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.”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 103
“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.”
She uttered a brittle laugh. “I should have stayed there. I
didn’t know when I was well off.”
“Were you hired in at the officer level?” Renie asked.
“No. I went to work for Herb Oldman, who had the good
sense to die of a heart attack three years later. I got his job,
and thought I was on top of the world. Now I feel as if it’s
caved in on me.” Margo held her head in her hands.
“Excuse me.” The uncertain voice came from the doorway
where Russell Craven stood, his fair hair even more unruly
than usual. “May I please have some cream? Real cream, if
you have it.”
105
106 / Mary Daheim
Judith went to the refrigerator. “How are you doing, Mr.
Craven?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
“Doing?” He patted the bump on his head. “Not very well.
This hasn’t been a congenial experience so far.”
Judith poured cream into a ceramic pitcher. “No one can
be feeling good this morning,” she commiserated. “Are you
really going to continue with your meetings?”
Russell exchanged a questioning look with Margo. “I
suppose,” he said. “What else is there to do? We can’t leave.
I went to the front door just now and when I opened it, a
pile of snow fell on me. I could barely close it again.”
“Great.” Margo set her mug down with a thump. “We
should have paid more attention to the forecast. Why do we
always assume the weatherman is off-base? And why doesn’t
somebody come get us? Aren’t there search and rescue people
around here?”
“They’re probably having enough trouble with people
stranded on the highway and at the ski areas,” Judith said,
then went to the phone. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try…”
The line was still dead. The spark of hope that had appeared in the eyes of the others flickered and died. Judith
gave them a rueful look.
“Sorry. But breakfast is almost ready.”
Russell and Margo didn’t budge. It occurred to Judith that
they preferred staying in a group. As if to underscore the
conferees’ feelings, Max Agasias and Ward Haugland appeared next, entering from the laundry room.
Max went straight to Russell and put a hand on the other
man’s shoulder. “Hey, no hard feelings about last night. I
lost my temper, that’s all. Sometimes I get pretty damned
frustrated with the second-class way my marketing people
are treated.”
Russell recoiled slightly, but managed a small smile. “We’re
all protective of our own shops,” he said simply.
“Coffee’s ready in the dining room,” Judith announced as
a furtive Nadia Weiss slipped into the kitchen.
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 107
“I saw it,” she said in a nervous voice. “But I…well, I
thought I’d wait.” Her blue eyes darted every which way,
then came to rest on Russell. “Shall we get coffee now?
Or…?”
“We’ll all go,” Max said.
“I need a refill,” Margo chimed in. The five of them trooped
off to the dining room.
Judith began cracking eggs in a frying pan. “Take that
toaster out and plug it into the outlet with the coffee urn,”
she said to Renie. “It’s almost eight. They’ll be here in a few
minutes.”
They were, except for Andrea. As Judith dished fried eggs
directly onto the conferees’ plates, Frank Killegrew opined
that his vice president-human resources was probably too
upset to come down for breakfast.
“Andrea was fond of Leon,” Killegrew said, passing the
toast around the table. “I mean, really fond of him. She took
his death pretty hard.”
“Oh, Frank.” Margo was shaking her head.
“What?” Killegrew stared at Margo.
“We’re all taking it hard,” Margo asserted. “Don’t you get