An Old Faithful Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Surprised me, too, but Chad said that C.J. and his grandfather had a big fight last night.…”

  “That might explain it. Nobody likes to think that their last words to someone were harsh.”

  “And it’s not just that the man’s dead, but that he was killed,” Jed added.

  “I wonder if it took more than one blow to kill him.”

  “Getting a little ghoulish now, aren’t you?” Jed took his wife’s hand.

  “It seems to me that it could make a very real difference.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a different type of crime if someone got mad and smacked him over the head with a convenient shovel, or if someone snuck up behind him and pounded him until he was dead.”

  “Maybe.” Her husband sounded doubtful.

  “One, of course, would probably be premeditated,” Susan muttered. Jed smiled. He knew his wife had been reading a lot of mystery novels recently. “Although just heaving the murder weapon into the woods seems rather unplanned—to say the least. You know, I wonder why he walked there.”

  “You noticed the lack of ski equipment,” her husband said.

  Susan nodded. “And I’ve been thinking that somebody should probably search the woods and the trails nearby—and check out all the new tracks in the snow.”

  “True,” Jed agreed, thinking that the influx of rangers, lodge employees, and curious tourists had probably obscured any unusual ski tracks in the area long before now.

  “And I wonder who the people investigating will be. The local police seem unlikely.”

  “Maybe federal marshals. After all, national parks are on federal land.”

  “That’s an interesting thought, but I’m pretty sure some of the rangers have police powers. I know Marnie does.”

  “Was she there?”

  “I don’t know. I should have noticed.” Susan paused. “They really tried to keep us away, didn’t they?” She thought back to the way her family and all of the Ericksens, with the exception of Carlton, who would have been impossible to contain, had been ordered, by a very young man, back to the area where they had eaten their lunch. Susan, in fact, had found her lunch box and sat down and consumed most of her sandwich. It was frozen, but she was so starved, it hadn’t mattered. “I wonder why.”

  “It could have had nothing to do with the murder. They may merely have been trying to protect the area surrounding the geyser. All those people trampling around were certainly doing some damage.…”

  “But it’s murder,” Susan protested. “That’s more important than some tracks.…”

  “In the first place, they weren’t sure it was a murder when they arrived—no matter what they think now. And remember, protecting geysers is their job.” Jed made his point and was silent.

  Susan, too, held her tongue. She was thinking over the morning, trying to remember exactly what had happened and who was where. It had all been very confusing. Some time after Carlton and Joyce had arrived and some time before Joyce and one of the rangers had gotten into the back of a snowmobile and ridden off with C.J. and Heather, the rest of the Ericksen family had appeared. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how they were grouped and in what order.

  She was so accustomed to thinking of the family as a group.…

  The problem was that they had arrived together—almost. She seemed to remember that the two women, Jane and Charlotte, had appeared before Darcy. And she might be right about that, but what about Phyllis? Had she been with Darcy? Unless she had skied out to Old Faithful alone. Or, possibly, all five had left the lodge together, and their order of arrival was only a result of their skiing ability. And where was Randy?

  “Tired? Want to skip dinner?”

  “Do you think George was hiking alone?” Susan asked her question without bothering to answer his.

  “We haven’t seen many people hiking alo—”

  “He was alone yesterday when I fell down, though, so maybe he liked to be alone,” Susan muttered.

  “You’re ignoring me,” her husband announced. “And I’m getting hungry,” he added.

  “I should write all this down.” Susan continued to talk and to ignore him.

  Jed motioned to the waitress. Certainly they would serve some sort of munchies here.

  “Good thinking.” Susan applauded his action. “She’ll be able to get us some paper,” she added, and asked the girl to do just that.

  “And a menu,” Jed suggested before she could rush off.

  “A menu? That’s great. I’m always hungry here,” Susan said.

  “You want paper and a menu?” the girl asked, appearing to think they might continue to add items to the list.

  “Exactly.”

  “No, we just want a menu,” Jed said. “I’ll go out to the gift shop and buy a notebook.”

  “That’s an even better idea,” Susan approved. “We’ll probably need a notebook before this is over.”

  “We don’t usually serve sandwiches this late in the evening,” the waitress commented, handing Susan the stiff cardboard.

  Susan glanced at the list of appetizers and ordered a hefty assortment.

  “You’ve been skiing,” the waitress discovered.

  “Yes, how—” Susan began, her thoughts leaving the murder, and now looking for a clue to the girl’s perception.

  “Because you’re starving. Nothing makes you hungrier than skiing.”

  “But you don’t gain any weight because of all the exercise, right?”

  “I’ve gained twelve pounds in the last two months, and I ski at least ten miles a day,” the girl replied, leaving to get their order.

  Susan had stopped thinking about that comment and had her Ericksens in order before Jed’s return. “Just let me write this down and then we can talk,” she insisted, grabbing the notebook from his hand and making her list. “There,” she finished, writing Phyllis and circling it with a flourish. “Because I don’t have any idea when she arrived or who she was with,” she explained. “But I think I have everyone else in order. Let me show you; maybe you remember something differently.… Jed?” He wasn’t paying attention. “Jed,” she repeated.

  “Sorry, Sue. I was thinking about something else.” He leaned across the table to his wife and lowered his voice. “Has it occurred to you that the only person in the Ericksen family who is reacting to this situation normally is Heather?”

  “No one else is upset?” Susan thought back to the shocked looks on the faces of the family as, one by one, they were informed of their patriarch’s death. “Shocked, but not sad.” She said her thoughts aloud.

  “Exactly.”

  “But that might not be all that unusual. Maybe shock is the normal first reaction. Maybe sadness and all the feelings of loss come later.”

  “That might be true, except …”

  “ ‘Except’?” Susan repeated.

  “Except that I saw Jane and Charlotte in the gift shop just now, and they were giggling.”

  “Giggling?”

  “Laughing, actually.” He leaned even closer. “They were standing in the corner of the gift shop where those cards with the captions on the photographs of bears—”

  “The ones that Chad thought were so funny?” Last night Susan had found her son laughing hysterically at a photo of a bear eating a picnic lunch.

  “Exactly. Anyway, Charlotte and Jane were laughing rather more than you would expect of two young women whose father had just been killed.”

  Susan was silent, thinking about this. “People react differently to tragic events.”

  “They were laughing at the cards that showed the bears with skis superimposed on their feet—at jokes about skiing accidents.”

  “Those cards are pretty funny. And I suppose it could be a shocked reaction.”

  “But—”

  “Mrs. Henshaw—Susan—my mother would like to speak to you.”

  “She …” Susan looked up into the earnest eyes of Darcy Ericksen, eyes filled with tears and
rimmed in red.

  “She would like to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Right away.” Susan stood up, and took the young man’s hands as tears ran down his cheeks.

  FOURTEEN

  She followed the boy through the long hallways of the lodge to a room on the second floor where, after knocking on the door and calling out, “Mother,” he left her. Susan waited for the door to open. And when it did, she was surprised by his mother’s appearance. Phyllis seemed in better control than her son.

  “Mrs. Henshaw—Susan, I’m so glad you could come” were the woman’s first words. Susan felt as if she’d been invited to have tea with a community group, rather than this … this what? she wondered. Exactly why was she here? But the tea party was beginning; if she wanted to discover any answers, she’d better pay attention.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Phyllis pointed to one of the twin beds in the small room.

  Susan sat, wondering if she was sitting where George Ericksen had spent the last night of his life.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  Susan, surprised, glanced in the direction Phyllis had pointed. She was even more surprised to find that the top shelf of the wardrobe had been converted to a small bar. In addition to a dozen heavy hand-blown glasses, Susan counted six bottles: two of expensive Scotch, one each of bonded bourbon, Myers rum, cognac, and a brand of liquor that she had thought was available only on one or two Caribbean islands. Back in their own room, she and Jed reserved that particular shelf for dirty laundry.

  “My husband believed in maintaining certain standards in his life. Even in the wilderness, there can be civilization, he used to say.”

  Susan had visions of British aristocrats drinking tea from porcelain cups off damask linens in Kenya at the turn of the century. It didn’t seem an apt analogy. “Of course,” she agreed vaguely. “But I just had a drink with Jed, thank you. How can I help?” she asked, noticing that Phyllis didn’t get anything for herself, nor was there a poured drink anywhere in the room. “Your son didn’t explain.…” she continued. This time the vagueness was intentional. Maybe Phyllis just didn’t want to be alone after this tragedy, maybe there were some chores (clothing to pack up? phone calls to make?) with which she needed help.

  “We’re going to stay at the lodge until the storm everyone is talking about has come and gone. I’ve spoken with the rangers, and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to leave right now. And I think George would have wanted us to give Heather and C.J. some pleasure.” She wiped a tear from her eye and fell silent.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Susan said, more to fill the silence than because of any personal conviction. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wondered,” Phyllis began, “if you would tell me exactly what happened at Old Faithful today. I know I could ask Heather or C.J., but they’re so young, and they certainly wouldn’t be as accurate as you. Besides, they’re really just children and they’ve been through so much stress already.…”

  “Of course,” Susan agreed. “You want to know what I saw?”

  “Exactly. ‘What you saw,’ as you put it.” Phyllis smiled encouragingly.

  Susan felt as if she was being asked for “the facts, ma’am, just the facts,” and she felt a little foolish trying to comply. She started with Heather’s announcement of her grandfather’s death, and ended with Phyllis’s appearance. It wasn’t an easy story to tell, but she did it slowly and carefully. It took almost half an hour, and when she was done, she wished she hadn’t been so hasty in refusing a drink. Her throat was dry and her head ached.

  Phyllis had leaned back against the headboard of the bed and closed her eyes for the last half of Susan’s recital. At times, Susan noticed, the other woman had pressed her lips together tightly. Otherwise, there had been no movement, no response. After a few moments of silence, Susan sighed loudly. Phyllis opened her eyes wide, and she smiled gently.

  “You’re very observant.”

  Susan didn’t know what to say, and Phyllis spoke before she had a chance to think of something.

  “My grandson tells me that you’re famous for solving crimes in your hometown in Connecticut.”

  Susan glowed slightly. Was it possible that Chad had been bragging about her? Was it possible that he found her something more than an embarrassment?

  “I wonder if you could see your way to helping us? If you could help solve this crime?”

  “I … I’m on vacation. And there will be other people … professional …” Susan protested, flattered but confused. “I really …” She struggled to put her thoughts in order. “I don’t think this is anything I can do. I don’t see how I can help you,” she ended weakly.

  “You could help. You could talk to whoever investigates this. You could just keep your eyes open, couldn’t you?”

  It flashed through Susan’s mind that this woman had been reading the same mysteries she had. She glanced at the table between the two beds. The available literature was certainly more elevating than Agatha Christie. There were a few current books on the environment, a gigantic tome on thermal activity, and a bestselling scientific/philosophical work. Susan knew many people who had bought this book, herself included; she didn’t know anyone who had actually finished reading it.

  “I would be so grateful to you—our whole family would,” Phyllis continued, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Not that we’d expect you to ruin your vacation or anything. If you could just help us …”

  “Well, of course, anything I can do …” Susan’s voice dwindled. She should hire someone to follow her around and hit her over the head every time she made this particular statement. Then maybe she’d learn. “How stupid am I? Let me count the ways?” she muttered to herself.

  “Excuse me?” Phyllis Ericksen seemed startled by this lyrical outburst.

  “I’m sorry. I—” She was saved from inventing an explanation by a knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Charlotte had gotten over her giggles. The face that appeared in the open doorway had mascara dripping down its pale cheeks, lips licked so free of makeup that they looked almost white, and a nose worn red, presumably by the crumpled tissues Charlotte clasped in her hands.

  “Come in, my dear. Are you all alone? Where’s Jane?” Phyllis put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder and guided her to a chair. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. Let me get you something to drink.”

  “I’ll get it.” Susan jumped up, wanting to be useful. She wasn’t sure whether to leave or not. There was certainly no way for the other women to have any privacy in a room this size while she was present. She poured out a large brandy and handed it to Charlotte. “Maybe I should leave,” she suggested, nodding to accept the thanks Charlotte offered.

  “Well, I think …” Phyllis seemed not to know what to think. She looked intently at her daughter as she sipped the brandy.

  “Did she say she would help us, Mother?”

  Susan looked more intently at Charlotte this time. She appeared to be doing an Oliver Twist imitation, so humble and plaintive did her voice sound. This couldn’t be real. She felt a moment’s irritation that sparked an answer to their request. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes.” She spoke more quickly the second time. “I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Any way at all.”

  Phyllis Ericksen clasped both of Susan’s hands firmly in her own. “Thank you. I know what an imposition this is—what we’re asking of you—and I truly don’t know how to express my appreciation.”

  “Maybe if you talk to Marnie Mackay—the ranger who’s heading the investigation.” Charlotte’s appreciation appeared to be of a more practical nature.

  “I don’t think we have to tell Mrs. Henshaw what to do. She’s done this before, remember,” Phyllis admonished her daughter.

  “Of course,” Charlotte agreed quickly. “Thank you so much.” She fell into line with her mother’s spoken sentiments.

  It was time to end all this. “
I’d better get to work.” Susan stood up, remembering too late that her feet hurt. She flinched, determining to ignore the pain—in public at least. “And I will talk to Marnie as soon as possible; I think your daughter is right. That’s an excellent place to begin. But I had better get back to my room now. I want to make some notes … and things.” She ended more weakly than she had begun, but no one appeared to notice.

  “Wonderful. You’ll let us know what you come up with, won’t you?” Charlotte asked.

  “I think—”

  “Just go about this the way you would any one of your investigations.” Phyllis again appeared irritated by her daughter’s suggestion. “And please let us know how we can help. My husband would want the truth about his death to be known. He was a very honest man. In a way, your investigation will be a sort of memorial to him.”

  “I …” Susan was saved from making up a final polite comment when Phyllis pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her wool knickers and began to weep quietly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Susan promised, moving to the door.

  “This has been a terrible strain on Mother,” Charlotte said. “But I can’t thank you enough. The entire family appreciates it,” she added, almost pushing Susan from the room.

  Susan was left standing alone in the hallway, trying to reconcile the anguish Charlotte was apparently feeling over her father’s death and the conversation she had heard in the rest room yesterday. She walked, or rather limped, back to the bar where she had left Jed. He was sitting in the same place. The steaming mug in his hand was probably a different one.

  “How many of those have you had?”

  “It’s coffee,” he answered, standing up. “I’ve been trying to keep from falling asleep. Have you been with the Ericksens all this time?”

  “Yes. Did we miss our dinner reservations?”

  “Yes, but everything is a little topsy-turvy tonight, so we can go right in. The kids are in there already—telling Jerry and Kathleen about everything that happened today.”

  “C.J. and Heather?”

  “They’re eating in their rooms, according to Chrissy.”