An Old Faithful Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “There aren’t any lights,” Phyllis protested.

  “Don’t move. I know exactly where the switches are,” Susan lied, inching along the wall, feeling for lumps or bumps. “Ah!” She found them and the room filled with light.

  Phyllis was still standing by the doorway. The snow was melting off her hair and clothing, and she was blinking.

  “I know it’s bright.…”

  “No. It’s my nose. I think it’s burned or … Oh, it’s frostbite, isn’t it?” Phyllis spoke as though her condition were only of academic interest. She reached up, and Susan grabbed her hand.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to touch it! Here! Sit down and let me look at you.” Susan peered at Phyllis’s face.

  “Perhaps one of the rangers would know what to do,” Phyllis suggested. “It does hurt terribly.”

  “There must be someone in the main room. You stay here and I’ll go get them. I should have thought of this before. Kathleen is probably wondering where we’ve vanished to.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine here.”

  “You’re sure?” Susan asked, not wanting to leave her alone.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Just try to find someone to help me. This is getting more painful all the time.”

  Susan hurried to the door at the front of the room, pausing only long enough to look over her shoulder. Phyllis Ericksen sat huddled in a seat at the back of the auditorium, hair soaking wet from melting snow, nose white, and tears covering her scarlet, windburned cheeks.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found her. The frostbite wasn’t severe, but it doesn’t take much time for a mild case to turn into something that can cause permanent damage.”

  “We really didn’t find her. She found us,” Kathleen answered Marnie. “Look, I’d love to stay and hear about everything that has been going on this afternoon, but Bananas needs feeding and—”

  “Go ahead. Save a seat for me at dinner, and I’ll fill you in,” Susan promised as Kathleen stood up. They were together in the still-deserted auditorium; Phyllis was lying down in the office, a ranger trained in first aid by her side.

  “ ‘Bananas’?” Marnie asked Susan when they were alone together.

  “That’s her son’s nickname. He’s only a few months old. I think everyone assumes he’ll outgrow it in time.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Marnie sighed. “You know, it’s nice to talk about something ordinary for a change. I really think I’m going to go crazy.”

  “Any news from outside the park?”

  “Yes. There’s no sign of the storm letting up. The phone lines are down—they’re buried inside the park, of course, but the line to the park is down—so we’re communicating with shortwave sets. And in this weather, even that isn’t too reliable. The news from outside is that we’re on our own.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ve solved this puzzle?”

  “No, but I think I’m getting close,” Susan surprised her by answering. “I need some help, though.”

  “What?”

  “Information from you, for one thing,” Susan answered, and proceeded to ask about the suspenders on the effigy.

  “Sure. They were Yellowstone suspenders with the white letters covered up with ink—probably Magic Marker. But I don’t see how that’s going to tell you anything. They’re very popular with the tourists, and we sell dozens each week—unless, of course, the guys at the ski shack could tell you which member of the family bought them.… Hey, you may be getting somewhere!”

  Susan was embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t thought of that, so she nodded sagely. “And if they weren’t brought into the park, then the prank wasn’t planned.”

  “And you think that would make a difference?”

  “It might. I’m trying to work this thing from all angles—who had motive, who had opportunity.…”

  “And who did? Have motive and opportunity?” Marnie asked.

  “Opportunity is tough. Mainly because I think anyone in the family could have killed him—with the exception of C.J. and Heather.…”

  “Why not them?”

  “They were with my kids all the time—and they’re awfully young.”

  “We had a murder in the park last summer—and it was committed by a thirteen-year-old girl,” Marnie said quietly. “But if you’re sure they were with your kids, I guess we can eliminate those two.”

  “Yes,” Susan agreed doubtfully. Now that she thought about it, had they been with Chad and Chrissy the entire time, or had they skied off alone at all? She remembered, uncomfortably, how upset C.J. had been over his grandfather’s death. But any sensitive boy would feel that way … wouldn’t he?

  “And the rest of the family?”

  “They were all alone at one time or another yesterday morning. It would have been difficult, but any one of them could have done it. Only Jane and Charlotte were inseparable during the entire time—and they claim to have killed him, so I don’t think that means much of anything.”

  “So we go to motive.…”

  “That’s a little more difficult. George Ericksen was a very unusual man, and I think his personality had a profound effect on the members of his family. Carlton is an alcoholic—and found that he could only stop drinking if he put the Atlantic Ocean between himself and his father. He started to drink again right after he arrived here, so he certainly hasn’t outgrown the strain his father placed on him. Jane and Charlotte are very close—everyone who talks about them mentions that they could be twins. And I don’t think that’s because they look so much alike or because they’re nearly the same age. I think it’s that they are really extraordinarily close—much closer than most siblings. It might be because they found so much solace in each other as children. Which would mean that they needed each other more than most siblings—so the family was hard on them, too.”

  “So what about Jon and Darcy?”

  “I wondered about them, too. They don’t appear very close, they don’t seem to be at all alike. I think Jon had the easiest time of it in the family. Possibly because he is the most like his father. His sister-in-law said that he was trying to be a Renaissance man, which is really a good way of describing his father. And Jon is a scientist, and he’d grown up into something of a straight arrow; he’s probably very comfortable in the family. And then there’s Darcy.…”

  “Everybody’s favorite suspect,” Marnie added, nodding. “But I thought you were convinced he didn’t do it.”

  “I am. He’s so vulnerable. To me, he seems more like a victim than a protagonist.”

  “But victims have been known to strike back.”

  “I know. That’s what’s worrying me.”

  “This all seems a little psychological to me. Have you spoken with Dr. Cockburn about it? He may not be much, but he’s the only psychiatrist we have around,” she added when Susan gave her a surprised look.

  “He’s spoken with me about it. I think Phyllis is absolutely desperate over the thought that Darcy might have killed his father, and she hopes Dr. Cockburn can either get him off or set up some sort of insanity plea for him. So she has Dr. Cockburn telling me his theories whenever we meet.”

  “And you don’t think he’s right?”

  “I think there is more to Dr. Irving Cockburn than meets the eye,” Susan answered. She was wondering about the scene she had witnessed in his room. “Have you noticed him spending time with Kathleen’s au pair?”

  “No, but I’ve been a little busy to pay much attention to the various relationships among the guests. Besides, if you’re talking about the girl I think you are, there isn’t a single man here who wouldn’t like to spend more than a little time with her.”

  “They appear to have become close awfully quickly.”

  “That’s Dr. Cockburn. I know, he tried his technique on me.”

  “What did he do?”

  Marnie grimaced. “First he let me know that he was a single doctor. I was amused at first, bu
t believe me, this man needs all the help he can find when it comes to getting dates. I think if he hadn’t made it through medical school, he’d spend every weekend alone. I suppose he ends up dating mainly gold diggers, but I’m not sure he’s sensitive enough to care.

  “Then he bombarded me with requests for dates. Of course, he’s probably fairly restricted here. Except for a ski trip, attending one of the ranger talks, or a meal and a drink, there isn’t a wide range of possibilities. And really, most of the single women in the park are staff. There’s a group of single teachers here for the week, but usually the tourists are made up of families. This isn’t a great place to meet potential mates.”

  Susan looked at her sharply. She sounded sad. “So Dr. Cockburn asked you to dinner … ?”

  “And lunch, and breakfast, and maybe a nightcap or a cup of afternoon tea. Everything he could think of, in fact. He even went so far as to ask himself over to the cabin I live in. He actually appeared at my door yesterday. He’s becoming quite a pest. I don’t suppose you could find a way to convict him of the murders, could you? I’d love to lock him up.”

  “Do you have any evidence that he had a relationship with any member of the family before coming to the park?” Susan asked, willing to consider any alternatives.

  “No,” Marnie admitted.

  “I would be interested in finding out whether he knew Chloe before this week.”

  “Who? Oh, the au pair! Wouldn’t that be a real coincidence? Dr. Cockburn meeting Chloe before coming here? Or maybe they knew each other before and they planned on being here at the same time. Maybe they both knew George Ericksen someplace else and they had a reason to kill him.…”

  “What?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he cheated Chloe’s father in a business deal and ruined him. Or maybe he seduced Chloe, and Dr. Cockburn is in love with her and wanted revenge. Oh, I don’t know, but anything is possible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But even if what you are saying is true and they came here to kill George Ericksen and succeeded, what about the effigy? And what about poor Randy? What reason did they have to kill him?” Susan asked. “It doesn’t make sense that the three things could be unrelated. So it almost has to be someone in the family or very closely connected to it. And Chloe and Dr. Cockburn don’t fill either of those qualifications.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Maybe not,” Susan admitted. “But no one in the family mentioned knowing them—although, in fact, I didn’t ask directly. I can find out easily enough, though. But it seems unlikely.”

  “This whole thing seems a little unlikely to me,” Marnie insisted. “Effigies in the pool … two deaths … three people confessing … A woman runs off into the night and nearly freezes to death.… What could possibly happen next?”

  Susan wished Marnie hadn’t asked that. It was tempting the fates.

  THIRTY-SIX

  What happened next was that someone tried to kill C. J. Ericksen.

  The poor kid was found facedown in a snowbank on the trail leading from Snow Lodge to Old Faithful Geyser. He was unconscious, apparently having been hit over the head with a snow shovel identical to the one that killed his grandfather. In C.J.’s case, a fluorescent green ski cap had offered enough protection to keep the blow from being lethal. His mother, who had professed to hate that hat, was overheard proclaiming its miraculous powers at dinner that night.

  Kathleen Gordon heard about the attack first, and rushed over to the ranger office to let Marnie and Susan know what had happened.

  “I asked if I could see him,” Kathleen explained, “but his mother said he needed to rest. She insisted that Marnie shouldn’t even be allowed to talk with him until tomorrow morning, and Joyce doesn’t really trust me. For all she knows, I could be the person who hit C.J. over the head. But she might let you see him, and I think you should try to—right away. He must know something—something that makes him a danger to the murderer!” Kathleen didn’t need to remind Susan about this; she had been thinking the same thing.

  “He was alone on the trail?” Susan asked.

  “Apparently. It was almost exactly between eruptions, so there weren’t a lot of people milling around waiting for the show or leaving afterward. But someone must have worked fast, hitting him and then vanishing.”

  “Well, we know it wasn’t Darcy, Jane, or Charlotte.…”

  “Not really. Jane and Charlotte weren’t locked up in the warming hut by that time. Darcy refused to retract his confession, but the girls did, and I decided to let them go. I know, it was stupid of me,” Marnie Mackay said, sitting down between Susan and Kathleen. “I really screwed that one up. But I went over to the warming hut, determined to straighten out this mess. So when the girls said that they had confessed just to keep Darcy from being the only suspect, I believed them.”

  “It does sound like something that might happen in that family. They’ve all spent a lot of time protecting Darcy over the years. I don’t blame you for thinking the way you did,” Susan comforted her. “Besides, we’ve eliminated Darcy, which is something.”

  “I suppose we should let him go, too.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” Kathleen suggested.

  “Kathleen is right. If nothing else, he’s safe where he is,” Susan added.

  “Why would anyone want to hurt Darcy?” Marnie asked.

  “I have no idea. Then again, I have no idea why anyone would want to hurt C.J.—and someone has.…” Susan stopped when a new thought occurred to her.

  “Susan?” Kathleen nudged her friend when she was silent for more than a minute. “Anything wrong?”

  “I was just thinking.…” She paused. “You know, C. J. and Chad have been together almost all the time.…”

  “And you think your son might be in danger, too.”

  “It’s possible.” She stood up. “I think I’ll go check on him.…” She started to exit.

  “Wait a second.” Marnie stopped her, waving to a young man wearing a ranger’s uniform who was standing near the door. “This is Phil Byrd. He’ll go with you, and when you find Chad, he’ll stay with him until this whole thing is over.” The good-looking young man received the message and nodded to Susan. “Chad will be in good hands.”

  “He sure will, ma’am. I was East Coast lightweight champion my senior year of college.”

  Susan smiled weakly; first she had to find the boy. “I suppose he might be back in his room.…” She hurried toward the ski rack, the ranger following closely.

  The snow had continued to fall during the afternoon, and only constant use of the trail between the buildings had kept it open. The illumination from the large floodlights was scattered by the snow falling from the sky and blowing into high drifts. Susan put her face down and headed straight into it, pushing away thoughts of her son, attacked like his friend, freezing in the storm, suffering, perhaps dead.…

  “Mother, you have to do something about Chad. He’s—”

  “Chrissy?!” Susan peered through the blizzard into her daughter’s face. “You know where he is? Where’s Chad?”

  “Why are you screaming?” her daughter asked, giving the ranger an embarrassed glance. “Chad is in his room—he’s sitting on the bed with C.J.’s tape deck turned up full blast playing some sort of horrible heavy metal junk. It’s been driving Heather and me crazy for the last hour. You would think he’d be a little considerate of Heather at least. After all, her grandfather is dead, her uncle is locked up, and her brother was almost killed—not that that would bother me.… Mother?”

  “I don’t have time to talk to you now, Chrissy. I have to go to Chad.…” Susan’s voice was swept away into the wind as she hurried to the lodge.

  She found Chad, as his sister had said, sitting in the middle of the bed, listening to a Metallica tape. It wasn’t terribly loud.

  “Hi. I was wondering where you were,” she started, making a conscious effort not to mention the dirty clothing covering the floor. “Why did you leave the do
or open?”

  He turned down the stereo, got up off the bed, and crossed the room to the door, making no effort to avoid walking on his clothing. Susan ground her teeth but said nothing. Chad closed the door then, looked at his mother. “I wanted to see who was coming to the room before they knocked.”

  “And did anyone come? Besides me?” Susan asked the questions seriously.

  “No, but I was afraid they were going to. I have my knife with me, too.” He slapped the pocket of the jeans he was wearing.

  “Your knife?”

  “The Swiss army that Dad gave me for Christmas.” He jumped as someone knocked on the door.

  “That’s probably Phil Byrd. He’s the ranger who is going to take care of you,” Susan explained. “Let me answer it.” She opened the door, and it was, indeed, the ranger.

  “I’ll just wait out here, ma’am,” he suggested, and taking the doorknob from her, he closed it again.

  “To take care of me?” Chad sounded more than a little indignant.

  Susan decided this was no time to mince words. “Yes. Marnie Mackay thinks you may be in danger,” she explained, hoping he would accept the concern offered.

  “I know!” Chad’s voice betrayed his attempt at braveness. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I just don’t get it.”

  “Don’t get what?” his mother asked, sitting down on the nearest bed.

  “What C.J. knew that made him dangerous to somebody!” Chad leapt across the clothing and perched on the desk. “He must know something, or else no one would have hurt him, right? I’ve heard you talking about this stuff, and that was the only thing I could think of. But I can’t figure out what it is.…”

  “And if you know it, too?”

  “Yeah. It would be lousy to get killed because you know something—only you don’t really!” He stared at the floor. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” his mother said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Why? I already have a guard stationed outside the door.”