saw or heard.”
Judith backpedaled a couple of steps. “We’ve seen and
heard quite a bit,” she said in a small voice. Then, because
Max’s size and stance were so intimidating, she blurted out
one of her more outrageous fibs. “We saw someone in the
corridor about the time of the murder. It must have been the
killer.”
Max Agasias recoiled, spilling some of his drink. “Who
did you see?” he demanded.
Judith clamped her lips shut. Max used his free hand to
grip her shoulder. “Who? Tell me, dammit! Who was it?”
There was no right answer, yet Judith had to say something. Judging from Max’s frantic attitude, she realized what
he expected—or was afraid—to hear.
“You,” she gulped. “But someone else, too.”
“Besides me?” Max let go of Judith. “Who?” he asked
again, now more bewildered than agitated.
She shook her head in a helpless manner. “I’m not sure.
It was shadowy in the corridor. The lights had dimmed, ever
so briefly.” The fib was growing, taking on a life of its own,
mutating into a colossal lie. “It could have been…anyone.”
Somewhat glassy-eyed, Max was staring off into space.
“You’re right. It could. Except maybe…” He stopped, suddenly asserting a modicum of self-control.
Judith relaxed a bit. “What were you doing in the corridor?” It took nerve to inquire, but the Scotch gave her false
courage.
Max’s broad shoulders slumped. “I was looking for
something in Andrea’s room. It belonged to me.”
Judith made a quick mental inventory of the items that she
and Renie had returned. “Did you find it?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 189
Dejectedly, Max shook his bald head. “It was gone.
Somebody got there ahead of me.”
Judith stiffened. Was Max referring to Barry Newcombe’s
belongings? But no one knew they’d been stolen from Judith’s shoulder bag. No one, Judith reminded herself, except
the person who had stolen them…
“Are you okay?” Renie had poked her head around the
corner.
Judith offered her cousin a tentative smile. “Yes, we’re fine.
We thought we’d have a quick drink. How about you?”
“Are you kidding?” Renie asked. “Most of our fellow diners
are already ripped. Somebody has to stay sober. I nominate
me.”
“I’m not ripped,” Judith murmured as she and Max returned with Renie to the dining room. “But we need to talk.
Let’s clear the table.”
“Unh-unh,” said Renie. “Ava’s going to do that. You need
to talk to her, remember?”
“Trade you Ava for Max,” Judith whispered as they approached the table. “I already did him.”
“We’ll see,” Renie hedged, sitting down in her place
between Gene and Margo.
“Fiber optics, my butt!” shouted Margo. “Until you give
customers more underground wiring, they won’t give a rat’s
ass if…”
“Too many numbers, not enough numbers,” muttered Ava.
“Everybody has to have a private line, a fax line, a cell phone.
Before we know it, it’ll take forty-seven numbers just to dial
your…”
“If you can’t beat ’em, sue ’em,” Gene mumbled. “I love
lawsuits. They get me out of the office.”
“Analog, digital,” Russell said in a sing-song voice. “Digital,
analog. Diggity-do, loggity-dog, we’re all lost in a big thick
fog.”
“That’s it!” Frank Killegrew bellowed, getting to his
190 / Mary Daheim
feet in an unsteady fashion and brandishing his slide rule
like a sword. “You’re out of order! All of you! Be positive!
Keep the ship on the rails! How did I ever think I could turn
this company over to such a bunch of whimpering nincompoops?”
Nadia put up a restraining hand. “Please, Frank—you’re
getting very red in the face. You don’t want to have another…spell.”
Killegrew shoved Nadia’s hand out of the way. “Spell? I
didn’t have any damned spell! I was shocked, that’s all. I’m
as hale and hearty as a nuclear sub.” Despite his protests, he
sat down abruptly.
“Hell, Frank,” Max said, finishing his second double martini and filling his glass with red wine, “you ought to be glad
that some of us are still alive. If you ask me, this weekend
has put a whole new meaning to downsizing.”
Killegrew’s face was still red. “That’s not funny. If you’re
all so damned smart, why don’t you figure out who’s killing
us off?”
Margo pointed to Judith and Renie. “They have. Maybe
we should hire them to replace Ward and Andrea and Leon.”
“But there are only two of them,” Russell said, replenishing
his blackberry cordial. “Mmm—this is very sweet. I like it.”
“Numbskull,” Killegrew muttered. “I’m surrounded by
numbskulls and pansies.”
“Pansies? ” thundered Max, pounding on the table with
both fists. “I’m no pansy! I was in ’Nam!”
“Right,” Killegrew said on a grudging sigh. “You were a
real hero. How come you never made it past Private E-2?”
“Hey!” Max began, but Margo hit him over the head with
her empty plate.
“Shut up, Max! Let’s not get on the old war horses again!
I’m sick of it! Who gives a damn?”
“Some people don’t like war,” Nadia said quietly, then
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 191
peered at Gene over the rims of her glasses. “You were a
protester at Berkeley, weren’t you?”
Gene drew back in his chair. “So? That was in my undergraduate days at Cal.”
“You were a member of SDS.” Nadia gave Gene an arch
little smile.
“I was not!” Gene shouted. “I kept away from all those
radical movements!”
Nadia wasn’t backing down. “But you protested the Vietnam war.”
“That’s different,” Gene retorted. “Everybody did that at
Berkeley. Once I got into law school at Stanford, I stayed
clear of politics.”
Nadia’s thin face took on a conciliatory expression. “Maybe
you shouldn’t have. Given your background in an Oakland
ghetto, didn’t you feel a need to help your so-called brothers
and sisters better themselves?”
“My…?” Gene looked on the verge of apoplexy. “I’m
middle class! I was always middle class! I’m more than
middle class, I’m a lawyer!”
“Who are in a class by themselves,” Margo murmured.
“Calm down, Gene. You made it. Nobody cares about your
beginnings.”
Ava leaned across the table towards Nadia. “What about
your origins? You never talk about your background, Nadia.
Is it true that Frank found you under a cabbage?”
Nadia’s nostrils flared. “That’s silly! Why don’t you tell
us how you got here from Samoa?”
A spurt of anger crossed Ava’s face, then she composed
herself. “I took a plane. That’s all anyone needs to know.
But,” she went on, “maybe this is the time to make an announcement.” Getting to her feet, she glanced at each of the
others in turn. “I was going to save this for the last day of
the retreat. Considering how this weekend has gone, several
of us have already seen our last day, period.” She paused,
noting the sobering effect of her words. “Thursday afternoon,
I received a call from a former employee of mine
192 / Mary Daheim
at WaCom. Next week, they’re going to tender a merger offer