up for the night. I hope nobody else got hurt. Say, do you
know why Andrea got so mad at Margo this afternoon?”
Renie shook her head. “I couldn’t guess. Women talk a
great line about helping each other in the business world,
but believe me, the sisterhood is a myth. Look at Nadia and
Andrea—there’s bad blood there, too, probably because
Andrea is an officer and Nadia isn’t. It’s every girl for herself,
just like it is with the boys. Maybe more so, because it’s
tougher for women. The old boy network still seems to
function.”
“They’re sure a testy bunch,” Judith remarked. “Frankly,
I’m surprised. I would expect better of people in executive
positions.”
“Not so,” Renie said, turning back the spread on the nearest
twin bed. “These people are under tremendous pressure,
from within and without. As a public utility, OTIOSE is
watched closely by the state and federal commissions, not
to mention the public and the media. So when
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 75
they go off on a private retreat like this, they’re supposed to
vent and let their hair down. It’s only natural that their
emotions boil over and they behave badly.”
“They sure do,” Judith agreed.
“They’re spoiled brats,” Renie said. “I’ve tried to explain
that.”
“I know. I’m just not used to it,” Judith said with a shake
of her head. “I’ve never been involved in corporate life. Oh,
there were politics and a pecking order within the library
system, but it wasn’t like this.” Slowly, she wandered around
the room, hugging herself to keep warm and absently taking
in the modest decor: another mountain-scape, a brightly
colored Native American throw rug, a photograph of the
lodge under construction. The handwritten date in the corner
read August 21, 1936.
“This must have been a public works project,” Judith
mused. “You know—one of FDR’s efforts to put the unemployed to work during the Depression.”
“Probably,” Renie agreed. “It has that look—spare, but
functional. Of course the recent owners from the private
sector have tried to jazz it up. Like the fancy kitchen, and
the conference rooms.”
“Speaking of kitchen,” Judith said with a sheepish expression, “I wouldn’t mind getting a little extra something.” She
pointed to her empty plate. “How about you?”
Renie waved her cigarette. “I’m good, but I’ll be your
bodyguard. It’s probably not wise to go off by ourselves.”
The lights in the corridor had been dimmed. Judith and
Renie decided to use the elevator now that they assumed the
lobby was vacant. Again, it appeared that Nadia—or somebody—had tidied up. A single lamp glowed in a corner by
one of the sofas. In the grate, the fire had died down to a
few crimson embers. The wind moaned in the big chimney,
and the pennants that hung from the rafters rustled gently
above the cousins’ heads.
The dining room was dark, but Renie found the switch.
76 / Mary Daheim
A pale, sallow patch of light followed them into the kitchen.
Judith started to feel for the on-off button by the sink, but
stopped abruptly.
Something was wrong. She could make out the marbletopped counter and the glass dessert plate. She could also
see that someone’s face was lying in what was left of the
angel food cake.
SIX
NEITHER JUDITH NOR Renie screamed. Instead, they held
onto each other so hard that their fingernails practically drew
blood. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute, they stood back and stared at their discovery.
“It’s Leon Mooney,” Renie said, stunned and hoarse. “What
happened to him?”
Reluctantly, Judith went around to the other side of the
counter. Leon’s small body sagged against the counter, his
knees buckled, his arms dangling at his sides.
“He is dead, I gather?” Renie still sounded unnatural.
Judith felt for a pulse in Leon’s frail wrist. “I’m afraid so.”
Her own voice was shaking. “It could have been a heart attack.”
But Judith knew better. As soon as Renie’s fumbling fingers
managed to turn on the lights, Judith saw the ugly bruise on
the back of Leon’s head. Then she spotted a heavy-duty
plastic freezer bag next to his feet. The bag had something
in it. Judith bent down for a closer look.
Through the transparent plastic, Judith could see the
soapstone Eskimo carving. “Good God!” she breathed,
wobbling on her heels. “It’s that same carving Max used to
conk Russell!”
77
78 / Mary Daheim
“Poor little Leon!” Renie sounded genuinely moved. “I
hardly knew him, but he seemed the most harmless of the
bunch.”
Judith sat down on the floor and held her head. “This is
awful. I feel kind of sick.”
Renie, who had propped herself up against the refrigerator,
scanned the kitchen. “I hope whoever did this isn’t lurking
around here someplace. Is he still warm?”
Judith nodded, then tried to focus on the digital clock. “It’s
ten to eleven. Didn’t Killegrew say they were going to cut
the meeting off at ten-thirty?”
“I think so,” Renie replied. “That’s about when we heard
the noises in the hall.”
“Dear heaven.” Judith rocked back and forth on the floor.
“We have to do something.”
Renie gestured at the phone. “Should we at least try to call
for help?”
Judith hesitated. “Yes. We have to.”
“I’ll do it.” On wobbly legs, Renie went to the phone.
Judith averted her eyes from Leon’s pathetic body. If the
little man had seemed wizened in life, he now appeared utterly wraithlike in death. But, Judith thought, that’s what
he’d become—a wraith. She felt an unaccustomed bout of
hysteria surging up inside.
“Damn!” Renie slammed the phone back in place. “I can’t
get a dial tone! The lines must be down.”
The announcement snapped Judith out of her emotional
slide. She started to get up, still trying not to look at Leon.
“We can’t do anything about that,” she said, using the
counter’s edge to pull herself to a standing position. “How
do we deliver the bad news?”
Renie twisted her hands together. “Nadia, I suppose. We
start with her. Or should it be Margo? She’s p.r.”
“Stop sounding like a corporate clone,” Judith said, more
severely than she intended. “Wouldn’t it be better to go to
Frank Killegrew?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 79
Renie considered. “Maybe. Yes, you’re right. Let’s do it.”
But the cousins had no idea which room belonged to Killegrew. Bewildered, they stood in the dimly lit second-floor
corridor and scanned the various doors.
“To hell with it,” Renie finally said, and knocked at the
one in front of her. There was no response; she knocked
again.
“Maybe,” Judith whispered, “that was Leon Mooney’s
room.”
Renie grimaced. “You might be right.” She moved on to
the next door on the right.
Only a single knock was required before the cousins heard
noises inside. Then Andrea Piccoloni-Roth, attired in a lavender satin robe, opened the door. Seeing the cousins, she
blinked twice and gave a little start.