Gene, and Max.
The cousins were left with Frank Killegrew and Russell
Craven. “I don’t think I can do this,” Killegrew declared in
a weak voice. As he reached for the Scotch, his hand shook.
“I never dreamed it would come to this.”
“To what?” asked Russell, who was still sitting on the chess
board.
But Killegrew. didn’t reply. He sloshed Scotch into a glass
and drank it down in one gulp. “Okay,” he said, squaring
his shoulders, “let’s go.”
The foursome took the elevator to the second floor, which
meant that they would begin their search at the opposite end
from Leon’s room. Judith tried to think of a way to curtail
the suspense, but nothing came to mind. Renie
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 229
was right. It was too late to admit they’d found another body.
Judith didn’t dare tip her hand.
They started with the cousins’ room, checking the bathroom and under the beds. This time, they remembered to
look out the windows. It was still raining hard, and the snow
had melted another three inches. Through the steady downpour, Judith could see into the distance. There was nothing
but the tops of trees, some of which now showed bare
branches. The wet, drooping evergreens look dejected in the
rain.
Down the hall they went, finding everything the same as
when Judith and Renie had made their search earlier in the
morning. Or so it appeared until they reached Gene’s room.
It was now unlocked. Killegrew strode inside, calling Nadia’s
name.
Judith glanced around. There was an open briefcase on
the bed, a cardigan sweater hanging on the back of one of
the ubiquitous armchairs, an empty glass on the nightstand,
and a half-filled laundry bag on the floor. There was, of
course, no sign of Nadia.
Margo’s room was still locked. Killegrew swore under his
breath, then knocked hard three times and again called for
Nadia. With a shake of his head, he led them on.
As before, Leon’s was the last room they checked. Killegrew turned the knob, opened the door, started to mouth
Nadia’s name, and staggered.
“No! No! Nadia!” he cried in anguish. “Oh, my God!” He
fell to his knees, leaning against the side of the bed where
Nadia’s stockinged foot still dangled. Lifting his head, Killegrew grabbed Nadia by the shoulders in a futile attempt to
rouse her. “Wake up, Nadia! Wake up! It’s me, Frank! Please,
please, wake up!” He collapsed on top of her lifeless body.
“Oh, dear!” Russell exclaimed. “Is she…? Oh, dear!”
Killegrew’s shoulders were heaving. Russell, with a hand
over his mouth, rushed into the bathroom. The cousins
230 / Mary Daheim
could hear him being sick, but their concern was focused on
Frank Killegrew.
“Mr. Killegrew,” Judith said softly, “come away. There’s
nothing you can do.”
He continued to sob for several seconds. Then, suddenly,
he turned his head and stared at Judith. “I can do…I can
do…I can do…” His entire body sagged as he slipped off the
bed. “I can’t do,” he breathed in an incredulous voice. “I can’t
do.”
For Frank Killegrew, it appeared to be a revelation.
It took a great deal of coaxing and soothing for the cousins
to get Killegrew and Russell out of Leon’s room. The bereaved CEO rejected Judith’s suggestion that Max and Gene
carry Nadia up to the third floor where the other bodies lay
at rest. Killegrew adamantly refused to have Nadia moved.
Judith understood, and backed off.
The others had already returned to the lobby from the
basement. Since Killegrew appeared to be in shock and
Russell still claimed to feel sick, the burden of making the
tragic announcement fell on Renie, who hurriedly consulted
with Judith.
“The four of us found Nadia Weiss dead in Leon Mooney’s
room. Cause of death can’t be determined without an
autopsy.”
Ava began to cry again, Margo collapsed in a side chair,
Gene held his head in his hands, and Max exploded with a
stream of obscenities. It was clear that the OTIOSE contingent had completely fallen apart.
“There’s no logic to this!” Gene exclaimed. “It’s irrational,
insane, beyond understanding! I can’t deal with it anymore!”
He whirled around, looking as if he were trying to escape.
Ava stopped crying and raised her head. “It’s not a cutand-dried legal issue you can find in one of your RCW law
books,” she said, compassion evident in her voice. “But it
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 231
is real, Gene. What’s so horrible is that I can’t see beyond
the next few minutes. It’s like the future has been canceled
for all of us.”
“It sure as hell has for some of us,” Max declared savagely.
“Who’s next?” His homely face was a mixture of fury and
fear.
“Not me,” Margo averred, gripping her suede bag. But for
once, she didn’t sound very confident.
Killegrew, who was now drinking straight from a bottle
of Scotch, turned bleary eyes on the others. “It had to be
suicide,” he mumbled.
“Can it, Frank,” Margo said wearily. “We know better.
Stop kidding yourself.”
“I don’t blame her,” Killegrew said, as if he hadn’t heard
Margo. “I feel like jumping off a cliff.”
“Oh, please don’t!” Russell begged. “Really, this is all so…”
Slumped on the footstool, he ran a hand through his
disheveled fair hair. “It’s exactly what Ava just mentioned—it’s real. I don’t know much about real things, only
ideas and theories and concepts. But,” he continued, hiking
himself up to a full sitting position, “I do know how to conjecture, it’s part of my job. I saw that pill bottle on the
nightstand in Leon’s room. It was given to Nadia by the
company physician, Dr. Winslow, who is somewhat oldfashioned. Triclos—or triclofos or chloral hydrate, to call it
by its more common name—is not often prescribed any more.
I recall this from my days as an army medic. It can be lethal,
of course, especially if it’s taken with an alcoholic beverage.
There was also an empty gin bottle on the floor by the bed.
I must assume—or conjecture, if you will—that whoever
murdered poor dear Nadia must have put the chloral hydrate
tablets into the gin.”
A little gasp went up around the lobby, but the usually
reticent Russell Craven hadn’t finished. “You see, I have been
thinking. It’s what I do. And I’ve come to one unalterable
conclusion. The deaths have not been caused by any
232 / Mary Daheim
of us. We’ve wondered a great deal about an outsider committing these crimes. That can be the only answer.” From
behind his round, rimless glasses, Russell stared at Judith
and Renie. “It must be those two women. They are the killers,
and we must act at once.”
SEVENTEEN
JUDITH AND RENIE both started to protest, meanwhile
backpedaling across the lobby. But no one actually came
after them. The OTIOSE executives appeared depleted, as if
the latest horror had sapped their collective will.
“We can’t stop them,” Killegrew finally said in a lethargic
voice. “It’s inevitable. We’ve come here to die.”
“It’s like the Nazis with the concentration camps,” Ava