about the fistfight?"

  "Yes, but I'd rather scoop up the kids and go back to our cabin to talk."

  Chapter 15

  Shelley and Jane sat down on one of the benches flanking the front doors. It was a sunny afternoon and the benches were warm. Although the women were surrounded by snow, the spot was protected by the wind and was surprisingly comfortable.

  "Tell me what Tenny said about the fight," Jane said, as there was nobody else near them at the moment.

  "Tenny said she'd come up here to get some paperwork her aunt had asked for and to tactfully avoid being around while the lawyer was visiting. I'm not sure how much of this was from what she actually saw and how much is what people told her. There were a handful of people waiting for the shuttle. Right here, I assume. Pete and HawkHunter ran into each other — Pete coming out, HawkHunter going in. They talked for a few minutes, then their voices got louder and angrier, and suddenly Pete threw a punch that caught HawkHunter right in the chops. Pete spun around and walked off before HawkHunter could even get up. A couple of the people waiting for the shuttle helped him to his feet and tried to tend to his injuries, but he refused — quite nastily, I believe — to let anyone do anything for him. Some talk about the patronizing charity of whites. He stomped off in the other direction. That's the gist of it."

  "Was he hurt badly?"

  Shelley shook her head. "Apparently not. Dr. Lucke was out here and told Tenny that HawkHunter had a tooth knocked out and a bloody lip and that was about all. Dr. Lucke offered to take a look and recommended immediate treatment — well, he is a dentist, after all — but HawkHunter brushed him off and wouldn't even let him look at his mouth."

  "What did the argument sound like it was about?"

  A family, all togged out in matching ski outfits and looking like a set of Russian nesting dolls, was approaching so Shelley fell silent until they'd passed with the sort of cheerful greetings people normally employ only while on vacation.

  When they'd gone inside, she answered. "Tenny said it was an all-purpose slanging match. HawkHunter said something critical of Bill, and Pete said couldn't the family be left alone to grieve in peace, and HawkHunter said something about respecting the Indian dead, and Pete said something else about his uncle dying so recently. Then HawkHunter launched into a tirade about the racism of it all."

  "Huh?"

  "That all the Indian dead on the top of the hill didn't matter so long as the greedy white man got his money. That members of the tribe had been living and dying here for centuries before Bill and his kind came to rape the land, and what was one more dead white man?"

  "My gosh, I think I'd have taken a swing at him, too! Even if he's right, it was the wrong time to go on about it."

  "Yeah, you can't help but sympathize with Pete."

  "Still—"

  "What are you thinking?" Shelley asked.

  "I guess I'm really getting cynical, but my first thought was that the argument might have been staged. And because they're both rather emotional, it just got out of hand."

  "Why would they stage it?"

  "I don't know exactly. But look at it this way: HawkHunter was giving Bill Smith a lot of grief. Demonstrating in front of the hotel. Trying to scare off the investors. And remember yesterday morning, how upset Pete was when we met him? That was when the demonstration was going on. Then last night at dinner, there were Pete and HawkHunter, chummy as could be, eating together. Then Bill's found dead today and they're back to being enemies. There's something weird about it all."

  "You could be right, of course. But it's also possible that Pete is genuinely unraveled by his uncle's death. Tenny said he was already quite upset about Doris, who was only an acquaintance. And then to have his uncle not only die, but be murdered? That's enough to make anybody damned touchy."

  "Especially if he's afraid of being found to have caused one or both deaths," Jane said.

  "Do you really think so?" Shelley asked.

  Jane shrugged. "I have no idea. I only know that I had nothing to do with either one and there's a dim-bulb good-ol'-boy sheriff who would dearly love to blame it on me. Even if Doris's death is questionable, Bill Smith was clearly murdered and somebody did it. Somebody other than me!"

  "But you know we keep coming back to Pete because he's not very likable. It's always easier to believe the worst about someone who
's a jerk to begin with."

  "True enough, but that's not the only reason. He's obviously playing some complex game of his own, genuinely upset with HawkHunter and the tribe in the morning, palling around with him by the same evening."

  "Now, Jane, be fair. He doesn't strike me as a rocket-scientist-caliber brain, but he might have really been trying, in his own way, to represent his uncle's best interests. And for that matter, we don't even know that he's as stupid as he looks. It's entirely possible to look like an overage surfer and still have an I.Q. higher than a kitchen appliance."

  Jane laughed. "Tenny doesn't seem to think so."

  "But we don't really know Tenny. We never met her until yesterday."

  "True," Jane admitted. "Though I sure wouldn't want to have any reason to think badly of her. I really like her."

  "She could have some agenda of her own. Jealousy, maybe. We've made most of our judgments about Pete based on things she's said about him. She could be a pathological liar for all we know."

  "I'd hate to think so."

  "So would I, because I really like her, too, and I'm inordinately proud of my ability to sum people up accurately. But anything's possible."

  They could hear the shuttle bus coming up the last hill and were pleased to see Mike get off it. "Where are the girls, do you know?" Jane asked him.

  "They'll probably be on the next bus. They were waiting at the stop with me, but there was something wrong with something they bought and they went back to exchange it."

  "Did you have fun skiing today?" Jane asked.

  "Yeah, it was okay. But I think I've had enough. I'm tired and sore."

  "I'm sort of glad to hear that," Jane said. She explained to him briefly about the resort owner's mysterious death. "Somebody killed him, Mike."

  "That's awful!"

  "It is. Fortunately, it has nothing to do with us," she said, omitting any mention of her having found the body or the sheriff's apparent suspicions of her. "But the fact is, somebody around here is dangerous. I can't imagine that this person would take the slightest interest in any of us, but—"

  "You want me to keep a close eye on Todd and John, right?"

  Jane nodded. "I'm going to have my hands full making sure your sister and Denise aren't wandering around on their own."

  "The boys won't get out of my sight, Mom. Where are they now?"

  "Locked up in the cabin with Mel, who's probably heard enough Super Mario music to last him the rest of his life."

  "I'll go up there now. He's probably locked himself in a closet by now. I can just see it. Mel in a fetal position, humming Nintendo music and looking stoned."

  "Shelley, why don't you let Mike walk you back?" Jane said. "I'll wait for the girls."

  There wouldn't be another shuttle for fifteen minutes, so Jane used the time to run down to the gift shop. She bought the bowl she and Tenny had talked about, even though it was far more than she could afford and would be a challenge to pack. Then she ran to the tiny bookstore and inquired whether it had HawkHunter's book.

  "You mean the first one?" the elderly bookstore lady said.

  "I guess so. I didn't know he wrote another."

  "Oh, yes. The publisher tried to cash in on the success of I, HawkHunter and got him to write another. It was a dismal flop. Written too fast, with not much more to say. Just a careless rehash of the best-seller, really. Publishers never learn. It was remaindered about as fast as it was printed."

  "My, but you know a lot about it."

  "I had a chain of small independent bookstores in Denver back then. I retired up here and run this one just to keep my hand in. This is the last copy until I get another order," she added, taking a paperback copy from the rack to the left of the counter.

  "I'm surprised you carry his book here."

  "'Why is that?"

  "Well, he's not exactly a friend of the resort."

  "Oh, the Smiths wouldn't think of interfering in my stock. That's our agreement. And he is a celebrity. I don't think they care anyway. Half the people who have bought copies since yesterday thought the demonstration was some kind of free entertainment."

  Jane was back in her spot in front of the resort when the next shuttle arrived. She was relieved to see Katie and Denise on board, not least of all because she was no longer in the fading sunshine and it was getting uncomfortably cold. They got off the shuttle urging her to look at their purchases — a lot of hair paraphernalia, primarily. "Come on, girls, I want to go back to the cabin," Jane told them.

  "Were you waiting for us?" Katie asked suspiciously.

  "I'm afraid so. Let's go. I'll explain why on the way."

  Jane gave them an even more abbreviated version of what she'd told Mike. "Now, I don't want to frighten you. There's no need to be worried. As long as you're in our cabin with the doors locked or in the lodge, there's no question that you're entirely safe. And we're all probably safe anyplace else, too. But just to be real sure, I don't want you going back and forth without an adult."

  "Oh, Mom! We're not babies!" Katie said. But Jane recognized this as an obligatory whine. Much the teenage equivalent of the perfect housekeeper who automatically laments what a mess the house is when visitors come.

  "I guess you've been eating all afternoon?" she asked, to change the subject as they started up the road. "There's a dance here tonight, but it isn't until eight o'clock. I thought we might rest for a while, maybe nibble some of the stuff we've got at the cabin, then come down here for dinner."

  "What kind of dance?" Denise asked.

  "A line dance, the poster said. Whatever that is."

  The girls groaned in unison.

  "That bad?" Jane asked. "We'll give it a try anyhow. Nobody from home is around to know. And it might be fun. And there might be some interesting boys there."

  The girls considered this in silence for the rest of the way.

  Shelley was sound asleep when they got back. The girls disappeared into their own room and closed the door. Jane started a pot of coffee and tidied up the living room. While doing so, she discovered to her annoyance that she still had Doris Schmidtheiser's file folder. She'd have to remember to give it to Lucky, who could return it to Doris's family or offer it to a member of the Holnagrad Society who might want to continue her research. Jane sat down and took the papers out, mildly curious. They were still in a jumble, just as they had been when she'd picked them up and stuffed them in the folder. She sorted them into stacks of similar-looking documents.

  Most of it didn't make any sense at all to her. There were copies of old census reports which were interesting in a purely historical sense. She liked the look of the old-fashioned handwriting and found the sizes of the families on the sheets interesting, if appalling. Most of the families seemed to have a child every two years like clockwork. Here and there was a three-year gap, which Jane took to indicate a miscarriage or a stillborn baby. Many of the women were in their forties and still had an infant around, as well as children as old as the early twenties. Jane tried for a moment to imagine herself with a tiny baby and a couple more still to come, and shuddered at the thought.

  There were also a great many middle-aged spinsters and bachelors living with elderly parents, sometimes several in a family. It was hard to realize that marriage hadn't always been the norm. A man who couldn't support a family simply didn't marry. And a woman who never got a proposal had no alternative but to stay at home forever. Jane found herself studying these long-dead families and imagining their lives. It was surprising how much you could tell about a different way of life just from names, ages, and the other seemingly impersonal data on the forms. On one sheet, depicting a New York neighborhood at the turn of the century, not a single adult listed his or her place of birth as anywhere in the United States. On a single street there were Rileys, O'Callahans, Kolenskis, Kleinschmids, McSheas, Pfeiffers, and Joneses. What a rich jumble of languages one must have heard spoken along the sidewalks there!

  After a bit, Jane folded up the census repor
ts and put them in a pile, then began looking over the rest of the contents of the file. There were a lot of newspaper clippings, some originals protected in plastic sleeves, some photocopies. Most had to do with the Romanovs. One very old one was a small official portrait of Tsar Nicholas and a cousin Sergei not long before the Tsar had abdicated, according to the text of the article, which was from a London newspaper. Perhaps this man was the father of the Gregor Roman that Doris had followed. There was a much larger duplicate of this picture in the folder as well. It was also much clearer — apparently a copy of the actual photograph. On the back was a handwritten notation of where and when the photo had been taken, and the name of a person in Holnagrad. Presumably this was who had supplied it to Doris.

  Jane set the clippings on the pile as well. All the rest of the material was handwritten and typed notes. Many of these had to do with Gregory Smith of Colorado. One sheet, a handwritten one, was a sort of chart. It was labeled "Sheepshead Bay Court Records", with a long film number and three columns. Two names were starred with a red pen:

  *Roman G.

  Book B

  Page 16

  Dolman, T.

  Book B

  Page 601

  *Smith, N. D.

  Book D

  Page 493

  Smith, A. C.

  Book G

  Page 83

  Rutheven

  ,?

  Book M

  Page 500

  Wiley, J.

  Book O

  Page 4

  Aulkunder

  , J.

  Book Y

  Page 342

  Sellinger

  , Q

  Book Y

  Page 770

  Schellberger

  ,?

  Book Z

  Page 113

  Harmon, D.

  Book AA

  Page 612

  What on earth was this all about? Jane wondered. Were all these people somehow connected with Gregory Smith? At least in Doris's mind they must have been. The references must have to do with documents, but what kind of documents? The list would surely mean something to somebody who knew how to translate it.

  Satisfied that she'd tidied up the file, Jane slipped everything back into the folder and put it on the counter between the kitchen and the dining area. She must remember to give it to Lucky so that it could go to someone to whom it would mean something. She poured herself a cup of coffee, took it back to the living room, and stretched out on one of the sofas to skim through her new copy of I, HawkHunter.