Snow Place to Die : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery Read online

  Snow Place to Die : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

  Mary Daheim

  MARY DAHEIM

  Snow

  Place

  To

  Die

  A BED-AND-BREAKFAST MYSTERY

  In memory of Katharine Dawson Marshall, the last of

  the Dawson clan to enter eternal life on January 30,

  1998, joining Monica Richardson Dawson, Louis

  Dawson, Frances Dawson Webster, Thomas Dawson,

  and Helen Dawson Shelley. We will always love you.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  JUDITH MCMONIGLE FLYNN stacked twenty-four

  pancakes on a platter, grabbed…

  1

  TWO

  FRIDAY DAWNED COLD and cloudy. Renie was

  driving the Jones’s…

  12

  THREE

  AS SHE’D PREDICTED, Renie’s presentation went

  well. “There were the…

  29

  FOUR

  “IT WAS ONE of those things you see, but you…

  45

  FIVE

  A FEW MINUTES before eight, the cousins went

  downstairs to…

  61

  SIX

  NEITHER JUDITH NOR Renie screamed. Instead,

  they held onto each…

  77

  SEVEN

  IT WAS ALMOST midnight before Judith and Renie

  finished recounting…

  90

  EIGHT

  IN THE STRAINED atmosphere of the kitchen,

  Judith felt the…

  105

  NINE

  AVA BURIED HER face against Gene’s shoulder.

  Max half-carried Nadia…

  114

  TEN

  “HE PASSED OUT upstairs,” Max announced in a

  tense voice.

  129

  ELEVEN

  MAX AND WARD had decided to go out through

  the…

  145

  TWELVE

  EVERYBODY SCREAMED. GENE spilled his drink

  on the Navajo rug,…

  161

  THIRTEEN

  AFTER THE GAME hens and the bean dish had

  been…

  176

  FOURTEEN

  UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, it was natural for

  everyone to assume…

  193

  FIFTEEN

  “WHO ELSE WAS in the corridor last night?” Judith

  asked…

  206

  SIXTEEN

  “THIS…CAN’T…BE…happening,” Judith gasped. 221

  SEVENTEEN

  JUDITH AND RENIE both started to protest,

  meanwhile backpedaling across…

  233

  EIGHTEEN

  246

  JUDITH AND RENIE flattened themselves against

  the wall, hopefully out…

  NINETEEN

  FRANK KILLEGREW WAS sulking. “Sh’almost shix,”

  he mumbled. “Who drinksh…

  266

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY MARY DAHEIM

  COVER

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  ONE

  JUDITH MCMONIGLE FLYNN stacked twenty-four pancakes

  on a platter, grabbed the syrup pitcher, and opened the

  swinging door with her hip. Just behind her, the kitchen

  phone rang.

  “Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath, then sheepishly

  smiled at the eight hungry, curious faces seated around the

  old oak dining room table. The phone kept ringing. “Sorry,”

  Judith apologized, as she set the pancakes and syrup on the

  table, “I don’t usually get calls this early unless they’re reservations from the East Coast.”

  The bed and breakfast guests made various incomprehensible sounds, then began dishing up pancakes. Judith returned

  to the kitchen just as the phone trunked over to the answering

  machine. After delivering bacon, eggs, and extra butter, she

  checked the message.

  “I know you’re there, you twit!” Cousin Renie’s voice had

  an early-morning croak. “Call me! Quick!”

  It was 7:36. Judith’s cousin never, ever got out of bed before nine and almost never achieved full consciousness until

  ten. Apprehensively, Judith dialed Renie’s number.

  “Are you okay?” Judith asked in a breathless voice.

  “I’m terrible,” Renie replied crossly. “I’m up the creek, in

  the soup, down the toilet.”

  1

  2 / Mary Daheim

  The exaggerated response relieved Judith’s mind. If Renie

  had been held hostage or was lying at the bottom of her

  basement stairs, she wouldn’t describe her plight so vividly.

  Judith poured a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen

  table. “So what’s really wrong?” she asked, more intrigued

  than alarmed.

  A big sigh rolled over the phone line from the other side

  of Heraldsgate Hill. “It’s the OTIOSE conference—you know,

  the Overland Telecommunications and Information Organization of Systems Engineers.”

  “It’s called OTIOSE for short?” Judith asked in surprise.

  “Do they know what it means?”

  “Of course not. They’re engineers. Anyway,” Renie went

  on, still sounding vexed, “they used to be part of the local

  phone company before the Bell System got broken up by the

  Justice Department. Remember I told you I was putting together a really big graphic design presentation for their annual winter retreat? I’m redoing their logo, their colors,

  everything right down to the cheap pens they hand out to

  lucky customers and members of their board. But there’s a

  problem—the caterer backed out at the last minute and

  they’ve asked me to find a sub.”

  “So? There are a zillion caterers in the Yellow Pages. If

  they’re telephone company people, why can’t they let their

  fingers do the walking?”

  “Because they are telephone company people. Their brains

  aren’t attached to their fingers. Plus, these are the top executives. They’re not used to doing things for themselves.”

  Renie was clearly exasperated. “Anyway, I opened my big

  mouth and told them I knew a topnotch caterer. Believe it

  or not, I was referring to you. What do you say?”

  “Ohhh…” Judith set her mug down with a thud and

  splashed coffee onto the plastic table cover. Running a B&B

  was hard enough, especially with the holidays so recently

  behind her. Of late she’d been trying to phase out the catering arm of her business. For several years it had

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 3

  been a joint venture with Judith’s friend and neighbor, Arlene

  Rankers. Her husband, Carl, had retired two years earlier,

  and their family of five had expanded. The quiet leisure years

  they’d anticipated had turned into a merry-go-round of

  grandchildren crawling around in the laurel hedge that separated the Rankers and Flynn properties. Arlene no longer

  had the time or the energy to help run a full-scale catering

  service, and Judith couldn’t do it without her.

  “I really don’t think I can manage on such short n
otice,”

  Judith said at last. “Isn’t the retreat this weekend?”

  “Right, over the three-day Martin Luther King holiday.”

  Renie paused. “It’d be for only a day, actually. All you have

  to do is set up the first meal on Friday, then stock the fridge

  and freezer and whatever. The rest of the weekend is…”

  “More coffee please,” came a request from the dining room.

  “Do you have powdered sugar?” called another guest.

  “There’s something gruesome crawling around under the

  table,” complained a third, rather frantic voice.

  Judith hadn’t heard the last part of Renie’s explanation.

  “Coz, I’ll get back to you in half an hour,” she said, feeling

  a touch of panic.

  The coffee and powdered sugar were delivered, then Judith

  dove under the big oak table to retrieve her cat, Sweetums.

  The cat arched his back, hissed, and began rubbing against

  the sheer stockings on a pair of rather hefty legs.

  “Eeek!” cried a voice somewhere over Judith’s head. “My

  hose! I’m being attacked by an animal! I feel fur and disgusting warmth!”

  “What is it?” inquired an anxious male voice. “Not a porcupine, surely.”

  Judith grabbed Sweetums with both hands and dragged

  him out from under the table. “Sorry,” she apologized again.

  “My husband must have let him in when he went to work.”

  “I hate cats,” said the woman who had first complained.

  4 / Mary Daheim

  “Cats carry all kinds of dread disease,” stated a man at the

  end of the table.

  “That cat looks mean,” remarked a woman who was

  sprinkling powdered sugar on her pancakes. “Is he rabid?”

  Sweetums was now sitting by the swinging doors, his long,

  fluffy tail curled around his large orange, white, and gray

  body. The yellow eyes narrowed and the whiskers twitched.

  “He’s a very healthy cat,” Judith declared in a defensive

  tone. “I’ll take him outside. Come on, Sweetums. Let’s go

  eat some birds.”

  A gasp went up from some of the guests. Judith immediately realized she should have kept her mouth shut. But this

  time she didn’t apologize. Nudging Sweetums with her foot,

  she guided him into the kitchen, down the narrow hall past

  the pantry and the back stairs, and out onto the porch.

  Sweetums balked. It was extremely cold, as befitted the

  third week of January. Heavy dark clouds hung in low over

  Heraldsgate Hill. Despite the budding camellia bushes and

  the green forsythia shoots, Judith sensed that winter was far

  from over. She didn’t blame Sweetums for not wanting to

  stay outside. Maybe he’d be satisfied visiting Judith’s mother

  in the converted toolshed. Gertrude Grover was probably

  champing at the bit, awaiting her own breakfast.

  Judith went back into the kitchen to prepare her mother’s

  morning repast. Then she and the cat trudged down the

  walkway to the small apartment. Gertrude opened the door

  and offered her daughter a knuckle sandwich.

  “You’re late, you moron,” Gertrude snarled. “It’s sevenforty-nine. I’m practically ready to keel over from starvation.”

  Her small eyes brightened as Judith uncovered the plastic

  tray. “Flapjacks, huh? You got any little pigs?”

  “Not today,” Judith replied as Sweetums sniffed around

  the legs of Gertrude’s walker. “Bacon, not too crisp, just the

  way you like it, swimming in its own grease.”

  “Mmm.” Gertrude seemed appeased. “Did you warm the

  syrup?”

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 5

  “Of course.” Judith began setting the breakfast things on

  Gertrude’s card table, which was littered with magazines,

  jumble puzzles, candy boxes, candy wrappers, and half a

  chocolate Santa. Gertrude had already eaten the head and

  shoulders, and was obviously working her way through the

  little round belly. Though bacon, eggs, and pancakes might

  not be the most wholesome of foodstuffs, Judith consoled

  herself that at least they weren’t sweets. In recent years,

  Gertrude had begun to reject such items as fruit, vegetables,

  and almost anything else that was healthy. The problem had

  been exacerbated by the holidays. Gertrude had stockpiled

  sugary treats given by friends, relatives, and neighbors. If

  her mother had had any of her own teeth left, Judith guessed

  that they would have fallen out by New Year’s Eve.

  Returning to the house, Judith tended to her guests’ latest,

  not always reasonable requests, and tried to keep smiling.

  She knew she was suffering from the usual post-holiday

  doldrums. Traditionally, January was a slow month in the

  hostelry business, but this year had proved to be an exception. For the first time since Judith had converted the family

  home into a B&B almost eight years earlier, Hillside Manor

  was booked through the twenty-first. Following on the heels

  of the holiday season with its professional and personal

  hustle-and-bustle, Judith could have used a respite. But there

  was none, and she was tired, cranky, and drained of her

  usual cheerful enthusiasm.

  It was eight-thirty by the time the guests had finished

  breakfast. Two couples had drifted into the living room to

  drink coffee in front of the fireplace, and the others had gone

  upstairs to prepare for checkout. Judith dialed Renie’s number, propped the portable phone between her shoulder and

  ear, and loaded the dishwasher.

  “You’re late,” Renie snapped. “I was ready to drive over

  to see if you’d died.”

  “Just busy, coz,” Judith replied in a listless voice. “Anyway,

  the answer is no. I’ve got a full house this week- 6 / Mary Daheim

  end and I’m really beat. Today’s Tuesday, and if this event

  is set for Friday, that doesn’t give me much time to put together a menu that’ll last through the long weekend.”

  “Oh. Okay. Bye.”

  “Wait!” Annoyed with herself for letting Renie goad her,

  Judith slapped a hand against the dishwasher lid. “I mean,

  you’re not mad?”

  “Huh? No. That’s fine. See you.”

  “But what will you do?” Judith asked anxiously. “You said

  you were in a bind.”

  “I’ll kill myself. I’m getting a noose out of the broom closet

  even as we speak.” Renie’s voice was unnaturally placid.

  “Now where’s a box I can stand on?”

  “Dammit, you’re making me feel guilty.”

  “That’s okay. You’ll forget all about it when Bill keels over

  from grief and you and Joe end up with our three kids. They

  may be adults legally, but they’re still a financial drain. Unlike

  you, we haven’t been able to marry ours off.”

  Judith’s mind flashed back to Mike and Kristin’s wedding

  the previous summer. It had been wonderful; it had been

  terrible. Judith had felt the wrench of parting with her only

  son, and had somehow temporarily buried her feelings by

  trying to help her homicide detective husband catch a murderer. But during the months that followed, the sense of loss

  had deepened. Even though Mike hadn’t liv
ed at home for

  several years, his marriage had been a major life change for

  Judith. He and his bride worked as park rangers some four

  hundred miles away in Idaho, but they were due to be

  transferred. The new posting could take them almost anywhere in the fifty states, and Judith feared she wouldn’t see

  her son and his wife more than once a year. The hollow

  feeling wouldn’t go away, and Judith knew it was another

  reason she felt not only tired, but suddenly old.

  “When do you make your presentation?” Judith asked,

  forcing herself out of her reverie.

  “Friday,” Renie answered, no longer placid. “I told you,

  it’s just for a day. Can’t Arlene Rankers help you

  SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 7

  throw some crap together for these bozos? Bring her along.

  You’ll be up at the lodge for about six hours, and they’ll pay

  you three grand.”

  “Arlene’s getting ready for her annual jaunt to Palm Desert

  with Carl, and… three grand?” Judith’s jaw dropped.

  “Right.” The smirk in Renie’s voice was audible. “OTIOSE

  pays well. Why do you think I’m so anxious to peddle my

  pretty little proposals? I could make a bundle off these phone

  company phonies.”

  “Wow.” Judith leaned against the kitchen counter. “That

  would pay off our Christmas bills and then some. Six hours,

  right?”

  “Right. We can come and go together, because my

  presentation should take about two hours, plus Q&A, plus

  the usual yakkity-yak and glad-handing. You’ll get to see me

  work the room. It’ll be a whole new experience. I actually

  stay nice for several minutes at a time.”

  Judith couldn’t help but smile. Her cousin wasn’t famous

  for her even temper. “How many?” she asked, getting down

  to business.

  “Ten—six men, four women,” Renie answered, also

  sounding equally professional. “All their officers, plus the

  administrative assistant. I’ll make a list, just so you know

  the names. Executives are very touchy about being recognized

  correctly.”

  Judith nodded to herself. “Okay. You mentioned a lodge.

  Which one?”

  “Mountain Goat,” Renie replied. “It’s only an hour or so

  from town, so we should leave Friday morning around nine.”

  Judith knew the lodge, which was located on one of the

  state’s major mountain passes. “I can’t wait to tell Joe. He’ll

  be thrilled about the money. By the way, why did the other