Hounded to Death

by Laurien Berenson

  Bertie laughed. “The famous hot tub of course. It’s off in a little alcove between the inn and the health club. We’ll see it in a minute, as soon as we come to an opening in the hedge.”

  Aunt Peg’s long-legged stride slowed. Behind her on the path, I was forced to check myself.

  “You don’t suppose anyone would be out there now, do you?” she asked.

  Aunt Peg’s curiosity about the facilities had to be due to Richard’s suggestion that they sample the hot tub’s pleasures together. Surely she couldn’t be serious about doing such a thing?

  “Easy enough to find out,” said Bertie. When a gap appeared in the hedge, she veered right and headed toward a lighted area.

  “Wait!” cried Peg. “We don’t want to disturb anyone.”

  “It’s a public place. Open to all the guests. If people don’t want to be seen doing something, they shouldn’t be doing it out here.”

  Hoping Aunt Peg would take those words to heart, I followed along behind. On the other side of the hedge, we found ourselves in a small, square courtyard. The area was bounded by trees on two sides, and the back of a building, presumably the health club, on the third.

  Overhead lights illuminated the large wooden tub in the center of the square. It sat on a raised platform and was surrounded by benches. As it was above my eye level, I couldn’t see the water inside; but steam rose from the tub, attesting to how much warmer than the night air its contents were.

  “It’s empty,” said Aunt Peg. She sounded disappointed.

  “It happens.” Bertie chuckled. “This week I think most of the inn’s guests are more interested in attending the symposium than they are in availing themselves of the amenities.”

  “That’s because this place is called a health club,” I pointed out. “And that makes people think of stuff like treadmills, stair steppers, and aerobics. Most of them would rather do almost anything else.”

  “Speak for yourself. Supposedly healthy is the new American way of life. Besides, the building also contains a spa—”

  Abruptly she stopped speaking. We’d been walking while we were talking, drawing closer to the raised platform. I took another step and saw what Bertie had seen. A fluffy, yellow bath towel, the kind found stacked in each of the inn’s rooms, was draped over one of the back benches.

  “What?” asked Aunt Peg.

  “It turns out we’re not alone.” Bertie giggled.

  Funny, I thought, that we weren’t able to see whoever was sitting in the tub. Not that I had a lot of experience with hot tubs, but I thought people usually sat in them with head and shoulders above the water, perhaps even above the lip of the tub itself.

  It was one of those moments when you instinctively know something is wrong, but your brain flatly refuses to process the information.

  Aunt Peg, however, had no such problem thinking things through. She glanced at the discarded towel, then at the splash of water on the platform’s boards.

  “Oh dear,” she said, pushing me out of the way to step up onto the deck.

  Even as Aunt Peg gasped, Bertie and I were already hopping up to stand beside her.

  A man was floating face down in the hot tub. His dark hair was shiny and slick under the lights from above. His arms were outstretched, well-manicured fingers reaching for something he’d never touch.

  Bertie went pale. “That can’t be good,” she said.

  My sister-in-law, the master of understatement.

  8

  “Bertie, help me get him out of there!” Aunt Peg was already reaching to drag one of the heavy benches closer to the side of the tub.

  “You!” Her finger sliced at me like a thin dagger. “Find a phone. Call 911.”

  The phone didn’t require much finding; I had one in my pocket.

  While I spoke to the authorities, Bertie and Peg scrambled to the rescue. Aunt Peg reached up over the side of the tub and turned the body onto its back. Charles Evans’s face swam into view, his blue eyes open and staring blindly.

  “I think I’m going to lose my dinner,” I said.

  “Not around here,” Peg ordered. “If you have to throw up, go do it in the bushes.”

  Instead I swallowed heavily and tried to figure out how to help. Aunt Peg was holding Charles’s torso up and out of the water. However, in order to get him out of the hot tub, she was going to need more leverage from below.

  Bertie had obviously already come to the same conclusion. Busy kicking off her shoes and shedding her jacket, she hadn’t yet seen what Peg and I had.

  I reached down and steadied the bench as she climbed up onto it and hopped over the side of the tub. Bertie landed in the deep water with a small splash. Then she took a good look.

  “Damn,” she said softly. “It’s Charles.”

  “We know that,” Aunt Peg snapped. Her arms had to have been growing tired from the pressure of supporting his weight at that awkward angle. “Now help me get him out of here. Maybe there’s still time to save him.”

  Judging by his pallor I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t about to argue. CPR sometimes worked wonders. I only hoped that one of the other two knew how to perform the procedure.

  Bertie leaned down under the water to grasp Charles’s legs.

  “Ewww!” she said, straightening abruptly.

  “Now what?”

  “He isn’t wearing any clothes.”

  Eww, indeed.

  “Hang on,” I said, climbing up on the bench. “I’ll come in and help.”

  Aunt Peg spared a hand to swat me back down. “No, you won’t. Go stand over there.”

  Out of trouble. Out of the way. As if pregnancy had rendered me not only dull but also useless.

  “Like hell,” I said.

  Bertie reached down again. She circled her hands around Charles’s knees, hoisted his torso up out of the water, and passed his legs to me. Charles’s skin felt slick and slippery, and every bit as warm as the water it had just been in.

  It took all three of us to lift him up and out. Charles was heavy. Deadweight, pardon the expression. We lowered him gently down onto the platform.

  Bertie grabbed the towel and dried off as well as she could. The night air was chilly. In another minute she’d be shivering.

  I helped Aunt Peg lever Charles up onto his side. We meant to dump the water out of his mouth, but only a small amount trickled out from between his lips. That wasn’t a good sign.

  When we laid him back down, Aunt Peg cupped her hands around his nose and mouth and began to blow oxygen into his lungs. I never should have doubted her ability to rise to the occasion.

  “Anything?” said Bertie, leaning over to have a look.

  Rivulets of water streamed from her hair. They dropped down on us from above.

  Not taking my eyes from the drama in front of me, I shook my head.

  Bertie wrung out the now sodden towel and laid it gently over Charles’s lower body, an attempt to give him the dignity he was past caring about. Ignoring both of us, Aunt Peg continued to work.

  It seemed like eons passed, but finally I heard the sound of sirens racing up the side of the mountain. Over on our side of the main building, floodlights began to wink on. A door slammed. Running footsteps came toward us.

  Reinforcements were about to arrive. We’d done all we could; now the professionals could take over.

  “Aunt Peg?” I laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “No,” she said, shaking me off. “I’m not giving up.”

  “You don’t have to give up, help is here.”

  “Help?”

  Aunt Peg stopped and took a deep breath. When she lifted her head and rocked back on her heels, a paramedic slipped in and took her place. She looked like someone emerging from a trance.

  EMTs and staff from the inn swarmed around us. I grasped Aunt Peg’s arm on one side. Bertie took the other. We got her up onto her feet and led her a little bit away.

  Behind us, experts continued the work she had started.

  �
��You did everything you could,” I said.

  “It wasn’t enough,” she replied.

  The first sirens I’d heard had been those of the ambulance. A police car followed in short order. A fire truck came next, then another police vehicle. Apparently death was an unusual occurrence at the Rockwall Mountain Inn.

  Within minutes, the small enclosure surrounding the hot tub was filled with people. Bertie, Aunt Peg, and I had retreated farther and farther away as each new contingent arrived. Now we were standing a good distance from the action, back near the hedge that bordered the courtyard.

  Bertie was the only one who was soaked through, but all three of us were wet and we were all shivering. Bertie had put her jacket and shoes back on, but it didn’t help. Her teeth began to chatter.

  “Let’s get you inside,” said Aunt Peg. “There’s nothing more for us to do out here now.”

  As soon as we started to move away, a uniformed police officer stepped into our path.

  “If you three ladies would please wait here,” he said, “I’m sure the detective is going to want to have a few words with you.”

  Aunt Peg drew herself up to her full height. “We’ve had a rather harrowing experience and on top of that, we are cold and wet. When the detective is ready, he may speak with us inside the inn.”

  “Ma’am.” The officer positioned his body so we couldn’t get by. “I really would like you to wait here.”

  “Will you take responsibility if we become ill on your account?”

  The officer bit his lip and didn’t reply. He didn’t move either.

  I could feel Aunt Peg growing increasingly annoyed. I also sensed the moment inspiration struck. She grabbed my arm and thrust me to the front.

  “This woman is pregnant,” she said in a loud voice. “Are you willing to risk harm to her unborn child merely to detain us out here for someone’s convenience?”

  Peg had uttered the magic words. A fleeting look of panic crossed the poor man’s face. Perhaps he was imagining me delivering the baby on the spot.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, melting back out of the way. “No, ma’am.”

  Who knew? Aside from its other benefits, it looked as though pregnancy was also a get-out-of-jail-free card.

  “Your detective may look for us in the bar,” Aunt Peg said frostily. The three of us hurried past him. “Don’t make us wait all night.”

  Once inside the inn, Bertie ran upstairs to change her clothes. My attire was damp in spots but that wasn’t why I was shivering. I was cold from the inside out.

  Of one accord, Aunt Peg and I headed for the fire crackling in the large stone fireplace on the other side of the great room. Unfortunately, we didn’t get that far. Almost immediately, Peg and I were surrounded by other guests.

  Everyone had heard the sirens. They all knew that something was happening outside. They’d been asked, however, to remain in the inn until the emergency had been dealt with. Now everyone wanted to know what was going on.

  “There’s been an accident in the hot tub,” Aunt Peg said. She didn’t offer any details.

  Quickly I scanned the crowd, looking for Caroline Evans. I didn’t see her. I did see Margo, however, and she was heading purposefully our way.

  Coming up beside us, Margo didn’t even break stride. Instead she simply looped an arm through Peg’s and quickly drew the older woman off to one side. Much as I really wanted to go stand next to the fire, I found myself following them instead.

  “What’s happened?” Margo demanded, her voice low and tense. “I heard somebody’s dead. Is that true?”

  “Possibly,” Aunt Peg waffled.

  Margo leaned in closer. “Don’t bullshit me, Peg. We’ve been friends too long for that. Just tell me what the hell is going on out there.”

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  “Of course it’s bad news. It has to be bad news. Out with it.”

  Aunt Peg grasped her friend’s hand and squeezed it.

  “We found Charles Evans floating face down in the hot tub. We got him out and tried to revive him, but I don’t think we got to him in time.”

  “Charles?” Margo staggered back as if she’d been struck. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Positive,” Peg confirmed and I nodded.

  Of all the things we weren’t sure of, the identity of the man we’d found wasn’t one of them.

  “But that doesn’t make sense. What would Charles have been doing outside in the hot tub at this time of night?”

  I’d seen such behavior before: friends and loved ones of a victim trying to deny what they were hearing, coming up with all sorts of arguments to refute a truth they didn’t want to accept.

  Only hours earlier, Margo had been furious with Charles. She might even—in a moment of supreme annoyance—have wished him dead. But now she looked stunned and disbelieving, unwilling to grasp the enormity of what had happened.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” she said, lifting a hand to her mouth. “Someone has to tell Caroline.”

  “Do you know where she is?” I asked.

  Margo shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since this afternoon, in the lecture hall when Charles gave his speech…”

  At the mention of the afternoon’s events, Margo’s voice trailed away. We all remembered what one of Charles’s last acts had been. And pondered the implications.

  “Maybe Caroline is in her room?” I said.

  Margo nodded, though she didn’t actually seem to be listening. “I have to find her. It will be better if she hears the news from me than from a stranger.”

  She turned and hurried away. Watching her go, Aunt Peg looked thoughtful.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I hope I didn’t just make a mistake. Considering that Margo is the director of the event that brought us all here, I felt it was her right to know what had happened. I was speaking to her in a professional capacity, however, not a personal one.”

  I didn’t understand. “She’s right about Caroline, though. She needs to be told what happened.”

  “Of course she does. I’m just not sure that Margo is the right person to deliver the news.”

  I would have delved further, but Bertie chose at that moment to reappear. She was bundled into a warm, gray sweatsuit and had her still-damp hair slicked back off her face.

  “What are you guys doing standing here?” she asked. “I expected to find you in the bar downing a shot of whiskey, or at the very least, some hot tea.”

  “A fine idea,” Aunt Peg concurred. “Lead the way.”

  None of us wanted to answer any more questions. We skirted around the edges of the room and ducked into the bar. With all the activity taking place elsewhere, the room was nearly empty. We had no trouble finding a table.

  Aunt Peg ordered a large pot of tea, staring hard at the bartender until he offered to go over to the restaurant and procure one for us. We sat in silence and awaited his return. When he delivered the tea a few minutes later, we poured it by rote, each of us adding generous quantities of milk and sugar to our cups.

  The horror of what had happened outside was still fresh in all our minds. Maybe talking about it would have made us feel better, but none of us wanted to be the first to broach the subject. So instead we sat and sipped our tea and waited to see what would happen next.

  Detective Wayne found us there fifteen minutes later. He walked over to the table, stood above us, and gazed downward sternly. He looked large, and unhappy, and somewhat intimidating, as I was sure he meant to.

  He introduced himself, then said, “Are you the three women who hauled our victim out of the hot tub?”

  One by one, we nodded.

  “You were told to wait outside, that someone would be by to question you.”

  “We were cold and we were wet,” said Aunt Peg. “And there wasn’t any point to our standing around in the dark. If you have questions, pull up a chair, take a seat, and ask them now.”

  The ground rules had been laid. Of course we wo
uld cooperate, but we would do so on our own terms. And Detective Wayne’s bullying tactics weren’t about to make us cower.

  He stood for a minute, still staring down at us. Then he capitulated. He reached around behind him, grabbed a chair from another table, and sat.

  “Tea?” Peg asked politely as if he’d just joined a party she was hosting.

  Wayne looked faintly amused. “That’s what the three of you are drinking? Hot tea?”

  “Actually we don’t seem to have gotten much of anything down,” Bertie said. “That’s why there’s still plenty left for you.”

  He gazed around the table. “I understand one of you is pregnant?”

  “That would be me.”

  “Are you feeling all right? Do you need me to get anything for you? We still have medical personnel outside if you’d like to check in with someone.”

  “No,” I said quietly. “I’m fine.” But I appreciated the thought.

  “Right. Let me know if that changes.”

  “I will.”

  Wayne nodded. “Now then, which one of you would like to tell me what happened?”

  “Aren’t you going to question us separately?” Aunt Peg asked. “That’s how they do it on TV.”

  Once again, a small smile played about his lips. “Any particular reason you think I should do that here? Right now, all we’re trying to do is gather information and find out what went wrong.”

  “Is Charles dead?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” The detective’s tone was somber. “He didn’t respond to efforts to revive him.”

  So the trained professionals hadn’t been able to accomplish any more than we had. I sighed softly. Even though I’d suspected as much, it was hard to hear the words.

  “The three of you knew the victim, then?”

  “His name was Charles Evans,” Aunt Peg said. “He was a highly respected dog show judge.”

  “I take it he was a guest here at the inn?”

  “There’s a judges’ symposium going on here this week,” said Bertie. “Charles was one of the participants.”

  “And the same would be true of you three as well?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “People have come from all over the country to take part.”