minute and a graphic designer the next. Those people out
there would think I was nuts.”
For the first time, Judith had a glimpse of Serena Grover
Jones, graphics specialist to the stars. Or whatever. While
she’d watched Renie at work in her basement office, she’d
never actually seen her deal with clients. Judith wasn’t sure
she liked her cousin in this other guise.
“Fine,” said Judith, annoyed. “I’ll manage without you.”
The OTIOSE executives were clustered in little groups of
twos and threes. Judith tried to place them, but recognized
only Nadia, who was chatting with a self-possessed AfricanAmerican man, and Margo, who had been cornered by a
wildly gesticulating male whose thinning fair hair stood up
in several places on his very round head.
On the third and fourth trips, Judith managed to carry
four plates at a time. The conferees still seemed absorbed in
their various conversations. Not wanting the crepes to get
cold, Judith picked up a spoon and tapped a water glass.
“Luncheon is served,” she announced.
No one paid any attention. Judith tapped the glass again
and raised her voice. Nothing happened. Judith hesitated.
Then, at precisely twelve-thirty, Nadia Weiss glanced at
her big watch. “Lunch!” she bellowed.
A stampede of conservatively dressed animals headed for
the table. Judith back-pedaled out of the way just before a
very large man with a completely bald head and a wizened
little fellow with buck teeth almost ran right over her. A
moment later, everyone was seated. No one so much as
looked at Judith.
24 / Mary Daheim
Feeling humbled, she returned to the kitchen where Renie
was lighting another cigarette. “Coz!” Judith cried. “What is
all this? You’re smoking, you’re not eating, you’ve turned
into a stranger!”
Renie examined her fingernails. “I’m working. You’re not
used to it, that’s all. Don’t you behave a bit differently with
your guests than you do when you’re with me or Joe or your
mother?”
“Of course,” Judith replied. “But it’s not just that.
It’s…this.” She jabbed a finger at Renie’s cigarette.
“And…that.” She pointed to the untouched leftovers on the
marble counter.
Renie expelled more smoke and a big sigh. “Okay, okay.
We haven’t seen much of each other since the holidays because I’ve been putting this presentation together and you’ve
been really busy with the B&B. You know my eggnog diet?”
Judith knew it well, though she was skeptical about how
it worked. Renie claimed that from Thanksgiving until New
Year’s, she lived on eggnog, the richer the better. It was one
of her favorite things, and she refused to dilute it with milk
or liquor. Because she was so busy with holiday preparations
and annual report designs, there was barely time to eat. Thus,
she fueled herself with eggnog from morning until night, and
insisted that since she wasn’t eating many regular meals, she
actually lost instead of gained weight over the holidays.
“I flunked it,” Renie declared. “The eggnog diet finally
failed me. Or I failed it.”
Judith couldn’t help but laugh. “Coz! You mean you didn’t
lose weight this year?”
Renie shook her head. “Not only that, I gained seven
pounds. I’m wearing my fat suit.”
The tailored brown wool with the faux fur collar didn’t
look like a fat suit to Judith. “I can’t tell you’ve gained anything,” she said.
“I have,” Renie insisted, patting her midsection. “This
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 25
outfit is just camouflage. I should be wearing Armani for the
presentation, but trying to get into my other suits is like
squeezing toothpaste back into the tube. It just doesn’t quite
make it.”
Judith’s amusement faded. “So you’re starving yourself
and smoking? That’s dumb, coz.”
“Only until I lose seven pounds. Two are already gone or
I wouldn’t have gotten into this suit, either.” Renie stubbed
her cigarette out in a saucer. “I had to do something with
my mouth and hands before I went to the post-holiday sales
and bought up all the Russell Stover chocolate Santas I could
find.”
Judith recalled how Renie had eaten her way through
seventy-eight dollars worth of chocolate bunnies during an
infamous Lenten season a few years earlier. Her cousin loved
Russell Stover’s chocolate almost as much as she loved
eggnog.
“I certainly hope you can quit smoking when the weight’s
off,” Judith said darkly. “God knows, it was tough for me to
give it up.” Her dark eyes strayed to the open cigarette pack
Renie had left on the counter.
“I will,” Renie said complacently. “I’ll do it for Lent.”
Judith was about to mention the chocolate bunnies when
the cousins heard a commotion in the dining room. Renie
remained in place, but Judith went to see what was going
on.
At first, she thought it was a food fight. Then she realized
that only two people were involved: A plump, pretty woman
with upswept silver hair had just thrown a handful of raddicchio salad at Margo Chang. The white wine vinegar dressing
and the hand-shredded magenta leaves clung to Margo’s flat
chest.
“Now, now,” said a jovial voice. Judith recognized the
speaker. She had seen Frank Killegrew’s picture in the
newspaper often enough to realize that he was the broadshouldered, balding man in the well-cut charcoal suit who
had a slide rule next to his place setting. “We’re steering
26 / Mary Daheim
this ship on a steady course. Let’s not get personal, ladies,”
Killegrew urged good-naturedly.
Margo whirled on Killegrew, who was seated two places
down the table on her left. “I’m not a lady! I’m a person!”
“You’re a slut!” the silver-haired woman shouted, plump
shoulders shaking with wrath.
“That’s kind of mean,” said a tall, lean man on the woman’s right. “Couldn’t we all sort of simmer down?”
“Why should we?” demanded a handsome woman who
looked as if she might be Samoan. “Don’t we come on these
retreats to air our differences?”
“Now, now,” Killegrew repeated, though not quite so
jovially, “we don’t have that many differences. We’re a team,
a seaworthy crew.” The gray eyes suddenly took on a steellike
quality as he gazed at the silver-haired woman. “Andrea, pull
yourself together.” His gaze shifted to Margo. “You’d better
clean up, what do you say?”
Margo said nothing, but got up from the table, threw her
napkin onto the floor, and marched past Judith to the kitchen.
Judith followed.
“Hi, Margo,” Renie said, revealing only a flicker of astonishment at the spray of salad on the other’s woman’s chest.
“How’s it going?”
Margo glared at Renie. “Terrible! Andrea Piccoloni-Roth
is such a bitch that I can hardly stand to be in the same room
with her! See what she did?”
“Owie!” Renie said in a sympathetic tone. “That’s an oil
base. You’d better not try to spot it or it’ll set and stain.”
“I know,” Margo replied. “I’ll have to change. For now, I
just want to scrape off the garbage.” She went to the big
enamel sink and carefully began removing the raddicchio