caterers back out?”
There was a long pause. “Uh…I guess they’re sort of superstitious.”
8 / Mary Daheim
“What do you mean?” Judith’s voice had turned wary.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Renie said, sounding unnaturally
jaunty. “Last year they had a staff assistant handle the catering
at Mountain Goat Lodge. Barry Something-Or-Other, who
was starting up his own business on the side. He…ah…disappeared.”
“He disappeared?” Judith gasped into the receiver.
“Yeah, well, he went out for cigarettes or something and
never came back. Got to run, coz. See you later.”
Renie hung up.
Joe wasn’t excited about Judith’s bonanza. Indeed, Joe
didn’t really hear her mention the OTIOSE catering job. He
was uncharacteristically self-absorbed and depressed, though
the reasons had nothing to do with his wife.
“It’s these damned drive-bys,” he complained, accepting a
stiff Scotch from Judith. “They’re always kids, both victims
and perps, and sometimes they’re innocent bystanders. The
victims, I mean. God, it’s such a waste.” He loosened his tie
and collapsed into a kitchen chair.
Judith came up behind him and massaged his tense
shoulders. “It’s sad. What are they trying to prove?”
“That they belong.” Joe sighed. “It doesn’t matter that it’s
a gang of punks just like themselves. They fit in somewhere,
there’s a place for them, a niche they can’t find with family,
because they don’t have any. Not a real family, I mean.
They’re the new outcasts, and they can only prove their worth
by blowing some other poor kid away.”
“It’s an awfully stupid way to prove anything,” Judith said,
turning back to the stove where mussels boiled in a big pot.
“You usually catch them, though.”
“That’s the frustrating part,” Joe said, taking a deep drink.
“The perps end up in the slammer for fifteen, twenty years,
wasting their young lives. What’s even worse is that the rest
of them don’t learn by what happens to the ones we send
away. There are times when I hate my job. Do you realize I
could retire in three years?”
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 9
Judith, who was draining the mussels into a colander, almost dropped the pot. She’d never heard Joe mention retirement before. “Do you want to?” she gulped.
Joe sighed again, his green eyes troubled. “I’ve been
thinking about it lately. Hell, I’ve been on the force for thirtythree years. Plenty of guys burn out by fifty-five. I’m past
that already. I figure I’m lucky to have lasted this long.”
So was Judith. Only in the five and a half years of her
marriage to Joe had she been able to count on financial
support from a spouse. During her nineteen years with the
unemployed and unemployable Dan McMonigle, Judith had
worked two jobs. By day she had served as a librarian, and
at night, she had toiled behind the bar at the Meat and
Mingle. The daytime and evening clientele neither met nor
mingled. Most of the hard-fisted drinkers were lucky they
could read the bar specials posted on a chalkboard set next
to the blinking sign depicting a hula-skirted chipmunk.
“Well,” Judith said, tossing the mussels into a bowl of
vermicelli and rice, “it’s your decision.” She gave her husband
a quick, keen look. The red hair had more gray in it, the
forehead was growing higher, the laugh and worry lines were
etched more deeply. Joe was still the most attractive man in
the world to Judith, but he was getting older. She’d hardly
noticed. After a twenty-five-year separation, their time together had seemed so brief. “You’ll know when it’s time to quit,”
she added a bit lamely.
“Hmm.” Joe sipped more Scotch. “The retirement package
is fairly good, all things considered.”
Which, Judith realized, Joe had considered. “Medical,
dental?”
“Right. I’d have Social Security, too.”
There had been no security with Dan, social or otherwise.
At over four hundred pounds, her first husband had offered
only verbal abuse and demands for more vodka, Ding-Dongs,
apple fritters, and whatever else he could stuff into his fat,
lazy face.
10 / Mary Daheim
“I guess we’ll have to think about it,” Judith said, sounding
slightly wistful.
Joe didn’t reply. He has thought about it. Plenty. Why hasn’t
he mentioned it to me? Judith felt betrayed.
Maybe this wasn’t the time to discuss the three grand for
the OTIOSE conference. Maybe Judith should start building
her own little nest egg. Certainly she wasn’t prepared to give
up the B&B. She’d worked too hard to turn it into a successful venture.
“Did you hear me say I’ll be gone most of Friday?” she
asked, spooning green beans onto a plate for Gertrude. “I’m
catering a phone company conference for Renie.”
Joe had picked up the evening paper and was reading the
sports page. “Since when did Renie go to work for the phone
company?”
“She’s freelancing, as usual.” Judith was getting exasperated.
“Bill’s retiring next year.” Joe turned a page of the newspaper.
“What? ” Judith gaped at her husband.
He nodded, but didn’t look up. “Thirty-one years in the
university system. Why shouldn’t he?”
“Renie hasn’t said a thing!” Now Judith’s annoyance spread
to her cousin.
“Maybe Bill hasn’t told Renie. Where the hell is the Hot
Stove League news? I heard there was a big trade brewing.”
Joe riffled the pages, in search of baseball reports.
“Bill wouldn’t not tell Renie,” Judith seethed. “Bill and
Renie communicate.”
“Maybe she forgot to mention it to you. Ah, here we are…”
Joe disappeared behind the paper.
Judith marched out to the toolshed with Gertrude’s dinner.
For once, she put the covered plate outside the door, knocked
twice, and raced back to the house. Gertrude hated mussels.
Judith wasn’t in a mood to hear her mother gripe. Judith, in
fact, was feeling mutinous. Joe wasn’t usually secretive, especially not when it came to making decisions
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 11
that affected them as a couple. And Renie always told Judith
everything. The cousins were as close as sisters, maybe closer,
because they hadn’t been forced to grow up under the same
roof. Judith felt like slugging Joe, shaking Renie, and giving
Bill a boot just for the hell of it.
Judith would never admit it, but she was in the mood for
murder.
TWO
FRIDAY DAWNED COLD and cloudy. Renie was driving the
Jones’s big blue Chev, which was fitted with snow tires, and
carried chains in the trunk. The cousins set out at nine on
the dot, heading east toward the mountain pass that was
located about an hour outside of the city.
“I made a list,” Renie said, patting an envelope that lay on
the seat between them. “It’s o
n top. Take it out and go over
the names. When—and if—I introduce you, it won’t be so
confusing.”
Judith perused the single sheet of typewritten paper as they
crossed the floating bridge that led out of the city. “You
should have included descriptions,” she complained. “These
names and titles don’t mean much. The only one I’ve ever
heard of is the CEO, Frank Killegrew. I’ve seen his name in
the newspaper.”
“Good, that leaves only nine, and four of them are women.
Don’t worry about it,” Renie counseled. “With any luck, you
won’t have much contact with them.”
Judith scanned the names: After Franklin Killegrew, president and CEO, there was Ward Haugland, executive vice
president–network and customer services. Judith made a face.
“What’s with these complicated titles? Why can’t Haugland
just be an executive vice president?”
12
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 13
“Because telecommunications is complicated these days,”
Renie replied. “It’s still in a state of flux. First came the big
Bell System divestiture, sixteen, seventeen years ago, along
with the revolution in technology. Independent companies
“Is that why I get four phone bills instead of one?” Judith
asked.
“Yep. You’ve got your local carrier, your long distance
company, your leased equipment, your…what?” Renie shot
Judith an inquiring glance.
“My pager,” Judith said. “It’s really Mike’s pager, but he
doesn’t use it anymore. The problem is, neither do I. I only
took it from him so Mother could get me in an emergency.”
“Has she ever paged you?” Renie asked as they reached
the mainland and flourishing suburbia.
“Never. She swears she lost the number and wouldn’t use
it if she found it.”
“Then get rid of the thing. It must cost you twenty bucks
a month.”
“Arlene has the number,” Judith said. “Like now, she could
page me if she has a problem taking over for the day at the
B&B.”
Renie shrugged. “Then maybe it’s worth it.”
They drove the interstate past industrial complexes, car
dealerships, fast-food chains, trendy restaurants, and gas
stations the size of a mini-mall. It never ceased to amaze Judith that what used to be vacant rural areas where the family
gathered hazelnuts, blackberries, and Christmas trees was
now a thirty-mile stretch of commercialism. At last they began
to climb, but even where tall trees still grew, there were large
swaths of housing developments. The city had sprawled, almost to the pass itself.
“Joe says Bill’s going to retire.” Judith finally broached the
subject that had been on her mind since Tuesday night.
“He’s talking about it.” Renie pulled into the fast lane,
passing a big semi-truck.
14 / Mary Daheim
Judith noticed that some of the taller trees were dusted
with fresh snow. “Really?” she remarked. “You haven’t said
so to me.”
Renie gave a little shrug. “It won’t be final—or real—until
he hands in his retirement application to the university administration. I never anticipate, you know.”
“Joe’s talking about it, too.” Judith tried to keep her tone
light. “Of course he wouldn’t retire for another three years.”
“Good for him,” Renie said, moving back into the righthand lane. “Both of our husbands have had long careers.
They need to kick back and enjoy themselves.”
“Yes.” Judith’s tone was dubious. “Yes. I suppose they do.”
A vision of Dan McMonigle, supine and blimplike on the
sofa, rumbled through her mind’s eye. “It’s just that I’ve been
through quite a bit of change lately. With Mike married and
now being transferred, he and Kristin could end up in Alaska
or Hawaii or Florida where I’d hardly ever see them.”
“So Joe retires and you travel.” Renie shrugged. “That’s
what people do. Frank Killegrew’s retiring, by the way,” she
added as they drove further into the forest and away from
civilization. “Haugland’s his heir apparent, but I’ve heard
you can’t count on it.”
Judith glanced at the list Renie had given her. She wasn’t
terribly interested in OTIOSE’s career paths. All she could
think of was trying to live on Joe’s retirement and Social Security. Would he insist she give up Hillside Manor and retire
with him?
“Doesn’t retirement make you feel old?” Judith finally
asked.
“Huh?” Renie seemed puzzled. “No, why should it? It’s a
natural act, like eating or shopping for shoes. Besides, I won’t
give up my graphic design business. I do it at home, we can
use the extra money, and I’d be bored stiff if I didn’t work.”
“I agree,” Judith said as low clouds drifted across the
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 15
divided six-lane highway. “I’d like to keep the B&B going
for another ten years. But I’ll definitely dump the catering
part in the next few months. Say,” she went on, changing
gears, “speaking of caterers, what about the guy who disappeared last year?”
Renie frowned. “I told you. He left on some errand and
never came back. End of story.”
Judith, who possessed a very logical mind, wanted details.
“He never came back to the lodge? Or he never came back,
“Period.” Renie was exhibiting a touch of impatience. “This
Barry…Newsom or Newsbaum or…Newcombe, I think it
was, had forgotten something for his catering stockpile. He
went off that Friday afternoon, presumably to the nearest
store which is at the summit of the pass, and never came
back. When he didn’t show up for work the following
Tuesday after the long weekend, his co-workers back at the
company weren’t concerned. They figured he was tired out
from his catering duties. But later, one of the executives asked
about Barry because they hadn’t seen him after he left the
lodge Friday afternoon. I guess he was listed as a missing
person, and that’s what he still is—missing.”
“The executives didn’t miss him that Friday?” Judith was
incredulous.
“I guess not,” Renie replied, negotiating the wide, sweeping
switchback turns. “They probably thought he hadn’t been
able to find what he was looking for at the summit grocery
and had gone all the way back into the nearest town. It had
started to snow hard by then, so maybe they figured Barry
couldn’t get back up the pass. Bear in mind, coz, these big
business types are all wrapped up in themselves. They don’t
pay much attention to underlings.”
The executive suite was a world that Judith didn’t understand. The B&B, the Thurlow Street branch of the public
library, and the Meat and Mingle hadn’t prepared her to face
an officer corps. Renie, however, was accustomed to
16 / Mary Daheim
captains of industry. I
t seemed to Judith that her cousin regarded them much as she would observe animals at the zoo.
They were interesting, they were different, they could even
be amusing, and only upon rare occasions did they do
something vulgar in public that would be better done in
private.
As they approached the summit, driving conditions
worsened, with deep piles of snow alongside the road. Not
once had they glimpsed the mountains. The clouds were low
and heavy, creating a foglike atmosphere that kept the Chev
down to a crawl.
“We take a side road at the summit,” Renie said, again
pointing to the envelope on the seat. “Check the map. I’ve
never been there before, but the directions looked easy.”
It was a few minutes after ten when they reached the
turnoff. Renie pulled into a service station that also featured
a small grocery store. “This is where Barry supposedly went,”
she said. “As you can tell, they don’t carry much beyond the
basics. That’s why he might have gone back down the pass.
I’m going to fill up now because I didn’t take time to stop
at the BP on Heraldsgate Hill.”
While Renie pumped gas, Judith got out of the car and
walked around the wet tarmac. The area around the station
had been plowed, but there was snow everywhere, perhaps
as much as twenty feet. Judith spotted the main ski lodge
through the drifting clouds and managed to catch sight of
some of the chalets utilized by winter sports buffs.
Having used her credit card to pay at the pump, Renie got
back in the car. “It can’t be more than a mile from here,” she
said as Judith refastened her seatbelt. “Let me see that map.”
The road was easy to find, not quite a quarter-mile from
the service station, and on the north side of the interstate.
It, too, had been recently plowed, and the going was relatively easy. Or seemed to be, for the first half-mile. Then the
pavement suddenly ended. Renie found herself driving on
bare gravel.
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 17
“This is stupid,” she complained. “If they can pave half of
the damned thing, why not the rest?”
“Maybe it’s a matter of jurisdiction,” Judith suggested. “The
state or county may keep up part of it and the rest is Forest
Service. I’d guess this was originally a logging road.”
“Probably.” Renie had dropped down to under ten miles
an hour. “I wish Bill were here. I don’t like driving in snow.”