The indicator light on the elevator blinked again and Clayton got out, followed by a man holding a red and yellow ski mask.
“Paul!” Jayne jumped from her chair and ran across the floor to meet him, barely managing to keep from throwing her arms around him. “My God! What happened to your suit?”
“It is in the mothballs. Are you well, Jayne?”
“Oh, I’m fine, but the avalanche almost killed us all and poor Jack’s leg is broken something awful and just now I found a . . . a hand in our pool. And at first I thought it was yours!”
Paul looked down at her in total confusion. “You thought my hand was in the pool?”
“Yes, they have such a high suicide rate in Scandinavia. But that was only at first, before we found out that it was at least four years old. And I wrote you a song, but they’d never give it airtime on a classical station and I just couldn’t call you on the phone. Something about talking into those little holes is so dang impersonal and I like to see a person’s face when I . . . oh, I’m so glad you’re here!”
“I think you had better sit down, Jayne.” Paul led her over to a chair and sat down beside her. “You are beginning to sound like Grace.”
Marc came over with a mug of coffee and set it down in front of Paul. “Here, Paul. Drink this. I put some brandy in it.”
“Thank you.” Paul wrapped one hand around the mug, but he kept his other arm firmly around Jayne’s shoulders. It was an uncharacteristic display of affection in public, but he didn’t want to let her go. “Will you join us, Marc? And I would be very pleased if one of you will tell me about the hand from the pool.”
It took five minutes with everyone talking at once, but finally Paul had the complete story. “So you can understand why we need to notify the police right away,” Clayton continued, moving his chair closer. “As Marc pointed out, there’s the possibility that the bones are artificial, but we need the authorities to confirm it and we can’t contact them by phone or e-mail. We don’t have any means of communication at all now that Jack’s shortwave radio is broken.”
Paul could see that Clayton was looking at him expectantly. “Is there something you wish me to do?”
“Yes. I know this is an imposition, but you obviously know how to operate the snowmobile. We think you should go back to get the police. As soon as you warm up, of course.”
Jayne stared at Clayton in absolute shock. “No way, Clay! If you’re all fired-up to report those old bones, get your tail in gear and do it yourself!”
“She’s got a point, Clay.” Marc laughed. “You’re the only one here who thinks it’s an emergency.”
“Is that so? No one else thinks we should go to the police immediately?” Clayton waited, but no one spoke up. “All right, then. I’ve never shirked my civic duty. Come on, Rachael. Let’s go!”
Rachael frowned. “How did I get in on this? I agree that we have to file a report, but there’s no reason why it can’t wait until someone digs us out. Driving down the mountain at night on the back of a snowmobile is not my conception of civic duty.”
Clayton was about to make a sharp retort when he saw the tears that had gathered in Rachael’s eyes. She was clearly terrified at the prospect of leaving and he reached out to pat her hand. “You’re right, honey. The police can wait. I guess I just got rattled there for a minute.”
“Cabin fever.” Grace nodded. “I read a book about a family trapped in a blizzard, and how they were all going crazy knowing they couldn’t get out, and the snow was rattling against the windows, and the wind was howling louder than a pack of wolves and they’d used up the last of their food three days ago, and . . . I know, Moira. I’m babbling again.”
Moira grinned. “I hate like h . . . heck to say it, but I was already beginning to miss your babbling. What do Norwegians do when they get cabin fever, Paul?”
“My grandfather carved the furniture in winter while Grandmother needled.”
“She what?”
“Perhaps the word is not right, but she used big balls of wool to make mittens and stockings.”
“That’s called knitting,” Moira told him. “But they did something to take their mind off the weather, is that right?”
“Yes. The winter in Norway is many months.”
“Well, I don’t make furniture and I sure can’t knit.” Jayne began to smile. “Maybe we could do some work instead, like packing up Johnny’s stuff. Will you guys help me?”
“I will help.” Paul was the first to offer even though he was tired from his long trip. Jayne had obviously been glad to see him, but he didn’t know if her warm welcome would be extended to sharing their bed. There was bound to be an awkward moment and it might be wise to delay it as long as he could.
One by one the others chimed in, all except Vanessa. “I’m not setting foot in Johnny’s place. Those two guys might be hiding out in there.”
“What two guys?” Hal turned to his wife with a frown.
“The mean-looking ones that were there the day he left. I went down to say good-bye, but I split right away. They were straight out of The Godfather.”
Alan pointed at the glowing indicator over the elevator door. “Somebody’s coming.”
“Probably those mean-looking thugs from The Godfather, ” Laureen suggested with a chuckle. “Maybe they’re afraid Vanessa can identify them so they’ve come back to get rid of her.”
Vanessa jumped up. “I don’t think that’s very funny! You wouldn’t either if you’d seen them.”
“Just take it easy, Vanessa.” Marc reached out to pull her back into her chair. “There’s nobody hiding out in Johnny’s unit. I personally guarantee it. I’ve shown it to buyers.”
Vanessa nodded. “Okay, I believe you. But who’s coming up on the elevator?”
“Probably Betty’s nurse. I stopped down there to tell her we’d be up here if she needed us.”
The elevator doors opened and Walker stepped out. While Marc rushed to get him some hot coffee, Jayne turned to catch the smile that was spreading across Ellen’s face.
“Walker! How did you get here?”
“I took the KLV helicopter to the ranger station, and then I skied down. Who was on that snowmobile I heard?”
“Paul and Grace,” Moira spoke up. “What’s in the backpack, Walker?”
Walker handed it to Ellen. “The dye Ellen wanted. And a couple other items for survival in the wild. So fill me in, Moira. What happened?”
While everyone talked at once, Ellen unzipped the backpack and peered inside. Along with the dye were two other packages. She opened the first and discovered a bottle of her favorite Fumé Blanc, perfectly chilled. The second package looked like a shoe box and she almost laughed out loud as she lifted the lid and found fluffy white slippers with the face of a bunny on the toes. Just yesterday she’d mentioned that she needed new slippers. Silly and whimsical, these were the sort of thing she adored but would never have considered buying for herself.
“What did he bring you?” As Vanessa tried to peer into the backpack, Ellen closed it quickly.
“Just some things I needed from town.”
“Like what?” Vanessa wasn’t the type to give up easily, but Ellen knew everyone would tease her mercilessly if she showed them her new slippers. She glanced at Walker and saw that he was grinning, waiting for her to think up some way out of this awkward situation.
Ellen cleared her throat. “I told you, Vanessa. There’s the dye for my mannequins and some alcohol. And then, there’s . . . uh . . . something personal I needed.”
Vanessa zeroed in. “What is it, Ellen? You can tell us.”
Ellen noticed that Walker was still grinning and she shot a daggerlike look. “It’s nothing, Vanessa. I have a little problem with the hare on my feet.”