by Vicki Delany
A loud voice broke through the hubbub. “Is it raining out?”
Everyone, including me, turned to see Olivia posed in the doorway. She was dressed in white capris and a short-sleeved pink-and-white-striped shirt with the collar turned up to frame her face. Her hair was arranged into a French twist, and large square pink earrings were clipped to her ears. Her lipstick matched the shirt and the earrings, and round sunglasses covered her face. She was the very picture of Hollywood glamour on vacation. Velvet stood behind her among a cluster of nervous bellhops.
“Everyone inside on such a lovely day? How very odd.” Olivia took off her sunglasses, dangled them in her long fingers, and floated across the room as though she were in Fred Astaire’s arms, her eyes resting briefly on every face she passed. “Yes, it’s true that a member of our Haggerman’s family passed away last night.” She shook her head sadly. “A tragedy, and I know you’ll all join me in mourning his passing.”
Olivia put a perfectly manicured hand lightly on florid-shirt man’s arm. Blood rushed into his face.
“It’s vitally important we do all we can to help the police, don’t you agree, sir?”
He swallowed and nodded.
Olivia cocked her head to one side and smiled shyly at Mabel’s husband. “The authorities might be suspicious of people who leave unexpectedly.”
Everyone glared at Mabel’s husband.
“I didn’t mean—” he began.
Mrs. Brownville was not to be distracted. She stood up. “What about the communists? What about that comedian fellow?”
“Communists? In my hotel!” Olivia exclaimed. “Never. Wouldn’t be allowed. Mr. Simmonds was doing his duty in talking to the police when asked.” Her eyes swept the room again, before ending up back at Mrs. Brownville. “As should we all, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
People muttered their agreement.
“A toast to all of us in the Haggerman’s family would be a lovely way to honor our dear friend who left us so prematurely.”
Olivia raised her right arm and snapped her fingers. Every one of the bellhops, the office and kitchen staff crowding the doorways, and the clerks behind the reception desk leapt to attention.
“You.” Olivia pointed to a receptionist. All the color drained out of the young man’s face, and he looked as though he might faint. “Instruct the bartenders to open up in the ballroom a mite early today.” Olivia checked her watch. “Shall we say in ten minutes? And, because we are honoring a member of the Haggerman’s family, tell them to forgo asking for room numbers until the dining room opens for lunch at noon.”
Free booze for an hour! The rush was on. I stifled a groan as I saw dollar bills flying out the windows, but I couldn’t be too concerned about losing money on drinks. It would be a lot worse if guests stampeded to check out and new ones didn’t check in because word got around that we were a hotbed of communist activity.
Everyone headed for the stairs, wanting to be first in line in case Olivia changed her mind. Or the booze ran out. Olivia took one step forward and grabbed Mrs. Brownville’s arm. Her grip was so firm it made dents in the skin. She smiled sweetly into the other woman’s face. Mrs. Brownville’s friends had abandoned her in their rush to get to the front of the line.
“Thank you so much, dear,” Olivia said, “for bringing your concerns to management. Why don’t you join me for a drink? I do believe there’s a bottle of my special champagne on ice in the ballroom.”
Mrs. Brownville’s mouth opened. It shut again.
“Excellent.” Olivia guided her guest toward the grand staircase. The crowd separated to let them through.
“Nicely done,” Velvet said to me in a low voice.
“I cannot begin to imagine how much this is going to cost us.”
“Less than if you had a riot on your hands and people demanding to check out. I suspected there was going to be trouble when I saw Mrs. Brownville and her pack heading this way, so I left my volleyball game in midthrow and ran for Olivia.”
“That wasn’t necessary. I could have handled it,” I said weakly.
“No, you couldn’t, Elizabeth. Olivia’s the star. She’s got the charm and the grace and the style. Not to mention the iron will. You don’t, but that’s okay. You have other good qualities.”
“I’ll ask another time what those qualities might be.”
Word had spread, as it did, and people came running from all directions. Some were still in their bathing suits, which was not normally permitted in the main rooms of the hotel. I wondered if Olivia would make an exception this time only.
“Chief Monahan didn’t want to question the guests because he doesn’t want anyone getting upset and leaving early,” I said. “Instead of simply talking to people and telling them a sanitized version of what’s going on, he has the FBI marching out of here carrying stacks of documents, the police car parked in front of the hotel all morning, and his deputy sneaking around in the shrubbery waylaying the staff. Are they still here?”
“The police car’s gone,” Velvet said.
“I’m going to my office. I need to calm down.”
“And I need to get back to my volleyball game. If there is a game still going on and they all haven’t deserted it for the pleasure of an open bar. Before I go, I forgot to ask: How are your feet doing today?”
I glanced down. “My feet? What about them?”
“You got some cuts last night.”
“Oh. Right. With all that’s going on, I forgot about them. I guess that means they’re fine. Look, Velvet, we have to talk this over. All of us. Meet me at the house at two. I’ll get Aunt Tatiana and Rosemary to come as well.”
Chapter 10
Everyone crowded into our living room at two o’clock. I wasn’t used to being at home in the middle of the day and decided it was rather nice. The sun streamed in through the open windows, the big leafy trees draped the house in cool shade, and the inner door was open to let a soft breeze cut through the sticky heat.
Aunt Tatiana and Rosemary had come, as invited, and uninvited Randy had trailed along after Velvet. Winston wandered in from somewhere and dropped down on the rug in the center of the living room. We stepped over him to take our seats.
I’d not invited all the department heads to this meeting. That might be necessary later, but I wanted to talk recent developments over with my family and personal friends first.
“Before we begin,” I said, “how much booze do you think we went through this morning, Olivia?”
My mother waved her hand in the air. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Rosemary said. “I have to put in a rush order to restock.”
“It matters to me,” I said, “as I have to pay for it.”
“Better than guests running for the exits,” Randy said.
I muttered something in agreement.
“This is not good,” Aunt Tatiana said around a freshly lit cigarette. “My chambermaids have been questioned about the man in cabin nineteen. They’re mostly adult women with families, local people, worked here or in other hotels for many years. They aren’t going to quit, but—”
“But,” Velvet said, “two of the college girls who look after the children asked me if it’s safe to stay here.”
I snorted.
“I told them that, sadly, when you have hundreds, thousands, of people staying at a place, as we do, then it’s possible, likely even, some are going to fall ill if not die. Particularly considering how many elderly guests we have. I kind of implied that’s what happened in this case, and the police were called as a matter of routine.”
“We have more than nervous girls away from home for the first time to worry about,” Rosemary said. “I overheard a couple of the waiters saying the police had asked them to keep an eye out for any talk of communism. They sounded as though they were mighty anxious to find it. Yo
u know what these college boys are like. Hotheads the lot of them. Out to prove something. To themselves if no one else.”
“Elizabeth,” Olivia said. “Tell our employees they are not spies.”
“I can, and I will, send a memo around, reminding the staff they are not to gossip about, or with, our guests,” I said. “I can’t instruct them not to cooperate with the police, as much as I might like to.”
“A memo against gossiping,” Velvet said. “You might as well send a memo to the creek ordering it to flow up the mountain.”
“Charlie Simmonds has been ordered not to leave Haggerman’s,” I said. “Monahan practically accused him of being in cahoots with the late Mr. Westenham.”
“Who is Charlie Simmonds?” Olivia asked.
“The comedian who was onstage last night. You recommended him, Olivia.”
My mother shrugged. “I forget names.”
“He was good,” Velvet said. “Everyone thought so. I saw Mrs. Brownville suppressing a laugh at one point. I thought she might explode under the pressure. What does he have to do with any of this?”
I quickly explained about Charlie’s nebulous connection to Harold Westenham and why that aroused Chief Monahan’s suspicions.
“Why is that your problem, Elizabeth?” Olivia asked.
“We have that magician coming for the weekend, and he was supposed to go into the room Charlie’s in on Saturday. I’ve had to ask Aunt Tatiana to open yet another room in the old staff quarters, so we can put the magician up in there.”
“Is no trouble,” Tatiana said.
“Perhaps not, but we’re not in the business of giving away free accommodation.”
“Yet another room?” Olivia asked.
“Harold Westenham’s nephew Jim needs a place to stay.”
“Oh yes, Jim,” Velvet said. “The handsome newspaperman without a wedding ring, around our age, who’s taken a shine to Elizabeth.”
“He has?” Olivia said.
“He has not,” I said.
“I didn’t think he was that handsome,” Randy said.
“Elizabeth’s right,” Rosemary said.
“You think he’s handsome, too?” Randy asked.
“Elizabeth is right that we can’t keep giving away free rooms. Why not tell this comedian he has to work for it? The guests won’t mind an extra element added to the nightly show.”
“Good idea,” I said. “When we’re finished here, I’ll let him know if he stays past the end of his contract, he has to perform in exchange for his room. As for the aforementioned Jim Westenham, who’s Harold’s nephew, he’s come up from the city to make his uncle’s arrangements. The police have roped off cabin nineteen until further notice, and we’re almost full, so I put Jim up in the old staff accommodations.”
“The mice might not like sharing,” Velvet said.
“They’re going to have to. I gave him the room for free, but he has to pay for his meals.”
“Why?” Olivia asked. “I mean, why does he need a room? Has he decided to make a vacation out of his uncle’s death?”
“The police are holding the body, pending the results of their investigation. Jim wants to stay until things get sorted out. He says any idea his uncle was some sort of communist agent is ridiculous.”
“If he was a spy,” Randy pointed out, “he wouldn’t have gone around telling everyone.”
“True,” I said. “But Jim and his uncle were close, and he would have noticed, you’d think, if Harold had those leanings.”
Jim had told me he and his uncle hadn’t had much contact over the last few years. A lot can happen in a few years. I decided not to mention that. “Jim dropped into my office just before I came here to tell me that word of this mess has spread beyond our property.”
“That’s bound to happen,” Velvet said. “We can’t stop people from talking about it.”
“Talking is one thing, but spreading rumors and panic is entirely another,” I said. “People are talking about us in town. Specifically, they’re saying that Haggerman’s Catskills Resort is a nest of communist activity and the army is preparing to raid us at any minute.”
Everyone stared at me, openmouthed.
“That’s what Jim said, anyway.”
My mother was rarely at a loss for words. Finally she said, “Well, I never—”
Winston growled and rolled over.
“That might not be as much of a problem as it appears,” Randy said. “Few, if any, of our guests ever go into town.”
“Why would they?” Olivia said. “When we meet every need they have right here. Isn’t that what you tell them, Elizabeth?”
“It says so in our advertising, so it must be true. But we don’t live in a complete bubble out here. The staff go into town. Some of the teenage guests do.”
“Your newspaper friend—” Olivia said.
“He’s not my friend,” I said.
“So you keep saying. If he’s hearing talk in town, we need to ask where this talk’s coming from. The unfortunate death of our guest happened late last night. Almost all the staff who live at home would have left by then, and they wouldn’t be finished with their work today yet. They wouldn’t have had time to start spreading these rumors.”
“The FBI might have been asking questions,” Randy said. “And people leapt to conclusions.”
“I doubt they’re usually so chatty,” Rosemary said.
“It must be coming from Chief Monahan and his barely verbal deputy,” I said. “Jim told me the local newspaper, the Summervale Gazette, was quick to jump on the story. He said the reporter from the paper isn’t simply asking questions but dropping highly suggestive implications into those questions.”
“What does that mean?” Randy asked.
“Questions like, were you aware that Haggerman’s might be a front for a communist cell?”
This time it was Olivia’s turn to snort.
The inner door had been left open so the air could circulate, and out on the porch a squirrel jumped onto the railing. I thought Winston was sound asleep, but he leapt to his feet with a startled yelp and ran for the screen door, barking furiously. Aunt Tatiana patted her chest.
“I was thinking about that as I walked over here,” I said. “As Olivia pointed out, this is all happening very quickly. Monahan might have told someone who then rushed out and spread the news far and wide, or it might have originated at another source.”
“Don’t ty to be so mysterious,” Olivia said. “What are you talking about?”
“Richard Kennelwood was here last night. He came to the dance and the comedy show. He stayed until the end.”
Olivia’s eyebrows rose.
“From Kennelwood Hotel?” Randy asked. “What of it?”
“Jerome Kennelwood was ill over the winter, and his son has taken control of the hotel,” Olivia said. “You think he had something to do with this?”
“Not necessarily with the murder, but he was here. Maybe he hadn’t left when we found the body and called the police. Even if he had, the Kennelwoods have been in Summervale for a lot of years, and Jerome’s an important man in these parts. Did Jerome or his son make a quiet, friendly call to the chief of police to ask what’s happening?”
“And then,” Velvet said, “they took advantage of what happened here to try to blackball Haggerman’s.”
“The nerve!” Aunt Tatiana crushed out her cigarette in a Niagara Falls souvenir ashtray and immediately lit another.
“I’m not saying that’s what happened,” I said. “Only that it’s a possibility.”
“I will ask Irena,” Aunt Tatiana said. Irena was her friend, the head housekeeper at Kennelwood.
“They’re not going to tell her if they’re up to no good,” Olivia said.
Aunt Tatiana raised her eyebrows and cocked her head toward her
sister. “Tell her? No. They won’t tell her.”
“We’re getting off course,” Randy said. “I was there, remember, when the ambulance drivers checked Westenham out. They had no doubt the guy was murdered. So the big question has to be—who killed him?”
“I am sorry for not asking earlier,” Aunt Tatiana said. “Randy, are you okay? That must have been a traumatic experience for you.”
He gave her a brave smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Rostov, but I’m fine. It was unpleasant, but I can deal with it.”
Velvet rolled her eyes to the heavens.
“Randy’s question’s important,” Rosemary said. “If this Mr. Westenham was murdered, deliberately, do we want to ask who did such a thing?”
We looked at each other. Squirrel seen to, Winston settled down at Tatiana’s feet and resumed his nap. The only sounds coming from outside were birds calling to one another and the gentle movement of the wind in the trees. So peaceful and quiet; such a contrast to the dark mood that had settled over this room.
“That’s not our business,” I said. “People bring their troubles with them, whether they want to or not.”
“It might become our business,” Rosemary said, “if the police keep at the communist angle. Never mind now the FBI’s involved.”
“Do they have any suspects?” Olivia asked. “Other than these mythical communists taking their vacation at my hotel.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Chief Monahan isn’t sharing information with me. I can’t see a Haggerman’s guest killing Mr. Westenham. The man kept to himself. He didn’t speak to anyone; he didn’t take his meals in the dining room. He stayed in his cabin and wrote his book and took a stroll in the afternoons by the lake. Even when he came to the ballroom, he kept to himself, had a drink, and then left without having said a word to anyone. Who would have killed him? Why would someone have killed him?”
“You said it yourself,” Velvet said. “People bring their troubles with them. Did a guest recognize him and remember an old grievance? Did someone follow him from the city specifically intending to, as they say, bump him off?”
