by Mary Daheim
The police chief’s smile struck Judith as condescending. “In other words, your facilities here are primitive.” She flinched at the obvious sullenness in her manner.
“Not at all,” Penreddy replied mildly. “It’s true that we don’t have a coroner available, but otherwise, we’re very high-tech. Everything at Bugler has been created for the twenty-first century. Being a relatively new resort, we look strictly to the future, never to the past.” His smile was now faintly smug.
Stung by the implied reprimand, Judith got to her feet. “I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she mumbled. “I just thought that…since I knew Agnes Shay from…there might be some insight that would have gone unnoticed…”
Renie all but dragged Judith out of Bugler’s city hall. “Jeez, coz, you blew it!” Renie said frankly. “Penreddy’s smart, he’s on top of things, he’s doing his job. You’re going to have to butt out on this one.”
Angrily, Judith brushed off Renie’s comforting arm. “I feel like an idiot! The Bugler police force needs me like they need ringworm! I’ll bet Penreddy thinks I’m some kind of meddling foreign nutcase!”
The cousins drove back up Fiddler Mountain in silence. Judith struggled to quiet her anger with herself. On the surface, it would appear that a small resort town a hundred miles from civilization wouldn’t have the resources to handle a high-powered homicide investigation. But Bugler had been built for tourists, especially those who played in the international leagues. The town would have the best of everything, even when it came to crime. In different places, at other times, Judith knew she had been lucky. She had matched wits against incompetents; she had possessed an intuitive understanding of people; she had been the repository of confidences.
But in Bugler, she had discovered a professional police chief who presumably had capable underlings. Rhys Penreddy could also call on up-to-date technology. And, Judith knew from her previous adventures in Canada, the local force could ask for assistance from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Judith felt like a fifth wheel, and a foreign make at that.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced after the cousins entered their lavish condo a few minutes before midnight. “It’s been a long day.”
Renie didn’t argue. Ten minutes later, they had each retreated to their separate bedrooms. Judith lay down on the comfortable king-sized bed and opened the romantic suspense novel she’d brought along for escapist reading.
But there was no escape from reality. Judith got out of bed and went over to her suitcase. Unzipping the side pocket, she removed the ledger and the handful of bills. Propping herself up in bed, she checked out the unpaid water, light, cable, and newspaper invoices. As always, light and water were huge expenditures. There was no way to cut down on either, unless she started posting annoying little messages asking guests to conserve. Many B&Bs did just that. Judith looked askance at such policies. Her guests came to Hillside Manor to enjoy themselves. They shouldn’t be treated like irresponsible children, which, in fact, was how some of them behaved. Like the Chatsworth party. Irked at the memory, she tore open the gas bill. It was mercifully low, since she hadn’t turned the heat on for over three months.
The phone bill was another matter. Judith’s head reeled as she saw a balance of almost four hundred dollars. Calling back out-of-area guests always brought her monthly charges in at around a hundred, but quadrupling that amount was outrageous. It must be a mistake. She flipped through what seemed like the endless pages of the bill to discover the error.
There were calls to Bangkok, Paris, Geneva, Yokohama, Hong Kong, New York, Sydney, Los Angeles, and other cities Judith had seen only in her dreams. Or, in this case, nightmares. She scanned the dates: All of the expensive long-distance charges had been compiled over a three-day period which coincided with the Chatsworth party’s stay at Hillside Manor. In fact, the cutoff date of the bill was the very day that Dagmar and company had checked out. Judith was furious. No wonder she and Joe had heard foreign accents on the other end of the line! Dagmar—or Agnes or Freddy—had been making round-the-world toll calls.
Angrily, Judith bundled up the bills, jammed them inside the ledger, and tossed everything into her open suitcase. She’d deal with her accounting tomorrow. She’d also have to deal with Dagmar. The timing was terrible, given the recent tragedy, but guests were not allowed to charge long-distance calls to the Hillside Manor number. Judith refused to get stuck for three hundred dollars she hadn’t spent.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she peered out through the window that overlooked the inner courtyard. Some of the condos had kept their porch lights on. At least one of those belonged to the Chatsworth party. But otherwise, the complex was dark. Judith wondered if Dagmar was asleep, or if she was still suffering guilt pangs over Agnes Shay’s demise. One thing was certain, Judith thought while gritting her teeth—Dagmar wasn’t worrying about Hillside Manor’s big phone bill.
Judith was about to lie back down in bed when the gate that led to the road swung open. A small figure reeled across the courtyard, then stumbled to the third door down on the opposite side of the complex. Several moments passed before the door was opened. Judith couldn’t see who was inside, but she knew that the unsteady newcomer was Freddy Whoa.
Ordinarily, Judith was cheerful in the morning. She had to be, with a dining room full of guests awaiting breakfast at Hillside Manor. But on this particular clear, sunny Tuesday in the coffee shop of the Bugler Village Inn, Judith was glum. Renie, who normally didn’t shift into full gear until about ten o’clock, was forced to coax a smile out of her cousin.
“Look—pancakes, pan-fried trout, waffles, farm-fresh eggs, kippers, ham, English muffins, lamb kidneys. These are a few of my favorite things. What’ll you have?”
Judith didn’t even look at Renie. Nor did she consult the menu. “Coffee and toast. I’m not hungry.” Her forlorn gaze stared vacantly at a mural that featured athletic men and women performing all manner of outdoor endeavors from windsurfing to white-water rafting. “Besides, you know I hate lamb kidneys,” she finally added. “How can you eat internal organs, especially from a sweet little animal?”
Renie smiled in a faintly evil way. “Easy. I imagine that the lamb who gave up his kidneys was the black sheep of the family.” Failing to get so much as a smirk from Judith, Renie slapped the menu down on the table. “Okay, you’re pissed off because Rhys Penreddy didn’t invite you to hop on the police parade float. Big deal. Are you going to let that spoil our stay at Bugler? I didn’t understand that we had come here merely to solve a crime. I sort of thought we made the trip to relax and enjoy ourselves. If I felt that the only way you could have a good time was by finding a dead body, I’d have strangled Ginger at Chez Steve’s Salon for giving me this stupid haircut, and saved us a four-hour drive from Heraldsgate Hill.”
Renie’s diatribe had finally captured Judith’s attention. The cousins both had their hair done at Chez Steve on Heraldsgate Hill. Judith went to Steve; Renie was a client of his wife, Ginger.
“Ginger did that to you? I thought you liked each other.”
Relieved that Judith was returning to normal, Renie raked a hand through her thick, straight chestnut mane. “It wasn’t her fault. Bill saw a picture in a magazine that he thought would look good on me. I said I’d try it, but Ginger warned me that the model didn’t have as much hair as I do. Plus, she probably combed it once in a while.”
“Probably.” Judith’s tone was dry. Renie was, as Judith secretly phrased it, hair-impaired. She had no knack for styling and not enough patience even to try. “Hasn’t Bill figured out that this isn’t you?”
Renie’s face was genuinely puzzled. “No. He hasn’t said a word. I’ve been waiting now for almost three weeks.”
Judith had to admire Renie’s wifely courage. And patience. She also felt compelled to tell her cousin about the huge phone bill. Renie’s reaction was mixed.
“You brought work with you? What kind of getaway is that?”
Judith assumed an
appropriately shamefaced countenance. “I thought distance would give me perspective. It would have, too, only now it turns out that my problem is long distance. How do I confront Dagmar?”
“Simple,” Renie replied. “Present her with the bill. If she doesn’t pay it, put it on her bank card. You’ve got the number, I assume?”
Judith did. She brightened at her cousin’s suggestion. “That would be more tactful in this instance. I really feel awkward bringing it up now that Agnes is dead. What if she was the one who made the calls? On Dagmar’s behalf, of course.”
The waitress came to take their order. Renie went for the French toast, scrambled eggs, lamb kidneys, coffee, and tomato juice. Judith’s spirits had picked up sufficiently so that she could allow herself the luxury of blueberry pancakes, pan-fried trout, orange juice, and coffee. Indeed, as the waitress departed, Judith showed signs of elation.
“Look!” she exclaimed, keeping her voice down and nodding to her right. “There’s the kid from the lift shack. He’s by himself and just sat down. Let’s ask him to join us. We’ll treat.”
Renie looked dubious, but Judith was already on her feet. A minute later, she was back at the table, the young man in tow.
“This is Wayne Stafford,” she announced, signaling to their waitress. “He’s from Penticton.”
Wayne also appeared to be suffering from hunger. Hurriedly, he ordered waffles, two eggs sunny-side up, a slab of ham, four sausages, a large glass of apple juice, and milk.
“This is really nice of you,” Wayne declared, his fresh face glowing with pleasure. “Now, what was it you said about True Crime?”
Judith avoided Renie’s stony gaze. “Ahhh…I said that my cousin and I were interested in True Crime articles. Serena—Mrs. Jones—is a graphic designer who works with a number of publications in the States. And I’m…involved with police work. My husband’s a homicide detective.” Having spoken a word or two of truth, Judith smiled and relaxed.
Wayne nodded slowly. “I see. I think. You wanted to ask about the woman on the lift last night?”
“That’s right.” Now Judith was definitely her usual vibrant self. It was Renie’s turn to stare off into space. “We noticed that the police questioned you,” Judith went on. “Were they already suspicious?”
Wayne Stafford wasn’t the glib sort who provided pat answers. He fingered his dimpled chin and considered. “Suspicious? Yeah, I guess. That’s probably because the lady was dead.”
“Right,” Judith said in an encouraging voice; then suddenly she frowned. “You mean she was dead when she got to the bottom of the mountain?”
Wayne nodded again. “The chair stopped, like it always does, but she didn’t get out. The lift here on Fiddler is very high-tech, operating not only on the opening and closing of the safety bar, but on a weight factor that determines if the chair is occupied. When somebody gets on or off the lift at either end, it automatically starts up again. But this time nothing happened. Now, sometimes kids do weird stuff, especially in the summer when they aren’t carrying skis. You’d really be surprised at the stunts they pull.” Wayne looked very serious, as if his own mischief-making years were a millennium behind him. “They jump off when they get near the ground or clown around and try to rock the chairs. Then there are the people who are nervous about jumping down or have trouble with the safety bar, or whatever. I have to leave the shack and help them.”
Wayne stopped speaking as the waitress poured coffee for the cousins. “I saw this lady just sitting there, sort of slumped down, and I thought maybe she was sick,” he continued. “I went over to her and asked what was wrong. She didn’t say anything. I figured she’d passed out.” Wayne’s youthful face grew disturbed. “I gave her a little shake, and there wasn’t any kind of reaction. I undid the bar and she just sort of fell on top of me. I kind of dragged her over by the shack. The lift started up again. Then I hurried inside the shack and called the emergency number. Sometimes we get people who are scared of riding the lift or have hurt themselves up on the mountain and need help. I thought maybe the lady had passed out from fright. You know—she fainted, or something.”
Judith nodded with understanding. “You’ve got a lot of responsibility, Wayne. Do you do this year-round?”
Wayne shook his head. “Oh, no. Only in the summer. I go to university in Port Royal the rest of the time.”
Juice and milk arrived next. Renie decided to join the discussion. “Did you think she was dead when you called the emergency personnel?”
Wayne’s long face became even more troubled. “I didn’t know. I’d never seen a dead person before. But I knew something was really wrong. People started to come over and see what was happening.” His expression turned rueful. “Having somebody lying on the ground will do that, I guess.”
“It’s a grabber,” Renie allowed.
“It seemed like forever before the ambulance and the police and the rest of them got there,” Wayne said, his hazel eyes faintly misted. “I felt like I was in a daze, or something. Some other lady came running up to me, but Ivor—he’s the security guy who works the lift area—told her to back off. I thought I heard her say she knew the woman who was on the lift.”
Judith hesitated, then asked if the new arrival was a good-looking blonde. Wayne said she was, though sort of old. Judith winced. Tessa Kreager was still in her thirties, but Wayne perceived her as getting up there. The young man probably regarded the cousins as at Death’s Door.
Breakfast was served. Wayne stared at Renie’s lamb kidneys. “What’s that?” he asked in a horrified voice.
Renie glowered at their guest. “Kidneys. Your name’s Stafford, right? You must be of English ancestry. So are we. My grandfather Grover taught me to love and admire lamb kidneys. They’re quite a treat.” She popped half a kidney in her mouth and sighed with ecstasy.
Wayne looked appalled. He turned to Judith, who was wearing an ironic expression. “Ignore her,” Judith urged. “She also eats bat wings and bird beaks.”
“Do not,” countered Renie with her mouth full.
Judith paid no heed to her cousin. “So what happened after the emergency personnel arrived?”
Wayne didn’t answer until he’d finished pouring maple syrup on his waffles. “I sort of stayed in the background. But then I heard somebody say that the lady was dead. The police came over and started asking me questions. I told them just about the same thing I’m telling you. Except maybe I was sort of incoherent last night.”
“No wonder,” Judith remarked. There was a silence while the trio ate and, presumably, engaged in deep thought. “Tell me,” Judith said to Wayne at last, “did you see anything unusual? Like at the top or bottom of the lift?”
The question seemed to catch Wayne off guard. “No,” he answered in a deliberate manner. “No, everything was normal. Of course, I was studying. I’m in the prelaw program.”
Judith recalled the scene: Darkness was settling in, with the lightning storm blazing across the sky. Quite a few diners had left the restaurant at roughly the same time, including the cousins and the Chatsworth party. That was natural, since so many of the customers had arrived at Crest House right around seven o’clock. Meanwhile, down below in the lift shack, Wayne Stafford was absorbed in his textbook. His routine was broken only by visitors like Judith and Renie who came to the window to ask if they needed to pay for the ride up the mountain. Or, Judith thought with a pang, Wayne’s studies were also disrupted when a dead woman’s arrival at the bottom brought the lift to a jarring halt.
“By any chance,” Judith inquired with a self-deprecating smile, “do you recall the people who got off the lift just before or after Ms. Shay?”
“Shay?” Wayne’s face puckered slightly. “Was that her name? No one told me. After the police showed up, I had to keep out of the way, too.” He paused, cutting up a sausage. “Gee, I honestly wasn’t paying much attention. Nobody was right behind her. That’s not unusual. But I think there was an older man about two chairs back. He
got real impatient when the lift stopped and yelled at me, in English and French. I don’t remember who was behind him. I was too busy trying to cope with the dead lady.” Again Wayne hesitated. “Before she got down—I don’t know. I looked up when the lift stopped. Near the shack, I think there was a tall guy in kind of a hurry, and a couple holding hands, all wrapped up in each other. Oh, and a kid in a baseball cap who was doing the hip-hop thing. I suppose maybe he was plugged into a Walkman. But I don’t know if any of them came off the lift.” Wayne’s expression was apologetic.
Judith smiled again, this time in reassurance. “That’s okay, Wayne. There’s no reason why you should have noticed anybody. I don’t suppose you’ve heard any news about the autopsy?”
Wayne hadn’t, and judging from his shudder, he didn’t care to, at least not while he was eating. The cousins changed the subject, asking about Wayne’s upbringing in Penticton, his choice of law as a career, and his less gruesome experiences at Bugler. He explained that this was his second summer at the resort, and while his job was boring, it gave him time to study. His original desire to become an attorney sprang from his favorite TV show, “L.A. Law.” But since starting college two years earlier, he had realized that being a lawyer wasn’t all glamour and glitz.
“Lawyers get a lot of criticism,” Wayne said in a serious voice, polishing off his ham. “It’s not fair. They help people. They fight for justice. They’re the bulwark of democracy, and where would we be without them? If it weren’t for lawyers, this country wouldn’t be a land of opportunity, freedom, and equality. Regardless of race, religion, or national origin, every man, woman, and child is equal under the law.”
Judith was stirred by Wayne’s honest, if youthfully naive, speech. She felt like standing up and singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
And then she remembered that she was in Canada.
“Gosh,” Renie exclaimed in mock surprise as they wandered into the village square, “how often do we get to spend forty bucks on breakfast? What do we do for lunch, graze in the Alpine meadows?”