over jurisdiction.”
“Really?” Gene gave a slight nod. “That’s possible. This
is something of a borderline location.”
“Which district?” asked Ward Haugland. “Do we have
supporters in the legislature from around here?”
“Screw the legislature,” Max Agasias snarled. “It’s the rate
commission we care about. What the hell have our lobbyists
been doing lately anyway? They’re down there in the capital
drinking high-priced booze out of some low-down hooker’s
spike-heeled shoes.”
“Cut the sexist remarks,” Margo demanded in a shrill voice.
“At least one of our lobbyists is a woman.”
“So?” Max sneered at Margo. “If you ask me, she’d like to
get in the sack with some cute little…”
“Now, now,” reprimanded Killegrew, “let’s keep our plane
in its landing pattern. We’ll skip all these local folks. I mean,
persons. I’m calling the chief of police back in the city.”
“Good idea,” said Ward.
“You’re damned right,” agreed Max.
“Could somebody describe Barry Newcombe?” asked
Russell.
“Call the chief,” Killegrew ordered Nadia. “Explain
everything. He’ll know what we ought to do.”
Judith knew what she had to do. It was after six, and she
had to set up the buffet. Though no one heard her, she excused herself and headed for the kitchen. Renie followed.
“It serves the chief right,” Judith said, getting a big ham
out of the refrigerator. “He ought to have to put up with
these self-centered morons. Joe says that under all that public
bonhomie the chief is a stuffed shirt.”
“I’ll carve the turkey breast,” Renie volunteered. “I
52 / Mary Daheim
gather you’ve had enough of the OTIOSE crowd.”
“You bet. I don’t see how you can work with people—or
should I say persons?—like them.”
“You get used to it. They’re all alike.” Renie selected a knife
from the wooden cutlery holder. “The problem is that they
get into these executive slots and they become distanced from
reality. They’re pampered, protected—and isolated. The same
thing happens in government. They’re all out of touch.”
“So’s the chief, according to Joe.” Judith piled ham onto
a platter. “I suspect this crew is going to get a dose of reality
when they start investigating Barry Newcombe’s murder.”
“It’ll serve them right, too,” said Renie, aggressively slicing
the turkey. She suddenly paused. “As long as it doesn’t screw
up their acceptance of my presentation.”
Judith shot her cousin a baleful glance. “Stop it. You sound
like one of them.”
“I’m not,” Renie asserted. “I’m just a servile jobber who
wants to suck at the teat of corporate excess.”
Twenty minutes later, the cousins had the buffet set up.
The chafing dishes were lighted, the plates and utensils were
stacked, and the makeshift sideboard looked fit for a king.
Or a queen, or maybe even ten spoiled corporate executives.
In the laundry area, they found that their clothes were dry.
Hastily changing, Judith and Renie felt a huge sense of relief
as they put on their own garments.
“Let’s go,” Renie said. “We’ll leave Ava and Nadia’s stuff
on an empty table in the dining room where they can’t miss
it. I’m not sure I want to talk to any of these people again
for a while.”
Judith had found a rear exit off the supply room. Feeling
liberated, the cousins headed through the door and into the
January night.
During the hour or more that they’d spent inside the lodge,
the snow had been falling steadily and heavily. The
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 53
wind from the north had now reached a high velocity. The
blinding flakes whirled and swirled around the lodge, obliterating everything except the unsteady hands the cousins
held before their faces to ward off the stinging cold.
“Jeez!” Renie cried. “It’s a damned blizzard! I can’t drive
in this!”
“I can’t either,” Judith admitted in a stunned voice. “What
shall we do?”
Renie stood stock-still, with the wind and snow blowing
straight into her face. “We haven’t got much choice. We’re
stuck, at least until the storm blows over and the roads get
plowed. Let’s go back inside before we end up like Barry.”
“Don’t say that,” Judith cautioned. “The weather didn’t
kill him.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve got a very ugly feeling
that somebody inside that lodge that we are about to reenter
was the person—yes, person—who killed Barry Newcombe.”
“You sure know how to terrify a person,” Renie retorted.
Judith gestured toward the lodge. “These people are risk
takers, right?”
“Right. In one way or another.” Renie kept her head down;
her voice came out muffled.
“It required a big risk to kill Barry with the others around,”
Judith continued. “Whoever did it must have realized a storm
was coming, but did you notice all those branches at the
front of the little cave? I think the killer put them there to
hide the body, just in case. Besides, when the snow
melted—assuming there’s ever a big thaw at this elevation—the branches would still provide some concealment.
But then, the snow finally broke them down, probably when
you fell into the bank.”
“Lucky me,” Renie sighed. “I’m a regular walkin’, talkin’
corpse detector.”
“Lucky us,” Judith echoed. “It isn’t like it’s the first time.”
Feeling bleak and bleary eyed, she entered the lodge.
54 / Mary Daheim
They explained their forestalled departure plight to Nadia
Weiss, who, surprisingly, was not without sympathy. “There
are plenty of vacant rooms,” she said. “I’ve already moved
Frank once. Naturally, he wanted a corner room. But
Mountain Goat Lodge can accommodate two hundred guests.
We’ll find you something in the main wing on the second
floor, where the rest of us are staying.”
Judith and Renie didn’t find the idea particularly reassuring. But again, there wasn’t much choice. “We’ll share,”
Renie blurted. “We wouldn’t want to mess up two rooms,”
she added hastily.
The arrangement was fine with Nadia. She led the cousins
to the elevator via a back corridor. While waiting for the car
to arrive, Judith overheard Killegrew expostulating on the
deficiencies of the municipal police department.
“Lack of personal contact…city employees, not used to the
bottom line…boondoggles…civil service…political pork
barrel…favoritism…” The litany of complaints went on.
The three women got into the elevator. “Did you talk to
the police chief?” Judith asked innocently.
Nadia leaned her slight frame against the upholstered
padding of the elevator. “No! It’s after six, he’d gone home.
Frank had me call him there, but I reached his answering
machine. We haven’t heard back yet.”
“Ah.” Judith didn’t know what else to say. She recalled
how often Joe had tried to see the chief when he and his
partner, Woody Price, were working a case. Unless the investigation was high profile, the chief usually shunted Joe
and Woody off to his deputy or some other underling.
“This whole thing is very peculiar,” Nadia said as they got
out on the second floor. “I cannot—I simply cannot—imagine