a hankering for avocados. Barry volunteered to get some, so
he took off and we never saw him again.” Ward removed
what was left of the ham from the fridge. “Personally, I’m
not much for avocados. They’re too danged squishy.”
As Ward began to carve the ham, Judith leaned against
the counter. “Weren’t you shocked when you got back to the
city and discovered he’d never shown up at all?”
Ward drew back, looking puzzled. “Well…not really. I
mean, people can be kind of odd. Anyway, he didn’t work
for me.”
Which, Judith thought with a pang, apparently made Barry
a nonentity. “Now that Barry’s body has been found,” Judith
began, carefully phrasing her words, “have you thought about
why he was killed?”
Ward was pulling out various drawers. “Nope. It sounds
kind of fishy to me.” He extracted a knife and fork, then
picked up his plate of ham. “I mean, we don’t know for sure
that he was killed. And,” he added, heading toward the exit
with his long, awkward strides, “we don’t even know if it’s
Barry.”
On that jarring note, Ward Haugland left the kitchen.
“You know,” Judith sighed, “he’s right. We won’t know
until a positive ID is made by the police.”
“Shoot.” Renie picked at the ham that Ward had left on
the counter. “Are you saying Barry killed somebody else and
made it look as if he was the victim?”
“It’s been known to happen.” Judith poured out a glass of
cold apple cider. “If I had to guess—and you know I will—I’d
say that’s not the case. How many other people
64 / Mary Daheim
would have been wandering around Mountain Goat Lodge
that Friday afternoon? I’m assuming the place was as
dead—excuse the expression—then as it is now. It’d be a
real stretch to have somebody show up that Barry wanted
to murder.”
“Unless it was prearranged,” Renie noted.
Judith reflected briefly. “No, I don’t think so. If you were
Barry, and there was someone you wanted to get out of the
way, would you have that person drive to Mountain Goat
Lodge, and then do him or her in less than a hundred yards
from where your company’s top executives were waiting for
their avocado dip? I don’t think so.”
“You have a point,” Renie allowed, “though whoever killed
Barry did just that.”
“I know,” Judith said quietly. “As I mentioned earlier, that’s
what bothers me most.”
Before the cousins returned to their room, they each called
home to let their loved ones know they were marooned. Bill,
as usual, was terse on the phone because he firmly believed
the instrument was a satanic tool. Joe was somewhat more
talkative, if subdued.
“I cuffed a twelve-year-old today,” he said after Judith told
him about the storm. “He’d shot two other kids at a strip
mall. Can you believe it?”
“Are the other kids dead?” Judith asked, lacing her voice
with sympathy for Joe, the perp, and the victims.
“No, they’ll probably make it,” Joe replied. “But it still
makes me sick. This kid—Jamaal—isn’t a bad kid, really. At
least I don’t think he is. He just wants to belong. But it’s
been rough getting him to open up. He doesn’t trust adults,
especially not middle-aged white males.”
“Why don’t you let Woody interrogate him?” Judith asked,
referring to Joe’s long-time partner, who was black.
“Because I’m the primary.” Joe said. “And frankly, Woody
can be pretty hard on black kids who get themselves in
trouble. Sometimes it’s almost like he takes it
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 65
personally. Woody made it, and he can’t understand why
kids with the same ethnic background don’t bother to try.”
“Woody was solid middle class,” Judith pointed out. “I’ll
bet most of the gang members haven’t had that advantage.”
“You’re right,” Joe agreed, “but tell that to Woody. He
says that’s all the more reason less fortunate black kids should
try even harder.”
Judith could picture Woodrow Wilson Price, with his
serious brown eyes and thick walrus mustache, lecturing
disadvantaged youth. He would be solemn, eloquent, and
somewhat pedantic. It was dubious that he’d make even the
slightest dent on most of the bad apples Joe had described.
“By the way,” Judith said, nervously clearing her throat,
“you may hear something about an…incident at the lodge.”
“An incident?” Joe sounded on guard.
“Yes. Ah…well…it seems that a body was discovered this
afternoon not far from the parking lot. Um…it’s not a new
body, it’s an old body. That is, it’s…er…been dead for a
long time. The OTIOSE president and CEO has been trying
to get hold of the chief.”
Judith thought she heard Joe say an extremely naughty
word under his breath. “The chief? Our chief?”
“Yes. Mr. Killegrew—the CEO—will only deal with his
vis-à-vis.”
“Screw Mr. Killegrew,” Joe growled. “The chief’s in Hawaii.
Besides, Mountain Goat is way outside our jurisdiction.” He
was silent for a few seconds, then exploded. “Jude-girl!” The
nickname was not spoken with affection. “How the hell did
you get mixed up with another freaking body?”
Judith’s voice came out in a squeak. “I’m just along for the
ride.”
Renie, who been watching and listening with reasonable
attention, yanked the phone out of Judith’s hand. “Listen,
Joe,” she said in a sharp, querulous tone, “don’t blame
66 / Mary Daheim
your wife. She’s right, this is all my doing, and all she did
was provide the food. We’ll probably be home tomorrow,
so go easy on her. It’s been a long day.” Renie handed the
receiver back to Judith.
Neither husband nor wife spoke immediately, but it was
Joe who broke the strained silence. “Okay, okay. It’s not your
fault. Am I to understand that this dead body met with an
accident?”
“That’s it,” Judith said brightly. “It must have been an accident. A skier, a hiker, a…wandering minstrel. Be sure and
tell Mother I’m okay, and let Arlene know what’s going on.
I trust she’s still in charge?”
“Arlene was in the kitchen when I last looked about an
hour ago,” Joe said in a more normal voice. “If she’s not
there now, I’ll call her.”
“Thanks.” Judith slumped onto the tall stool next to the
counter. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Joe sounded just a trifle weary. “Keep out of
trouble. Please.”
“Renie and I are going straight to our room,” Judith assured
Joe.
The cousins didn’t get any further than the door to the
laundry room. Leon Mooney had tiptoed into the kitchen, a
napkin tied around his scrawny neck. “Is there any more
angel food cake?” he asked a bit shyly.
“I’ll look.” Judith removed the cover from the glass cake
plate. “Yes, would you like some?”
“A thin sliver,” Leon replied, seemingly unable to meet
Judith’s gaze. “You needn’t add the strawberries. I’m allergic.”
“Okay.” Judith cut a piece of cake and put it on a dessert
plate. “There you go, Mr. Mooney. How’s the meeting
coming along?”
“Oh!” Leon put a hand to his mouth. “It’s top secret! I