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.”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 125
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.”
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
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 127
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!
129
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
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 133
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