curious look, Judith clarified her statement. “I don’t mean
suicide. I mean that something she did—or more likely
something she knew—caused her death. I’m guessing that
the same holds true for Barry and Leon.”
Reluctantly, Renie stood up. “If you’re referring to the exchange of gossip, I can see that with Andrea and Barry. But
not with Leon. Did he strike you as someone who would sit
around savoring juicy corporate tidbits?”
“No,” Judith admitted, “he didn’t. But I keep thinking of
that phrase somebody mentioned—‘Mooney’s Money.’
Money is always an excellent motive.”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 137
The cousins went out into the hall. “We’ve got to find a
good hiding place,” Judith said when they were in their own
room. “It’s too obvious to hide anything in here. Think, coz.”
“How about the safe?” Renie said off the top of her head.
“You can change the combination. Nobody will know.”
Judith beamed at Renie. “Perfect. Let’s check out the
briefcase and purse before we go back downstairs. If there’s
nothing of interest, we can put them back in Andrea’s room.”
They went through the black leather handbag first. Andrea’s wallet contained a great many credit cards and even
more business cards. There were also several receipts, apparently saved for the purpose of possible returns or for income
tax records.
“She hadn’t cleaned this out for a while,” Judith remarked.
“Most of this stuff goes back to November and December.
Wow!” She held up a small piece of paper. “Andrea bought
somebody a Rolex watch! A Christmas present for Alan,
maybe?”
“A bribe’s more like it,” Renie said, sorting through the
rest of the handbag. “Maybe Andrea was trying to buy her
husband’s fidelity.”
“This is kind of interesting,” Judith said, holding up another
receipt. “It’s from Thursday, and it’s for lunch at the Manhattan Grill. Andrea filled in all the tax-required info. Apparently, she treated Patrice Killegrew.”
“So? I imagine it doesn’t hurt to butter up the boss’s wife
now and then.” Renie dug deep into the leather handbag.
“Hey, I found another wallet. More keys, too. No wonder
this sucker’s so heavy…” Renie stared at the items in her
hand. “This is Barry’s stuff!”
Judith put Andrea’s wallet down on the bed. “I’ll be
darned. What about the notebook and the rest of it?”
“It’s all here.” Renie handed the weathered notebook to
Judith.
138 / Mary Daheim
For a few moments, Judith was silent. “These things were
meant to be found,” she said at last. “If Andrea was a suicide,
and the Leon Mooney affair story didn’t wash, then we were
supposed to believe that Andrea had killed Barry. Let me see
those keys.”
Renie handed over the ring that Judith had found in the
cave. “Six keys,” Judith said, spreading them out on the
counterpane. She pointed to the first key on the ring. “House
or apartment key, right? The next one’s the same type,
probably for a second lock. The big one’s a car key. It looks
a lot like the one to my Subaru. These three smaller ones
are—what? A gym locker? A filing cabinet? Luggage?”
“They could be any of those things,” said Renie, looking
puzzled. “What’s your point?”
“Did Barry have a car?”
“How would I know?” Renie sounded mildly annoyed,
then snapped her fingers. “He must have. How else could
he transport his catering supplies?”
“Okay.” Judith seemed satisfied. “So that big key would be
his. Where then is the key to the company van he drove to
Mountain Goat Lodge?”
“Maybe it’s still in the cave,” Renie suggested. “You might
have missed it.”
Judith shook her head. “Not possible. They left in that van,
with Nadia driving, remember?”
“Ah.” Enlightened, Renie smiled at Judith. “Good thinking.
So what you’re saying is that the killer made sure he—or
she—retrieved the van key from Barry after he was dead.”
“That’s right. Now we have to find out from Nadia who
gave her that key. And why.”
“Why what?” The puzzled expression returned to Renie’s
round face.
“If Barry had supposedly run off, he wouldn’t have left the
key behind,” Judith reasoned. “So how did the killer explain
having the key in his—or her—possession?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 139
“Maybe,” Renie said, “we should go downstairs and leave
the rest of this stuff until later.”
“You mean we should get to Nadia while she’s still alive?”
Judith thought for a moment. “That’s not a bad idea, but I’d
like to finish our search so we can return this stuff in case
somebody else comes looking for it.”
The briefcase was full of what looked like personnel folders
along with Andrea’s notes, many of which had been taken
at the previous day’s meetings. “See what you make of these,”
Judith said, handing the notes to Renie. “I don’t speak corporate lingo.”
Renie scanned the handwritten pages. “Most of the references are about planning for the future. Frank’s vision for
OTIOSE, comments from the others, suggestions, ideas, all
that sort of thing. It’s pretty bland, if you ask me.”
“I did,” Judith replied absently, flipping through a fat daily
planner. Since it started with January first, there weren’t
many entries, and most of them struck Judith as routine. She
did, however, find Patrice Killegrew’s name written in three
times.
“Isn’t this too much buttering up?” she asked of Renie.
“Here’s dinner with Patrice on Wednesday, January third,
lunch on Friday, the fifth, and again last Thursday.” Judith
sifted through the receipts again. “I can find only the one
from the Manhattan Grill. Patrice must have treated on the
other two occasions. They lunched both times at that bistro
in the public market.”
“It might have something to do with Frank’s retirement,”
Renie said, removing several folders from the briefcase. “You
know, planning a big bash to honor the occasion.”
“Wouldn’t Nadia be involved in that?” Judith inquired.
“Well—yes, but sometimes human resources people get
sucked in, too.” Renie opened one of the folders. It was the
same one she had found on the podium in the conference
room. “Andrea played the horses?”
140 / Mary Daheim
“Why not? We do when we get the chance.” Judith put
the receipts back in Andrea’s wallet.
“I suppose she needed a vice besides Leon Mooney,” Renie
allowed. “He wouldn’t make me feel steeped in sin. Hey,
this is weird.” Renie had turned to the second page of material in the folder. “There’s another list, but it’s names and
titles and companies, along with a bunch of other really
strange stuff.”
Judith took the sheet of paper from Renie. The first listing
read, “Charles E. Fisher, vice president—customer services,
S.W. Com.; Oct. 8–10, Cascadia Hotel, Room 608, bouncy
blonde or redhead, no S&M.”
The cousins stared at each other. “Hookers.” Judith formed
the word silently. “Look at this—James L. blah-blah, assistant
vice present, blah-blah, Plymouth Hotel, blah-blah, Asian or
Hispanic, plumpish, into bondage. Here’s one that says,