it over Andrea’s face.
“That’s…better,” Judith said, relieved that Gene hadn’t
suggested they move Andrea upstairs with Leon. “Finished?”
Gene said he was. In silence, they returned to the lobby.
The brandy bottles had been emptied, replaced by gin,
rum, vodka, and whiskey. The mood, however, was scarcely
festive. When Judith got out of the elevator, she noticed the
look of relief on Renie’s face.
“I think we should make more coffee,” Renie whispered.
“These people are going to need it once they kill all the
booze.”
“Don’t use that term,” Judith urged, but was quick to follow Renie out of the lobby. “Did anything happen in my
absence?” she asked when they reached the dining room.
“No, just a lot of maundering about poor Andrea,” Renie
replied, unplugging the big urn on the buffet table. “Her
husband was a lazy dreamer, she was the breadwinner, all
Alan Roth ever wanted was a meal ticket, she wouldn’t divorce him because she was Catholic.”
“Sounds familiar,” Judith murmured, heading for the kitchen. “After nineteen years of marriage to Dan, I can sympathize with Andrea.”
“I’ll bet you can,” Renie said as Judith firmly shut the door
behind them.
“That’s not all,” Judith said, pressing her back against
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 121
the door. “Much as I hate to say this, coz, I think Andrea
was murdered.”
Renie winced. “I hate to hear you say that,” she breathed,
“but why am I not surprised?”
“Because we’re in the middle of a bloodbath, that’s why.”
Judith closed her eyes for a moment, then squared her
shoulders and walked over to the counter where she sat down
on one of the tall stools. “First of all, Andrea wasn’t the type
to commit suicide. Even if she was in love with Leon
Mooney—and we don’t know that for sure—the Andrea
Piccoloni-Roths of this world do not kill themselves.”
Renie perched on one of the other stools. “It didn’t sound
right to me from the start.”
“This isn’t just amateur psychology,” Judith went on.
“I hope not. Bill hates competition,” Renie said, referring
to her husband’s staff position at the university. “Bill says
that besides being simplistic and superficial, most non-professionals…”
Judith held up both hands. “Stop! Your husband’s brilliant,
but this isn’t the time for one of your long-winded wifely
essays. I’m talking facts here, coz. As in fact number
one—there was an empty Halcion bottle on the nightstand
next to the bed. Fact number two—the water glass, which
you gave Andrea last night, was in the bathroom. Now who
swallows pills in the bathroom with the water glass, and
then takes the bottle with them into the bedroom?”
“Is ‘nobody’ the right answer?” Renie had assumed her
middle-aged ingenue’s air.
“Right. Fact number three,” Judith continued. “The note
said what Ava told us—‘Leon, I’m coming to join you.’ Andrea undoubtedly wrote that, but I’ll bet she wrote it last
night to slip under Leon’s door. It simply meant that she
was going to meet him in his room, which is where we found
her when we went to tell her about Leon. But now she’s in
her own room, next door. My guess is that the killer found
that note—probably on Leon—and used it to fake a suicide.”
122 / Mary Daheim
“Clever,” Renie remarked. “And fortuitous.”
“Exactly. Then we get to fact number four—which isn’t
really a fact, but a conjecture.” Judith gave Renie an apologetic look. “The extra pillow that I’d put under Andrea was
lying on the empty twin bed. Now it’s possible that she removed the pillow herself. But I’m thinking that she came
back to her room and simply flopped onto the bed. Under
the circumstances, wouldn’t you? She was worn out, she
was upset, she very well may have taken Halcion to help
herself sleep. Why remove the pillow?”
“She didn’t.” Renie’s face was expressionless.
“Of course she didn’t,” Judith continued, “because…”
“Because she wasn’t in Leon’s room.”
“What?” Judith made a face at Renie.
“You said so yourself.” Renie lifted her hands, palms up.
“The water glass and the pillow you’re talking about were
in Leon’s room, not Andrea’s. So what are you trying to
say?”
Judith looked blank, then exhilarated. “What I was saying
all along. Except that now I’m sure I’m right. The killer removed the extra pillow from under the spread of the other
twin bed. Andrea didn’t die from an overdose of sleeping
pills. She was smothered.”
Judith and Renie weren’t sure how to break the news to
the others. It hadn’t seemed to Judith that Gene Jarman was
suspicious. On the other hand, he wasn’t the type to reveal
what he was thinking. As the cousins made fresh coffee, they
mulled over the problem.
“Andrea must have let in whoever killed her,” Renie pointed out, running water from the tap into the urn.
“Of course she would,” Judith agreed. “Despite Leon’s
death, she must have trusted whoever came to her door.”
“Which could be anybody,” Renie noted. “The only person
she really seemed on the outs with was Margo.”
“Andrea had probably already taken the Halcion,” Ju- SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 123
dith said, opening the kitchen door for Renie, who was carrying the urn back to the dining room. “She was probably
drowsy. Maybe whoever called on her offered to sit with her
until she nodded off. Then he—or she—applied the pillow.”
Judith winced. “I thought her face looked sort of bruised, but
then I don’t know what effects an overdose of Halcion has
on a person.”
“I don’t know, either,” Renie admitted, plugging in the
urn. “Didn’t somebody say they heard noises during the
night?”
Judith stared at Renie. “You’re right. It was Margo. She
thought someone was trying to get into her room. I’ll bet
Leon was on one side of Andrea’s room and Margo was on
the other.”
“That’s right,” Renie responded. “I saw Margo come from
that room last night when everybody heard the commotion.”
The cousins gazed at each other. “Shall we?” Judith finally
said.
“I suppose,” Renie said reluctantly. “Our popularity is
about to plummet to minus zero.”
“Our popularity isn’t the issue,” Judith said bluntly. “Trying
to stop a killer from striking again is what matters.”
While not exactly drunk, the OTIOSE crew wasn’t quite
sober, either. Ava was curled up against Gene; Nadia appeared to be asleep; Ward and Max were arguing goodnaturedly; Russell was talking to himself; Margo was sitting
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.