for usage along with any fines or penalties. But OTIOSE
wants to make a public example of Alien Tel.”
“That’s possible.” Ava had turned her back on Renie and
was putting a couple of empty liquor bottles into the recycling
bin.
“I never heard of Alien Tel,” Judith said, feeling left out of
the conversation. “Are they located around here?”
“Their customer base is mostly east of the mountains,”
Renie replied. “That’s where they butted heads with OTIOSE.
As I recall, one of the towers was up here near the summit.”
Ava didn’t respond directly. “I think we’ve got everything
cleared away,” she said, dusting off her hands. “I’ll make one
last check of the lobby, then I’m heading for bed. Good
night.”
The cousins watched her leave. “Touchy, touchy,” murmured Renie.
“I didn’t think so,” Judith said. “You can’t blame her for
not tattling about a big lawsuit.”
Renie opened the refrigerator door and took out two carrot
sticks and a radish. “It’s no secret, coz. It’s been in the paper.
You know, the business section, which you only use to line
the bird cage. Except you don’t have a bird cage because you
don’t have a bird.”
“I think I call it my mother’s apartment,” Judith remarked
absently.
“Anyway, the whole thing should have been settled out of
court months ago,” Renie went on, popping the radish
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 97
in her mouth. “But OTIOSE refused to deal. The Alien folks
told me it was a personal vendetta.”
Judith, who hadn’t been terribly interested in the court
case, now focused her full attention on Renie. “You mean
Frank Killegrew?”
Renie shook her head. “I mean Gene Jarman. His ex-wife,
Sabine Bristow-Jarman, is the attorney for Alien Tel. He’s
out to get her, and damn the expense. Gene’s not really a
trial attorney, but he’s had some experience and intends to
try the case himself.”
“Killegrew must support the suit,” Judith said, taking one
last look around the kitchen.
“Publicly, yes,” Renie replied, following Judith through the
laundry room to the back stairs. “Now I want to know why
Ava wouldn’t talk.”
“Are you referring to motive?” Judith asked over her
shoulder.
“There’s got to be one, right?” Renie said as they ascended
the stairs. “You got any better ideas?”
Judith made a frustrated gesture with her hands. “That’s
where I feel at a loss. I don’t know these people, and I certainly don’t know anything about the business world.”
The cousins stopped talking as they proceeded down the
hall. It seemed to Judith that an unnatural calm had settled
over the lodge. Not only had the wind died down, but there
were no noises coming from any of the guest rooms. Yet Judith had a feeling that behind the closed doors, none of the
guests were sleeping soundly.
“You forgot your snack,” Renie said after they got to their
own room.
“I lost my appetite,” Judith admitted. “Finding a dead body
on the kitchen counter will do that.”
Judith and Renie decided to sleep in the bathrobes
provided by the lodge. They rinsed out their underwear, then
realized that the garments probably wouldn’t dry in the chilly
room. Renie suggested that they take their things down to
the laundry room and put them in the dryer; Judith
98 / Mary Daheim
told her she wasn’t going back downstairs for a million
bucks.
“There’s no telling what—or who—we’d find this time,”
she said, piling kindling and logs into the fireplace. “Let’s
hang the stuff next to the hearth and hope for the best.”
“I’m game,” said Renie, flopping down on one of the twin
beds and lighting a cigarette. “Gamy, too, if we have to stay
here very long.”
“We can wear the robes and do another load of laundry
tomorrow,” Judith said, wishing Renie hadn’t decided to
it when other people are around.”
“Good thinking.” Renie, who had unearthed a glass ashtray
bearing the imprint of the old Milwaukee Road railway
company, tapped her cigarette. “Bad thinking,” she added.
“About what?” Judith had slipped under the covers and
already had her eyes closed. “I really wish you wouldn’t
smoke in bed.”
“Motive. If Gene’s on the spot, he should have been one
of the victims,” Renie reasoned. “Why kill a lowly staff assistant like Barry?”
“You are watching that cigarette, aren’t you?” Judith
opened one eye.
“Leon Mooney I could understand,” Renie continued. “He
controls the budget. If he went to Gene—or Frank Killegrew—and said ‘The window is closed on wasteful litigation’, then Gene might want him out of the way. But that
would only be a temporary stop-gap. Someone would be
promoted almost immediately, and the funds would still be
cut off.”
“Once when Dan was smoking in bed, he melted his DingDong.” Judith rolled over, her back to Renie.
“Promotions!” Renie exclaimed. “Who’ll get Leon’s job?
Nobody here. It’ll be some assistant vice president from
treasury or accounting.”
“Coz…” Judith’s voice was pleading. “Will you shut
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 99
up, put your cigarette out, and turn off the damned light?”
“Okay, okay,” Renie sighed. “It’s not like you to avoid a
guessing game involving murder.”
“It is at one o’clock in the morning when I’m exhausted.
Good night.”
Renie not only put her cigarette out, she threw it into the
grate, checked the lingerie hanging from the fireplace tools,
took one last look at the falling snow, and clicked off the
bedside lamp.
“Good night,” she said to Judith.
Judith was already asleep.
Seven A.M. came far too early. Neither Judith nor Renie
felt fully rested. Indeed, the vigor Renie had shown the previous night had degenerated into grouchiness.
“Don’t talk to me, and you’ll be okay,” she snarled when
Judith came out of the bathroom.
Judith opened her mouth to express agreement, saw the
black look on Renie’s face, and clamped her lips shut. The
cousins dressed in silence, though Judith had to fight down
an urge to complain when Renie lighted her first cigarette of
the day.
The sun was almost up, but it was hidden behind heavy
gray clouds. The snow was still falling, though not as heavily,
and the wind had died down. That was not necessarily good
news as far as Judith was concerned. If the wind changed,
perhaps coming in from the west, the snow clouds might
blow away.
It was Renie who finally spoke, just as they were about to
go downstairs. “Don’t forget to give Frank or Nadia those
items that belong to Barry,
” she said.
“Right.” Judith opened her big shoulder bag while Renie
unlocked the door and stepped into the corridor.
“Well?” said Renie, fists on hips. “Let’s hit it.”
Judith turned a hapless face to her cousin. “They’re gone.”
“What’s gone?” Renie had virtually shouted. She gave
100 / Mary Daheim
a quick look down the hall, then lowered her voice. “What
are you talking about? Barry’s ID?”
“All of it,” Judith whispered. “Credit cards, notebook, the
whole bit.”
“Jeez.” Renie reeled around the corridor, then shoved Judith
back up against the door. “Did you lock up when we left last
night to go downstairs?” she asked under her breath.
“No. Did you?”
“No.” Renie grimaced. “I didn’t think about it.”
“Who knew I had the stuff in my purse?”
Renie appeared to concentrate. “Everybody. You mentioned it in the lobby while Gene Jarman was questioning
you.”
“So I did.” Judith slumped against the door. “What’s the
point?”
Renie grabbed her by the arm. “Who knows? But we can’t
stand out in the hall and talk about it. Let’s go.”
The kitchen looked exactly as they had left it the previous
night. Judith had planned a simple self-serve breakfast of
cereal, toast, fruit, juice, and coffee. But there were eggs in
the refrigerator and bacon in the freezer. She decided she
might as well improvise.
“It had to be the notebook,” Judith said, filling the big
coffee urn. “The rest was all the usual plastic.”
“But there was nothing in the notebook,” Renie noted,
apparently jolted out of her early morning mood by the theft.
“The pages had been ruined.”
“Whoever took it didn’t know that,” Judith said, measuring
coffee into the urn’s big metal basket. “I don’t think I mentioned how the damp had ruined the notebook.”
“You didn’t.” Renie put two pounds of bacon into the
microwave and hit the defroster button.
Judith carried the urn into the dining room. “Tell me
everything you know about these people,” she said when she
got back to the kitchen.
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“You didn’t want to hear it last night,” Renie said in a
contrary tone.
“That’s because my brain had died of exhaustion. Give,
coz.”
Renie removed the bacon from the microwave and began
laying strips in a big skillet. “I don’t know that much. You’ve
already heard about Frank Killegrew—he was a former Bell
System vice president who decided to start up his own
company. While he claims to be from Billings, Montana, he
was actually born and raised in some itty-bitty town about
thirty miles away. His background was hard-scrabble, a fact
he likes to hide. To his credit, Frank went to college, in Butte,
I think, then straight to the phone company after he graduated with an engineering degree. His rise wasn’t exactly
meteoric, but it was steady. He and his wife—I think her
name is Patrice—have two grown children. Patrice is a typical
corporate wife—pampered and spoiled. More so than most,
because I think her family had money. Frank golfs, skis, and
has a big cruiser. They live in one of those plush neighborhoods on the lake and have a summer home on another lake
in Montana.”
“Good work,” Judith said approvingly. “You seem to know
Mr. Killegrew quite well.”
“Not really.” Renie was opening cereal boxes. “I’ve designed some brochures that featured his bio. Some of the
other, more personal stuff I’ve picked up from the downtown
grapevine.”
“How about Ward Haugland?” Judith asked as she began
to cut up a big Crenshaw melon.
“A native Texan, another engineering degree, another guy
who rose through the Bell System ranks,” Renie said. “He
served as an assistant vice president under Frank, then left
with him to form the new company. He also golfs, skis, and
has a boat.”
“Is that required at the executive level?” Judith asked with
a little smile.
102 / Mary Daheim
“In a way,” Renie replied, quite serious. “It’s part of the
old boy network. If, for example, you play golf with the boss,
you’re more inclined to get the next promotion. If you golf,
ski, and have a boat, you’re a shoo-in. Or so the passed-over,
non-sports enthusiasts would have you believe.”
“Is Ward married?” Judith inquired, tackling a cantaloupe.
“Definitely, to a world-class hypochondriac. Helen Haugland has suffered more diseases than the AMA allows.”
“Is she also spoiled and pampered?”
“Not to mention coddled and overprotected. I’ve never
met her—she never goes anywhere except to the doctor—though come to think of it, I did meet Patrice Killegrew
once,” Renie said as she turned the heat on under the bacon.
“It was a couple of years ago, at some graphic design awards
banquet. She was a stuck-up pill.”
“Somebody said Leon had lived with his mother,” Judith
remarked. “What else?”
Renie shook her head. “Nothing. I think she died not long
ago. Leon kept himself to himself, as they say.”
“Except when he was keeping company with Andrea Piccoloni-Roth,” Judith pointed out.
“So it seems. The odd couple.” Renie paused, apparently
conjecturing about the unlikely pair. “Andrea and—what’s
his name? Alan Roth—have a couple of teenaged boys. Roth
stays home on the pretext of being a house-husband, as well
as the aforementioned computer genius. I saw his picture on
her desk once. He’s rather good looking, in a lean, pedantic
kind of way.”
“More of a hunk than Leon Mooney?” Judith started to
smile, glanced at the counter where she’d last seen Leon,
and immediately regretted the impulsive remark.
“Not a hunk,” Renie replied. “Just…more attractive.”
“How about Gene Jarman? I know he’s divorced and his
ex-wife works for Alien Tel.”
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“That’s about all I know, too,” Renie said. “Gene strikes
me as one of those black guys who doesn’t want to admit
he is black. He’s very careful about his background, which
I gather was an Oakland ghetto.”
“That doesn’t sound much different than Frank Killegrew
hiding the fact that he grew up in Destitute, Montana, or
whatever podunk name the town is called.”
“No, you’re right. As usual, people are people. Maybe
Gene seems touchier, because he’s an attorney instead of an
engineer.”
Judith was about to inquire into Margo Chang’s background when Margo entered the kitchen. She had come
through the dining room and was carrying a mug of hot
coffee.
“Thank God,” she murmured. “The lifeline is open.”
“Dig in,” Renie urged, indicating the fruit and the cereal
boxes.
Margo shook her head. “Right now, all I
need is coffee.
God, I was awake half the night. I kept thinking I heard
someone trying to get into my room. It was just nerves, but
it didn’t make for decent rest.”
Judith finished culling strawberries and leaned against the
counter across from Margo, who’d sat down on one of the
tall stools. “My cousin was just filling me in on who’s who
in the company. How long have you been with OTIOSE,
Margo?”
Taking a deep, satisfying swig of coffee, Margo eyed Judith
warily. “What is this—a grilling of suspects?”
“No, no,” Judith said in her most self-deprecating manner.
“I feel lost in this group. Which is kind of scary, all things
considered. I’m just curious. You can’t blame me for wondering what I’ve gotten into.”
“That’s what we’re all wondering.” Margo made a face.
“At the first sign of clear weather, I’m walking out of here,
heading for the summit, and ordering a car to collect me.
Then I’m going straight home to write my letter of resignation. This is one terrifying phone company.”
104 / Mary Daheim
“I don’t blame you,” Renie put in. “I wouldn’t want to be
in your shoes trying to explain all this to the media.”
Margo’s plain face looked drawn. “The worst is yet to
come.”
Judith tensed. “What do you mean?”
Margo had set the coffee mug down on the counter, almost
in the exact spot where the cousins had found Leon. “I mean,
when the killer is unmasked, or whatever they call it in
mystery novels.” The almond-shaped eyes darted from Judith
to Renie. “Until last night, I honestly believed that some
outsider murdered Barry. But it’s different now that Leon’s
dead. Nobody could have gotten into the lodge.” Her lower
lip trembled. “Don’t you see? It has to be one of us.”
EIGHT
IN THE STRAINED atmosphere of the kitchen, Judith felt the
full impact of being sealed off from the rest of the world. Yet
all three women carried on, perhaps in the hope that their
mundane tasks could keep terror at bay. Margo drank more
coffee, Judith took a fruit platter out to the dining room, and
Renie flipped bacon. The snow continued to fall.
“It was seven years ago,” Margo said suddenly when Judith
returned to the kitchen. “That’s when I joined OTIOSE. I’d
been working in p.r. for a public utility company in California. I wanted a change, and L.A. was turning into a zoo.”