An Old Faithful Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Fine. Maybe you can help me with a few facts. Who ate breakfast with your parents yesterday morning?”

  “I did. And Joyce, too, of course,” he answered, as she expected.

  “And did you talk about the ski trip?”

  “Yes, some. Although, actually, my father tried to keep the conversation focused on the ski trip, but my mother wanted to discuss Darcy.”

  “Darcy?”

  “Well, where Randy had gone and how Darcy was so devastated …” He stopped to think. “Of course, no one knew then that Randy was dead.”

  “Except for the person who killed him.”

  He looked at her, startled. “I guess you’re right. Unless he was killed later, after Father.”

  “It’s possible, but not likely,” Susan said, remembering the lump in the snow and thinking that she should check this out with whoever was acting as medical examiner. “Your mother was concerned about Darcy.” Susan returned to the subject.

  “Yes. I guess all the guests here knew how poorly my father and my youngest brother were getting along. And Darcy, of course, was on edge because Randy had apparently vanished the day before. And my father was still upset that Randy had even been brought to the reunion—although he didn’t appear terribly happy that Randy had left. My mother, I’m afraid, was caught between them.” He stopped a minute, hand on forehead. “It wasn’t an unusual dilemma for her. And I don’t think she ever got used to it. She’s always said that she could never stop caring enough to make living with either of them easy. She was very upset that morning,” he added. “Not as upset as she is now, of course, but truly distraught. She had looked forward to this reunion so much. I think the fact that it wasn’t going well was very painful for her.”

  “Did she and your father usually ski together?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t know about usually. They probably were together about half the time. Father enjoyed going off on his own. He said he felt a certain peace when he was alone in the wilderness. And my mother likes to ski fast, so she usually goes out with a group and then gets ahead and circles back. Actually, my mother is a much better skier than my father. When I was a child, I can remember her flying by the entire family, blond hair falling to her shoulders from under her ski hat. My father used to hate it. But they were both aware of safety, and they traveled together much of the time. I suppose it’s just unfortunate that they weren’t together that morning.”

  “They planned on skiing separately?”

  “Yes. Father was anxious to get going, and Mother urged him to go on without her. I think she probably wanted to check up on Darcy and didn’t want Father to know. He probably would have said she was worrying too much. They expected to meet at the east side of Old Faithful for lunch—near where Father was found, in fact.”

  “And you and Joyce?”

  “We skied with most everyone for a while. We started off with Darcy and my mother. But she got ahead almost before we left the lodge’s parking lot. And then Jane and Charlotte caught up with the three of us. They ended up going ahead. Darcy had trouble with the bindings on his skis, and we helped him get fixed up, so we did get rather behind the others. I know Jon and Beth passed us, but then we passed them while they were taking a detour to look at some moose. I think we got there about the same time.

  “You’re trying to figure out who could have gotten to Father first,” he said.

  “I …” Susan began, swiftly deciding not to mention that she had gotten this information from his children earlier.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that, too. And it seems to me that any of us could have done it.”

  Susan opened her mouth, but remembered it was better to listen than to talk.

  “You see, we were all separated from each other at one time or another, and, of course, the geyser basin is a mass of trails. Anyone could have gone ahead and killed Father and then circled back to the rest of the group.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. It’s possible. At least, I think it’s possible.”

  Susan didn’t say anything, trying to reconcile this with what Heather and C.J. had reported. Who was wrong here? And was it intentional? Was someone lying? Was one person in the family more likely to lie than the others? “Why do you think you’re the only person in the family who married?” she asked, deciding to concentrate on background.

  “I don’t know.” He seemed surprised by the question. “I’ve never really thought about it. I’m the oldest. And, I suppose, the most conventional, the most responsible—except when I’m drinking,” he added ruefully. “I guess I still think of all my brothers and sisters as children—which they’re not, of course. Darcy is just twenty-one, and Jon four years older, I guess. They’re both still in school—maybe their lives are still too unsettled to think about serious, permanent relationships. Jane and Charlotte are both at least thirty, though. I don’t know why they’re not married. They do both seem to be enjoying their life-styles. They have good careers and appear to make excellent salaries. They’ve both traveled extensively—I know they each came to Paris annually when we were there. Maybe they just haven’t met the right man.”

  “So neither of them has ever been married?”

  “Jane was married for a few months her senior year of college. It was a very short marriage, though. I was living on the other side of the country. Heather was in nursery school or kindergarten, and I think C.J. was just a baby. I don’t really remember now. I do recall that Joyce and I were still trying to figure out what to send for a wedding present when we got word that the marriage had ended.”

  “You didn’t go to the ceremony?”

  “I don’t think there was one—at least not one to which the family was invited.…” He looked over Susan’s shoulder. “Here’s my wife. She might remember this better than I do. She’s the one in the family who enjoys the ceremonies.”

  Joyce sat down in the chair between them. “Remember what?” she asked, waving away a prompt waiter.

  “Jane’s wedding.”

  “She didn’t have one,” Joyce answered immediately.

  “Why not?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t actually know. You would have to ask her. I thought, at the time, that she was afraid to make any sort of public announcement for fear her parents would put off the whole thing.”

  “Because they didn’t want their daughter married before she finished college?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t know about that. But they certainly didn’t want her married to him!”

  “What was wrong with this young man?” Susan asked. “Or wasn’t he so young?” she added, thinking how many young girls were attracted to older men.

  “Oh, he was young, all right. Probably nineteen or twenty. That wasn’t what upset Phyllis and George. They were not, however, happy that Jason had dropped out of college in the middle of his freshman year and had been busy since that time trying to get a break in the rock music world.” Joyce laughed a little. “I met him once. He was into what I think is called punk rock. His hair was bleached white. He wore a half dozen safety pins in each ear—which matched the hundreds on his jeans and leather jacket. George roared with anger every time he mentioned the boy. And Phyllis didn’t mention him—she just sat around with a sad look on her face and tears ready to spill from her eyes. Jane, of course, loved it. She shaved off most of her hair and dyed what little she had left bright green. She went wherever Jason’s band went, and she became active in some sort of anarchist political group. She really found an alternative to her parents’ life-style.”

  “So they ran off to get married and presented it as a fait accompli to her parents?”

  “That’s how I understand it.”

  “But Jane was too old for her parents to force her to get a divorce,” Susan said.

  “Oh, yes. No one claims that they tried. As I understand it, they invited the happy couple to stay with them over the Christmas holidays, and two weeks later, Jane and Jason left in separate cars and went thei
r separate ways. You should ask Jane if you want to know more about it.”

  “And that was the last anyone heard of Jason?”

  Carlton laughed loudly.

  “Hardly,” his wife said, a big smile on her face. “In fact, his face is plastered all over one wall of C.J.’s bedroom. His hair is black now, and so long, it almost touches his waist, and he’s moved up from the safety pins to chunky silver and turquoise jewelry, but it is still Jason. And now he’s the lead singer in one of the biggest heavy metal bands in the country.”

  “What does Jane say about this?” Susan asked.

  “We don’t even know if she knows,” George answered. “We didn’t mention to C.J. that his hero was almost his uncle because we didn’t want to stir up old hurts for Jane.”

  “It is interesting, though,” Joyce added. “You see, this particular band has a big social conscience—they sing about the homeless, the environment, war, and politicians. Jane used to be very liberal and very political. Of course, now she’s a businesswoman, and we don’t know how close to her heart those issues are, but Jason has, in his own way, done something that she would have been very proud of at one time in her life.”

  “How remarkable,” Susan commented, pausing for a minute. “And Charlotte?”

  “She’s never been married,” Carlton explained. “I don’t know if she has ever even been serious about a man for a long time, or if she’s lived with anyone.”

  “If she has, she’s kept it quiet from her family,” Joyce suggested.

  “Are you the only person that George and Phyllis have accepted into the family?”

  “I don’t think it’s quite like that,” Joyce said. “I would assume that they’re very happy with Beth. They just want their children to be happy—and like a lot of parents, they can only imagine that their children would be happy in a life-style like their own. I can’t say that Carlton and I are so different, in fact.”

  Susan thought about her own children. Certainly she would be more comfortable if they chose to live as she and Jed did—but she didn’t think she would be able to force them into it. There was one last question. “If the murderer is someone in your family—” she began.

  “Who is it?” Carlton finished the question for her, sadness in his voice. “I thought about it all night. It’s an ugly question. It’s an ugly idea, and it’s hard to think that someone you’re related to might be a murderer.”

  “But you’ve lived away from the family for a long time. I thought you might have more perspective than any of the others,” Susan said. “Or Joyce?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Carlton said, “but—” he looked at his wife, and she nodded at him “—but everyone in the family seems to think that Darcy did it.”

  Susan thought they both looked utterly miserable.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Phyllis stared out the window at the geyser’s steam curling up into the sky. “I felt it was important to see you alone. There are things you should know that no one else knows—or suspects. I … I appreciate your willingness to leave your family and meet me here.”

  Susan had been startled to discover Darcy standing behind her almost immediately after his oldest brother’s pronouncement. But Darcy apparently hadn’t overheard anything to upset him; he had only requested that she meet his mother at the Visitor’s Center as soon as possible. Carlton and Joyce had urged her to leave immediately, and she had done just that, putting on her skis just a few hours after she had sworn she was taking a break from this particular form of exercise. She quickly skied across the path to the tall building. While wondering just what Phyllis was going to say, once again she had missed Old Faithful’s hourly eruption.

  “You know, this really isn’t a very good place to meet. There are too many people who might overhear us.”

  Phyllis’s comment made Susan feel guilty, as though she had been the one to suggest the location.

  “Why don’t we ski around the geyser basin and talk? I … I haven’t been outside since my husband’s death. I think the change might do me a lot of good.”

  “Of course,” Susan agreed. “But, you know, maybe you should tell Marnie—she’s been put in charge of this investigation. The storm is making it impossible for anyone to enter the park right now, and Marnie had some police training before becoming a ranger. She knows about this type of thing.”

  “No. I don’t think I could do that. She’s so young, and I’m afraid she wouldn’t understand. If … if I tell you anything you think she should know, maybe you could tell her. It would be much, much easier for me,” Phyllis insisted, moving toward the door.

  Susan followed her outside to the rack provided for skis.

  Phyllis had snapped her shoes into their bindings before Susan had pulled her skis from the rack. Susan hurried as much as she could, remembering George Ericksen’s comment over her ineptness.

  “Don’t rush. I really don’t have any reason to hurry now that George is gone.”

  Naturally Susan ignored her words, and just as naturally, the task took longer than it would have if she had taken her time. “This is the first time I’ve done any cross-country skiing,” she admitted when, skis finally on, she attempted to follow Phyllis along the icy path toward the Old Faithful Lodge. “I thought that old building might be open,” she added as the two women skied in front of the gigantic log structure.

  “Too big to heat,” Phyllis suggested, glancing at the peaked line of the roof.

  “Probably,” Susan agreed. “You said you wanted to talk to me right away,” she reminded her gently.

  “Yes. I think you’ve spoken with all of my family—except for Darcy.”

  Susan was having trouble keeping up, and she fell behind even more when she realized that Phyllis had been keeping track of her investigation. “Yes, I have,” she admitted.

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I … I honestly have no idea,” Susan answered.

  “Do you know who had the … the opportunity to do it? Who was at the geyser at the time of the murder?”

  “I’m not sure right now. It’s possible that anyone could have done it—except for C.J. and Heather, who were with my kids the entire time.”

  “I spoke with that girl ranger you mentioned—Marnie something—and she says that the doctor who examined the bodies was positive that Randy was killed at least a day before my husband.” She slowed down for Susan to catch up. “I had hoped that maybe Randy had killed George and then he himself was killed. I guess that’s a strange type of wishful thinking.”

  “Did you have any thoughts about who, in that case, would have killed Randy?”

  “No.” Susan wondered if the answer came too quickly to be true. “I just thought,” Phyllis went on, “that a judge or jury would understand why a person would kill someone who killed their father. Don’t you?”

  An answer seemed called for. “Yes. I guess so. Is that what you thought happened?”

  “I said I hoped that’s what happened.”

  They skied past a group of elderly women. Susan noticed that none of them could resist peeking at Phyllis. No wonder the poor woman had been spending so much time in her room.

  “You said you wanted to tell me something—something that other people don’t know,” Susan reminded her companion.

  “It is very difficult to talk about your children.”

  “Yes, I can understand that. If you’ve changed your mind …”

  Susan left the statement unfinished.

  “No. You … the people who are investigating this murder … There are some things that have to be known.” She took a deep breath. “My son … Darcy … tried to kill himself.”

  Susan, working hard to keep up, didn’t say anything.

  “He was young at the time—although I suppose that isn’t much of an excuse.…”

  “How young?”

  “A senior in high school. Or, more accurately, the summer before he left home and went to college.”

  “I suppose
that is a very trying time in the lives of some children.…”

  “Darcy’s whole life has been trying. He was an unwanted child—unwanted by my husband, that is. I adored him. His birth was the most difficult of all my deliveries—and I have never had an easy time giving birth.” Susan thought of the miscarriages that she had learned of this morning, but didn’t speak. “The very moment I saw him, cuddled up in the incubator, his finger in his sweet little mouth, his head covered with blond hair, I knew I had been right to insist that we have this one more child. I named him Darcy after the hero in Pride and Prejudice, and he has lived up to that name: he’s handsome, charming, sensitive—”

  “You’ll have to slow down a little. I can’t keep up,” Susan said, hating to interrupt but finding it more and more difficult to hear.

  “I’m … I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to realize that I’m going too fast.”

  “You were talking about Darcy,” Susan prompted when Phyllis didn’t continue immediately.

  “I was trying to explain. I wanted you to understand about him. He’s a remarkable human being. I know that you’re thinking I’m his mother and I love him, but he really is something special.”

  “I don’t believe that old saying about a mother’s love being blind.”

  Phyllis gave her a grateful look and slowed down even more. “Well, his father has always had a difficult time with him. George thought four children were enough and that I was a little too old to be pregnant—and I appreciated his concern, and loved him for it.” She stopped and stared at a bubbling stream that ran by the side of the trail. “But in this instance, I misjudged George. I thought he would love the baby once he was born, but that wasn’t to be. Even in the hospital, I saw Darcy rejected by his own father. George came each day, of course, and he brought flowers and vanilla milk shakes—my favorite—and he gave me a fabulous ruby ring to celebrate the birth. He always gave me a beautiful piece of jewelry when each of our children were born. But he ignored Darcy. He didn’t even go to see him in the nursery. And when the nurse brought him in, George just passed him to me for feeding. Even then I thought things would change, that once I got home with the rest of the family, George would grow to love Darcy as much as I already did.”