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

by Mary Daheim

  Nadia’s rummaging with curiosity. “Are you looking for

  plates? They’re right here, on the counter. I’ve already unloaded the dishwasher.”

  “Plates?” Nadia turned, pushing her big glasses up on her

  nose. “No. I thought…I wondered if perhaps there was some

  cooking sherry in the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind a little pickme-up.”

  It seemed to Judith that Nadia had picked herself up so

  often with the liquor in the lobby that she ought to be floating on air. But the administrative assistant’s drinking habits

  were none of Judith’s business.

  “I think there’s a bottle in that tall narrow cupboard on

  your left,” Judith said. “It’s in with the various kinds of vinegar.”

  “Ah.” Nadia had to stand on tiptoe to reach the sherry.

  “As I was saying, Friday afternoons can be absolute hell. A

  negative news story in the early edition of the evening paper.

  A decision handed down by the state utilities commission.

  A disaster with a member of the board. One of the worst

  happened just recently. Do you recall the Santa Claus debacle?”

  Judith’s interest was piqued. “You mean when Santa ran

  off with Barry Newcombe?”

  Pouring sherry into a juice glass, Nadia shook her head.

  “No, no. That was over a year ago. This happened during

  the recent holiday season. We’d offered a nine-hundred toll

  number so that children could call Santa. Of course there’s

  178 / Mary Daheim

  a charge for nine-hundred numbers. Quite a few parents became upset because their children ran up rather large phone

  bills. The story made the newspapers, and OTIOSE was referred to as a Grinch or a Scrooge or just plain greedy, when

  in point of fact, those irresponsible parents should have exercised some control over their ill-behaved children. Some

  of them actually made obscene calls to Santa, and we had

  at least two adults who complained that he didn’t sound like

  the real one. But the most unfortunate part was that when

  the article came out that particular Friday in December, none

  of the officers were around. I never could figure out where

  they’d all gone, but I was the one who ended up having to

  field the media’s questions. It was horrible.”

  But not as horrible as murder, thought Judith. Or maybe

  it was, to Nadia Weiss. “Tell me about the board,” Judith

  said, picking up the silverware and indicating for Nadia to

  bring the plates. “Do the members actually control the company?”

  “There are twelve directors,” Nadia replied, following Judith

  into the dining room. “Three are OTIOSE officers—Frank,

  Leon, and Ward. It’s traditional that the president, the executive vice president, and the chief financial officer sit on the

  board. The rest of the members come from throughout the

  region. They include only the most prominent names in

  business, education, and private endeavor.”

  In other words, the usual stuffed shirts, Judith thought,

  laying a fresh cloth on the table. “But you’re short two

  members,” she pointed out.

  “What?” Nadia looked up from the pile of dinner plates.

  “Yes, yes, we are.” Her mouth, which seemed to accelerate

  with every swig of sherry, turned down. “It’s incredible, isn’t

  it? Two vacancies to fill. Four, really. Ray Nordquist of

  Nordquist’s Department Stores is about to retire, and William

  Boring Jr. of the Boring Airplane Company feels he’s overextended.”

  “So,” Judith said slowly, “one-third of the board will

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 179

  have to be replaced. Will Ward and Leon’s successors automatically become members?”

  “Probably, though in the past sometimes the vice presidentlegal counsel has served instead of the chief financial officer.”

  Nadia carefully set the plates down on the table.

  “Does the board wield much power?” Judith asked as they

  returned to the kitchen.

  Nadia uttered a small laugh. “Some say they’re merely a

  rubber stamp for Frank and the rest of the officers. But that’s

  because our executives know what’s best for OTIOSE. Once

  in a great while, however, the other members go off on a

  tangent and become quite obstinate. Then it’s up to our

  gang—if you want to call them that—it’s more like family—to

  dissuade them.”

  The term “family” struck Judith as wildly inappropriate;

  “gang” was more like it. She recalled Joe’s despair over

  teenagers who joined gangs. Maybe it wasn’t so different

  with grownups. Everybody had to belong to something or

  someone, and at the corporate level, co-workers could become like family. Maybe for someone like Nadia, who seemed

  to be alone in the world, OTIOSE filled a deep need. Maybe

  she wanted to be “one of the gang.”

  Judith handed water glasses to Nadia, whose attitude about

  the murders was disturbingly blasé. “It must be terribly hard

  on you to have three of your co-workers die in your midst.

  You seem to be holding up rather well.”

  “Oh, no!” Suddenly, Nadia was aghast. “I’m utterly

  shattered! Not to mention frightened out of my wits! But I

  can’t let it show. Why do you think I feel so stupid when

  my nerves give way? On the executive floor, someone has

  to keep calm. A steady hand at the tiller, as Frank would say.

  Often, it’s up to me.”

  “I see,” said Judith, and for once she did. Frank Killegrew,

  and perhaps the other officers, relied on Nadia. She was the

  axle to their big wheels. “Like with the Santa Claus phone

  calls.”

  “Exactly.” Nadia drank deeply from the juice glass. “Of

  180 / Mary Daheim

  course that was by default. When the news story hit, the officers simply…disappeared.”

  “Including Margo,” Judith said.

  Nadia gave a nod of assent. “Including Margo. Even

  though it was a situation that fell into her shop. I ended up

  coordinating the p.r. effort.”

  “Speaking of disappearing,” Judith said, jumping at the

  chance to change topics, “have you any idea how one of your

  group could have gotten cut off from his or her buddy at the

  time Ward was killed?”

  The implication made Nadia wince. “Are you suggesting

  that…?”

  “Yes, of course. Aren’t we all in agreement that somebody

  in this lodge is a killer?”

  “I’m not sure.” Nadia turned sulky. “What about that person laughing outside the lodge? We’ve all tried to look from

  the upper windows to see if anyone is there, but it’s impossible to see very far. Yet we all heard that awful laugh.

  Surely that could have been the killer.”

  “It’s possible,” Judith admitted, “but I don’t see how. Of

  course if we could be sure that each person inside the lodge

  was with someone else, then we’d know we’re all innocent.”

  Behind the big glasses, Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “I thought

  you and your cousin knew the killer’s identity.”

  “What I said was that we have evidence pointing to the

  killer. That’s not quite the same,” Judith hedged. “It will take

  a forensics expert
to actually pin the murders on this…person.”

  Nadia took a moment to sort through Judith’s ambiguous

  statement. “You haven’t eliminated me,” she finally said. “I

  don’t have your note or your evidence.”

  Judith said nothing. Nadia drank more sherry. In silence,

  the two women carried the remainder of the table settings

  out to the dining room. When they were back in the kitchen,

  Judith rephrased her original question.

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 181

  “Do you know where everyone was around the time that

  Ward must have been killed?”

  “Frank and I were in the lobby,” Nadia replied, not looking

  at Judith. “Then we went to check on the smaller conference

  rooms. I had to use the restroom, so I asked Margo to stay

  with Frank. Ava accompanied me to the bathroom. I wasn’t

  alone—nor was Frank—for more than a minute.” At last, she

  gave Judith a defiant stare.

  There was no way to prove or disprove Nadia’s story. It

  seemed to mesh with Margo’s account. Perhaps Frank Killegrew would have a different version.

  Nadia finished her sherry while Judith checked on the game

  hens and the bean dish. Then the two women returned to

  the lobby. The interrogation of Ava would have to wait until

  after dinner.

  Renie and Gene had removed enough snow so that the

  door could be shut. They were just turning the lock when

  Judith joined them. Renie was panting from exertion and

  Gene was mopping his brow.

  “We had to pour all the melted water down the restroom

  toilets,” he explained, then pointed to the wet-dry vacuum.

  “We filled that thing eight times.”

  “Good work,” Judith remarked before turning to Renie. “I

  could use your help in serving.”

  “I’m pooped,” Renie said, then caught the meaningful glint

  in Judith’s eyes. “But so what? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  She took a cigarette from her purse and lighted up.

  “I think I liked it better when you were just a glutton,” Judith murmured, leading Renie not to the kitchen, but to the

  restroom. “Let’s stop in here first.”

  “I’ve been here a lot,” Renie said, but followed Judith.

  “Gene and I were so buddy-buddy that he came with me into

  the women’s restroom to empty the water.”

  Judith made a quick check of the six stalls; they were vacant. “So what did you find out from Gene?” she asked, entering the stall at the near end of the row.

  182 / Mary Daheim

  “He knows we have the pillowcase.”

  Judith blinked several times at the closed door. “He does?

  And how did he learn that?”

  “I don’t know,” Renie responded over the sound of running

  tap water. “It was a slip on his part. He said something to

  the effect that, ‘Physical evidence consists of more than proof

  of foul play.’ Thus, I deduced that he was alluding to the

  pillowcase—which you had mentioned to him when you

  were in Andrea’s room—and to the fact that we had removed

  it.”

  Judith emerged from the stall. “Was he guessing? Or did

  he know?”

  “I don’t think Gene Jarman guesses,” Renie said, drying

  her hands on a paper towel. “It’s not his style.”

  “Coz,” Judith began, dispensing liquid soap into her palm,

  “do you see what that means?”

  “Of course. Gene has been in Andrea’s room since you

  were there with him. Either he went with someone—or he

  went alone,” Renie said with an impish expression.

  “Brilliant deduction,” Judith remarked. “So which was it?”

  Renie was in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. “I tried

  to get a run-down on who he was with at the time of Ward’s

  murder. Gene had gone into the library with Ava, but he

  was very evasive about how long they were there. It made

  me wonder what they were doing. Do you remember yesterday afternoon when we thought we heard somebody in one

  of the smaller conference rooms? I’ve noticed a certain intimacy between Gene and Ava. How about you?”

  Digging a lipstick out of her shoulder bag, Judith gave

  Renie a bemused look. “Why not? They’re single, they make

  a good-looking couple. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

  However,” she went on, waving the lipstick at Renie, “they

  didn’t stay in the library during that whole critical time

  period. Ava came in here with Nadia, and Gene and Russell

  were seen talking outside the library. At some

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 183

  point, they separated, if only for a very brief…”

  The pager went off again. Startled, Judith dropped the

  lipstick which rolled across the floor and under the fourth

  stall. Renie chased the lipstick while Judith checked the pager.

  “My number,” she sighed. “Do you suppose Mother is

  dead?”

  “Not a chance,” Renie replied, crawling around on the

  floor. “My guess is that she wants you to go to the store and

  bring back a fifty-pound bag of Goo-Goo Clusters. She’s

  probably forgotten you’re out of town. Meanwhile, my

  mother is…” Renie stopped, the lipstick in one hand and

  something else in the other. “It’s a note someone dropped,”

  she said, standing up.

  The note had been folded several times into a quarter-inch

  thickness. Renie smoothed the paper and held it so that Judith could read over her shoulder. It appeared to have come

  out of a daybook and was a list of things to do for Thursday,

  January 11.

  Take Frank’s suit to cleaners—grease spot on left lapel

  Stop at post office to get change of address forms

  Change Frank’s appointment with Hukle, Hukle, and Huff

  Call cable company re Frank

  Go to liquor store

  “Nadia,” Judith breathed.

  “Dogsbody,” Renie said. “Which, some might say, is another word for wife.”

  “But she’s not,” Judith noted. “On the other hand, she acts

  like one.”

  “Interesting,” Renie remarked, and pointed to the notation

  about Hukle, Hukle, and Huff. “Roland Huff is the city’s

  leading divorce attorney.”

  Judith respected Renie’s knowledge when it came to lo- 184 / Mary Daheim

  cal law firms. Her mother, Deborah Grover, had been a

  legal secretary for almost fifty years. Still, Judith had a

  quibble.

  “So what kind of law do the Hukles practice?”

  “Mostly estate and insurance.” Renie held up a hand before

  Judith could interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking—Frank

  Killegrew’s appointment could have been with Burton or

  Kay Hukle. Still, it’s intriguing.”

  “Maybe.” Judith, however, was gazing not at the items on

  the list but at the paper itself. “What intrigues me is why this

  was folded so small and ended up on the restroom floor.

  What do you do with memos to yourself after you’ve polished them off?”

  “I toss them,” Renie replied. “But this came out of a daybook. People don’t usually rip out the pages, they just move

  on to the next one. I write my reminders on whatever spare

  piece of paper I
can find.”

  “Good point.” Judith refolded the list and put it in her

  shoulder bag. “I think I’ll hang on to this. Maybe something

  will come to me.”

  The cousins entered the kitchen from the back way,

  through the laundry room. “We should wash our clothes

  after dinner,” Renie said. “I don’t think we’re getting out of

  here tonight. It’s still snowing, but not as hard.”

  Dolefully, Judith shook her head. “Meanwhile, Mother is

  dangling by her thumbs from one of the coat hangers Aunt

  Ellen made out of macaroni for Christmas presents.”

  “Macaroni?” Renie frowned. “The ones my mother got

  were fusilli. They’re kind of brittle.”

  Judith opened the oven. “I got a wreath shaped from

  manicotti.”

  “Mine was a lampshade of egg noodles. It melted when

  Bill screwed in a hundred-and-fifty-watt bulb.”

  “Joe took the wreath to work and hung it in the deputy

  chief’s office. He ate it.”

  Renie giggled. “He did not!”

  “I only know what Joe tells me. Aunt Ellen’s a dear, but

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 185

  she does send the strangest presents.” Judith removed the

  bean dish and set it on the counter. “Speaking of Joe’s coworkers, I wonder if anyone from the department has tried

  to get hold of Frank Killegrew.”

  “We wouldn’t know if they had,” Renie pointed out.

  The cousins busied themselves with dishing up dinner. It

  was almost six-thirty when they announced that the meal

  was served. Ava suggested that Judith and Renie join them.

  “There’s plenty of room at the table,” Ava said in a sardonic tone.

  Judith felt like asking if she could charge for overtime, but

  thought better of it. Getting out in one piece seemed like her

  greatest priority. She exchanged questioning glances with

  Renie, then decided they might as well sit with the others.

  At first, there was little conversation except for requests to

  pass the salt and pepper.

  Judith chose to enliven the atmosphere. “Have any of you

  ever met the lodge’s caretaker?”

  All eyes regarded her with curiosity, but it was Margo who

  responded. “How could we? This place is off-limits during

  the retreat.”

  “I heard he was an odd duck,” Max put in.

  “Who told you that?” Killegrew demanded.

  Max looked blank. “Ward? I think he mentioned it when