Snow Place to Die : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  with her suede bag—and Ladysmith .38 Special—in her lap;

  Frank Killegrew was clutching his slide rule and staring off

  into space.

  “Well, well,” said Ward as the cousins entered the lobby,

  “here come the little ladies.”

  “Persons,” Margo shouted, fingers digging into the suede

  bag.

  “Lady persons,” Ward chuckled. “Hey, at least they’re still

  alive.”

  124 / Mary Daheim

  “That is not funny,” Nadia declared, opening her eyes and

  glaring at Ward.

  Renie had been delegated by Judith to break the news.

  She lighted a cigarette, took a few puffs, blew smoke in

  Margo’s direction, remembered the gun, and apologized.

  “Sorry, I’m kind of nervous. We don’t bring good news.”

  “Oh, my God!” cried Margo. “Is someone else dead?” She

  glanced around the room, taking a head count. “We’re all

  here,” she announced on a sigh of relief.

  “It’s about Andrea,” Renie began, nervously teetering on

  the flagstone hearth. “We don’t believe she committed suicide. We think she was smothered with a pillow.”

  “My God!” Killegrew seemed incredulous.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Gene said with a faint sneer.

  “Don’t Catholics go to hell if they kill themselves?” Russell

  asked in a mild voice.

  “Of course she didn’t kill herself,” Margo asserted. “Andrea

  was too tough for that kind of cowardly act. And even if she

  and Leon had something going, I wouldn’t exactly call it

  grand passion.”

  “What would you call it, Margo?” Ava asked with a smirk.

  Color crept into Margo’s plain face. “What do you mean?

  All I’m saying is that Leon was probably looking for a substitute mother. Andrea had a maternal air, I’ll give her that.

  But she’d never do anything to ruin her marriage. Hanging

  on to Alan Roth was her priority.” A note of bitterness had

  surfaced in Margo’s voice.

  “That’s because she was a Catholic,” Russell said doggedly.

  “They don’t divorce, either.”

  “Bull,” snapped Margo. “It’s because she didn’t want anybody else to have Alan.”

  “Now, now,” Killegrew injected. “Let’s stop boring holes

  in this ship’s hull.” He gazed up at Renie from his place on

  the sofa. “Excuse me, but I don’t see where your opinions

  come into this situation.”

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  Gene was on his feet. “I don’t see how you came to this

  conclusion, Ms. Jones.” He turned to Judith. “I assume this

  was actually your idea, Ms. Flynn?”

  “Well, yes,” Judith admitted as all eyes turned in her direction. With scrupulous attention to detail, she went over her

  reasoning. “The pillow is the key,” she said after enumerating

  her deductions. “If you turned it over,” Judith said directly

  to Gene, “I suspect you’d find traces of lipstick and other

  makeup on the pillowcase.”

  Nadia blanched at the implied violence. “That’s awful!

  Who would do such a thing?”

  All eyes avoided Nadia. “We could check,” Gene said, his

  usual self-confidence slipping a notch.

  “Then do it,” Killegrew ordered. “We’ll all go this time.”

  He stood up. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  “No!” Nadia cried. “I’m not going back to that room!”

  “Neither am I,” Ava declared.

  “Dead people make me throw up,” Margo asserted.

  “I’m squeamish,” said Russell.

  In the end, Killegrew, Gene, Max, and Ward headed upstairs. The others retreated into the library, apparently in

  search of a different venue. Judith had tried to prod Renie

  into joining the upstairs contingent, but there wasn’t room

  for a fifth person in the elevator. Renie suggested that she

  and Judith take a look at the room later.

  “How do we get in?” Judith asked, putting another log on

  the fire.

  “Good question,” Renie replied. “Ava said Andrea’s door

  wasn’t locked when she and Nadia went up there this

  morning. As far as we know, the key is still in Andrea’s room.

  I assume someone will look for it now. We’ll have to ask.”

  “With Gene on hand, they won’t search the place,” Judith

  pointed out. “Which means they’ll have to leave the door

  unlocked.”

  “Good point,” said Renie, taking a cigarette from her

  126 / Mary Daheim

  purse and indicating the bottles on the coffee table. “Dare

  we?”

  “At ten A.M.?” Judith gave a little shake of her head.

  “It’s ten-thirty,” Renie said dryly. “Anyway, who’s counting? This isn’t exactly a typical Saturday morning in January.”

  “It sure isn’t,” Judith began, and then stopped. A strange

  buzzing noise sounded from somewhere close by. “What is

  that? A timer?”

  “It sounds like my new oven,” Renie said. “It beeps at me

  when the temperature gets up to whatever I’ve set it for.”

  The noise stopped. Judith went to the big front windows,

  gazing out at the snow. “It’s drifted so that I can hardly see

  anything,” she said. “I wonder how much fell during the

  night.”

  “Three, four feet maybe? Can you tell if it’s still snowing?”

  “Not from this part of the lodge,” Judith responded, glancing toward the big windows where the snow had piled up

  almost to the top frame. “I don’t suppose I dare open the

  door.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Renie finished her cigarette and threw it into

  the grate. “It’s sure quiet around here. At least it is between

  murders.”

  But the quiet was broken by the buzzing noise. Judith came

  back to the sofa, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is it a

  clock? The electrical system? An intercom?”

  The cousins gazed around the lobby. There was nothing

  to suggest what had caused the sound. “Maybe it came from

  one of the conference rooms,” Renie offered as the noise

  stopped again. “Somebody might have left a microphone

  on.”

  Judith didn’t agree. “It’s closer than that. It’s right here,

  in this part of the room.”

  “Weird.” Renie stared at the collection of bottles. “To

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  hell with it,” she said, and reached for a fifth of Canadian

  Club. “I’ve had too much coffee and I’m not in the mood

  for my usual daily half-gallon of Pepsi.”

  “Okay, okay,” Judith sighed. “Pour me some of the Dewar’s

  scotch. How’s the ice holding up?”

  Renie shot Judith an ironic glance. “I don’t think ice is a

  problem around this place, coz. What did you make of

  Margo’s comments regarding Andrea and her husband,

  Alan?”

  “It sounded as if Margo has the hots for Alan Roth,” Judith

  replied, examining her fingernails. “Drat, I wrecked a nail

  somewhere along the line.” She dug into her shoulder bag

  for an emery board, then continued speaking. “That would

  explain the flare-up between Margo and Andrea at lunch

  yesterda
y. Just now I got the impression that Margo wanted

  to marry the guy. I mean, why else would she care if Andrea

  wouldn’t divorce him?”

  “Exactly,” Renie agreed. “Margo may be painfully plain,

  but she doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting men. A

  regular boudoir bawd, goes the rumor mill.”

  “She’s not all that plain,” Judith noted, filing her snagged

  nail. “She has lovely eyes and perfect skin. Not to mention

  a vivid personality.”

  “She dresses well, despite the fact she has no figure,” Renie

  said, then tensed as the mysterious noise sounded again.

  “Damn! What is that? It’s really close by.”

  Judith looked all around the sofa where she was sitting.

  She dug among the cushions, feeling deep into the sides and

  back. “Maybe somebody dropped something down here,”

  she said, her voice muffled.

  Renie was on her hands and knees, searching under the

  sofas, chairs, and coffee table. “I don’t see anything. Maybe

  we should get that flashlight.” She started to stand up and

  accidentally knocked over Judith’s shoulder bag. Some of

  the contents spilled out onto the floor. Renie let

  128 / Mary Daheim

  out a little yip. “It’s your pager, you moron! Somebody’s

  trying to reach you!”

  At that moment, the elevator opened, and Max, Gene, and

  Ward entered the lobby. Between them, they were awkwardly

  carrying an unconscious Frank Killegrew.

  TEN

  “HE PASSED OUT upstairs,” Max announced in a tense voice.

  “We think he may have had a heart attack.”

  Russell, Nadia, Ava, and Margo emerged from the library.

  Nadia in particular looked stricken, a thin hand at her throat

  and her skin suddenly turning ash-gray. “Not Frank!” she

  gasped.

  Ava, however, seemed less affected. “Is he dead?” she asked

  in a manner that suggested her CEO’s demise wasn’t unappealing.

  “No,” Ward responded, as they carefully placed Killegrew

  on one of the sofas. “Frank’s going to be just fine. He’s one

  tough customer.”

  “Really,” Russell squeaked, “if he isn’t, I’d rather be

  somewhere else. Terminally ill people upset me.”

  “Buck up, Russell,” said Ward. “I’ve seen Helen through

  worse crises than this. My wife once had three heart attacks

  in one day.”

  “I’ll bet,” murmured Margo.

  Nadia had rushed to Frank’s side. “Frank! Frank! Wake

  up! I’m here, I’ll help, I’ll do anything! Just say something!”

  Frank’s eyes remained shut. Nadia started to shake him,

  gently at first, then with more vigor. “Frank!

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  130 / Mary Daheim

  Please, please, tell me you’re all right! What would I—what

  would we—do without you?”

  Gene put a hand on Nadia’s shoulder and firmly pulled

  her away. “Does anyone know CPR?” he inquired.

  “Isn’t that for people who are drowning?” Russell said in

  his usual vague tone.

  “I’m not certain,” Gene admitted. “We wouldn’t want to

  do the wrong thing and have Frank’s heirs sue us.”

  “Andrea’d know if she weren’t dead,” Ward murmured.

  “Her human resources folks are the ones who handle firstaid classes.”

  Judith, who had learned emergency measures to treat

  guests, started to speak up just as Killegrew appeared to

  come around. “Am I all right?” he demanded, blinking rapidly. “Did someone hit me on the head with an Eskimo?”

  “No, Frank, certainly not,” Nadia responded, her slim

  shoulders slumping in relief. The antidote to her attack of

  nerves appeared to consist of making herself busy. She deftly

  poured out a shot of Scotch and offered it to Frank. “Drink

  this,” she urged. “It’s a stimulant.”

  “It’s Scotch,” Killegrew murmured, but he accepted the

  tumbler. “Oh, my God! What’s happening to us? This can’t

  be real!” He attempted to sit up; Nadia and Ward each supported his effort.

  “What happened?” Judith asked Ward, as the pager went

  off again in her purse.

  No one seemed to hear the sound. “We were sort of moseying around Andrea’s room, checking things out—without

  touching, mind you,” Ward added with a quick glance at

  Gene Jarman, “and then we finally decided we’d better have

  a look at that pillowcase. Gene allowed as how it probably

  would be okay as long as we sort of held it up by the corners.

  Sure enough, there were some marks on it—kind of a reddish

  one and sort of a blackish one. When Frank saw that, he just

  keeled over.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Killegrew grumbled. “My entire

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  staff is being wiped out!” Regaining his usual jocund manner,

  he gave Margo a belligerent look. “If I knew which one of

  you was doing this, I’d use that gun of yours and take matters

  into my own hands!”

  “If you knew,” Margo said between clenched teeth, “I’d let

  you.”

  Nadia was leaning into Killegrew. “Are you all right? You

  shouldn’t get so upset. It’s bad for your digestion.”

  “Screw my digestion,” Killegrew growled. Then he put a

  hand on his chest. “If I had a heart attack, I’m over it.

  Whatever it was, nobody can blame me for a collapse.” He

  glanced at Ward. “You’re right. I’m one tough customer.

  Everybody knows that Frank Killegrew is fit as a fiddle and

  still captain of the good ship OTIOSE!”

  “Yes, sir,” Ward replied with a crooked grin. “I mean, aye,

  aye.” He saluted his superior.

  “I think,” Gene said slowly, “that one of us has to try to

  get out of here and seek help.”

  “How?” Margo demanded with a sneer. “The good ship

  OTIOSE doesn’t have wings.”

  “I looked outside from upstairs,” Gene went on, ignoring

  Margo. “The snow is letting up and the wind is down. There

  are skis in this lodge. There might even be a snowmobile

  around here someplace. If we could dig a path from one of

  the entrances, we could get somebody out. Who skis besides

  Frank?”

  “I do,” Ward responded, “but it’d take hours to shovel the

  snow away from the doors.”

  “If a path can be cleared, I can get out of here,” Ava volunteered. “I ski, so does Margo.”

  Margo was still sneering. “It’s at least a mile to the highway. The snow’s covered all the landmarks. We’d get lost.

  Count me out, I’m not going on any suicide mission.”

  Russell quivered. “Don’t use that word.”

  “Put a sock in it, Russell,” Margo snapped. “Andrea didn’t

  commit suicide. She was murdered. Just like everybody else.”

  All of Margo’s bravado evaporated, and she

  132 / Mary Daheim

  swayed slightly, but caught herself on the mantelpiece.

  “At least we could try,” Gene persisted. “This situation has

  gotten completely out of control.”

  “You might say that,” Ward said, acknowledging the understatement.

  “Accidents,”
Killegrew muttered. “We’ll say they were accidents.”

  “For Chrissake!” Max burst out. “Are you talking about a

  coverup? That’s crazy, Frank!”

  “Let’s talk about it,” Ward said in a calm voice. “It’s about

  time we considered damage control.”

  “Holy cats!” Renie said under her breath. “Let me out of

  here. I can’t listen to this bilge.” She stomped off to the library.

  Judith followed, closing the door behind her. “Killegrew

  can’t be serious,” she said.

  Renie had flopped into a leather wingback chair. “Yes, he

  can. You’d be shocked by the things that CEOs and other

  executive types think they can get away with. Have you forgotten Watergate?”

  “This is far worse,” Judith asserted, sitting down in the

  mate to Renie’s chair. “People are being murdered. If they

  attempt a coverup, the killer will go free.”

  Renie rolled her eyes. “You still don’t get it, do you? The

  people—excuse me, the persons in the corner offices don’t

  think like the rest of us. They live by a different set of rules

  and ethics. Try looking at it from Frank’s point of view. If

  they get out of here with most of them still alive, and can

  actually pass off the three deaths as accidents, then allowing

  the murderer to go unscathed is a small price to pay to preserve not only OTIOSE’s public image, but the company itself. The others would keep their mouths shut in order to

  keep their jobs. That’s the way it works—or can—on the

  executive floor.”

  “Margo’s already said she’s going to quit,” Judith pointed

  out. “She won’t keep quiet.”

  “Maybe not, but it might depend on the package they

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  offer her when she leaves. It could be very lucrative—and

  very tempting. Besides,” Renie went on, “you’ll notice she

  didn’t mention quitting in front of the others. As far as we

  know, she only talked about it to us.”

  Judith mulled over Renie’s words of corporate wisdom. It

  was peaceful in the library, especially to Judith, who had always sought solace among books. Someone had built a fire

  in the small grate. For the briefest of moments, Judith tried

  to imagine that she and Renie were having a cozy chat on a

  wintry weekend in the mountains.

  The pager went off again, shattering the illusory respite.

  “Damn!” Judith exclaimed. “I forgot about that thing! How