asked the administrative assistant to help get dinner on the
table. Nadia started to demur, then grudgingly acquiesced.
As Judith and Nadia left the lobby, Renie and Gene were
attacking the encroaching snow. To Judith’s surprise, Killegrew’s suggestion seemed to be working. Bemused, she
wondered if it was a seemingly lame-brained idea like this
one which had sent Frank Killegrew to the top of his profession.
176
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 177
“I cannot think,” Nadia began as she randomly opened
cupboards in the kitchen, “why I’m such a wreck. It isn’t as
if this is the first crisis I’ve faced.”
Judith was startled. “Including multiple murders?”
“No, no, not murder,” Nadia said, still searching in the
cupboards. “But especially at work on Friday afternoons. It
seems as if there’s always a crisis that has to be resolved before five o’clock. You wouldn’t believe how stressful that can
be.”
Judith, who had been setting out silverware, observed
Nadia’s rummaging with curiosity. “Are you looking for
plates? They’re right here, on the counter. I’ve already unloaded the dishwasher.”
“Plates?” Nadia turned, pushing her big glasses up on her
nose. “No. I thought…I wondered if perhaps there was some
cooking sherry in the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind a little pickme-up.”
It seemed to Judith that Nadia had picked herself up so
often with the liquor in the lobby that she ought to be floating on air. But the administrative assistant’s drinking habits
were none of Judith’s business.
“I think there’s a bottle in that tall narrow cupboard on
your left,” Judith said. “It’s in with the various kinds of vinegar.”
“Ah.” Nadia had to stand on tiptoe to reach the sherry.
“As I was saying, Friday afternoons can be absolute hell. A
negative news story in the early edition of the evening paper.
A decision handed down by the state utilities commission.
A disaster with a member of the board. One of the worst
happened just recently. Do you recall the Santa Claus debacle?”
Judith’s interest was piqued. “You mean when Santa ran
off with Barry Newcombe?”
Pouring sherry into a juice glass, Nadia shook her head.
“No, no. That was over a year ago. This happened during
the recent holiday season. We’d offered a nine-hundred toll
number so that children could call Santa. Of course there’s
178 / Mary Daheim
a charge for nine-hundred numbers. Quite a few parents became upset because their children ran up rather large phone
bills. The story made the newspapers, and OTIOSE was referred to as a Grinch or a Scrooge or just plain greedy, when
in point of fact, those irresponsible parents should have exercised some control over their ill-behaved children. Some
of them actually made obscene calls to Santa, and we had
at least two adults who complained that he didn’t sound like
the real one. But the most unfortunate part was that when
the article came out that particular Friday in December, none
of the officers were around. I never could figure out where
they’d all gone, but I was the one who ended up having to
field the media’s questions. It was horrible.”
But not as horrible as murder, thought Judith. Or maybe
it was, to Nadia Weiss. “Tell me about the board,” Judith
said, picking up the silverware and indicating for Nadia to
bring the plates. “Do the members actually control the company?”
“There are twelve directors,” Nadia replied, following Judith
into the dining room. “Three are OTIOSE officers—Frank,
Leon, and Ward. It’s traditional that the president, the executive vice president, and the chief financial officer sit on the
board. The rest of the members come from throughout the
region. They include only the most prominent names in
business, education, and private endeavor.”
In other words, the usual stuffed shirts, Judith thought,
laying a fresh cloth on the table. “But you’re short two
members,” she pointed out.
“What?” Nadia looked up from the pile of dinner plates.
“Yes, yes, we are.” Her mouth, which seemed to accelerate
with every swig of sherry, turned down. “It’s incredible, isn’t
it? Two vacancies to fill. Four, really. Ray Nordquist of
Nordquist’s Department Stores is about to retire, and William
Boring Jr. of the Boring Airplane Company feels he’s overextended.”
“So,” Judith said slowly, “one-third of the board will
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 179
have to be replaced. Will Ward and Leon’s successors automatically become members?”
“Probably, though in the past sometimes the vice presidentlegal counsel has served instead of the chief financial officer.”
Nadia carefully set the plates down on the table.
“Does the board wield much power?” Judith asked as they
returned to the kitchen.
Nadia uttered a small laugh. “Some say they’re merely a
rubber stamp for Frank and the rest of the officers. But that’s
because our executives know what’s best for OTIOSE. Once
in a great while, however, the other members go off on a
tangent and become quite obstinate. Then it’s up to our
gang—if you want to call them that—it’s more like family—to
dissuade them.”
The term “family” struck Judith as wildly inappropriate;
“gang” was more like it. She recalled Joe’s despair over
teenagers who joined gangs. Maybe it wasn’t so different
with grownups. Everybody had to belong to something or
someone, and at the corporate level, co-workers could become like family. Maybe for someone like Nadia, who seemed
to be alone in the world, OTIOSE filled a deep need. Maybe
she wanted to be “one of the gang.”
Judith handed water glasses to Nadia, whose attitude about
the murders was disturbingly blasé. “It must be terribly hard
on you to have three of your co-workers die in your midst.
You seem to be holding up rather well.”
“Oh, no!” Suddenly, Nadia was aghast. “I’m utterly
shattered! Not to mention frightened out of my wits! But I
can’t let it show. Why do you think I feel so stupid when
my nerves give way? On the executive floor, someone has
to keep calm. A steady hand at the tiller, as Frank would say.
Often, it’s up to me.”
“I see,” said Judith, and for once she did. Frank Killegrew,
and perhaps the other officers, relied on Nadia. She was the
axle to their big wheels. “Like with the Santa Claus phone
calls.”
“Exactly.” Nadia drank deeply from the juice glass. “Of
180 / Mary Daheim
course that was by default. When the news story hit, the officers simply…disappeared.”
“Including Margo,” Judith said.
Nadia gave a nod of assent. “Including Margo. Even
though it was a situation that fell into her shop. I ended up
coordinating the p.r. effort.”
“Speaking of disappearing,” Judith said, jumping at the
chance to change topics, “have you any idea how one of your
group could have gotten cut off from his or her buddy at the
time Ward was killed?”
The implication made Nadia wince. “Are you suggesting
that…?”
“Yes, of course. Aren’t we all in agreement that somebody
in this lodge is a killer?”
“I’m not sure.” Nadia turned sulky. “What about that person laughing outside the lodge? We’ve all tried to look from