"But, according to that scenario, why weren't there any papers under her body?"
"Coincidence," he said. "And the big slob could be right. I told him so. I kept trying to impress on him that I wasn't claiming there was anything suspicious, just trying to convince him there could have been foul play and if he didn't have the scene examined carefully, he might be sorry later."
"So who won?"
"I guess I did. He didn't want to look too bad in front of all the gawkers who'd already come and pawed around, disturbing any evidence that might have been there originally. So he called in some more deputies and started checking the place out properly. Too late, but better than just slamming the book shut on the woman without a second thought."
"You've done your duty, then."
The waiter took away their salad plates, leaving tiny palate-clearing scoops of lime sorbet, then was back shortly with a mystery soup and some little muffins with bits of leaves cooked in them. Spicy apple butter accompanied the muffins. Jane offered hers to Mel, not mentioning that she'd eaten his appetizers, and he wolfed both muffins down.
"I'll probably find an elk head in my bed tonight," he said around half a muffin.
Mel refused to talk any more about Doris. Instead, they concentrated on their dinners. Mel's buffalo steak turned out to be what Jane called Swiss steak — a pounded, slow-cooked meat. The waiter explained that buffalo, though growing in popularity, was a much tougher meat than cow and needed more cooking. Mel claimed it was delicious, but complained that the blue cornmeal dressing tasted blue.
"Tastes blue? What in the world do you mean?" Jane asked, laughing.
"I don't know. Just blue. I've never eaten blue food before. I don't think in the cosmic scheme of things we're meant to. How's your elk stew?"
"It doesn't have much meat in it. It's mostly vegetables and dumplings," Jane said. But after she'd tasted it, she realized why. The elk was a highly flavored meat and any more of it would have been overwhelming. The cattail pollen dumplings, however, were absolutely delicious, with a sweet, nutty taste unlike anything Jane had ever eaten. It was, all in all, an instructive and flavorful meal.
The restaurant was, like most now, nonsmoking. Since Mel didn't smoke and Jane had been quitting in slow motion for over a year and was now down to only a half-dozen cigarettes a day, this didn't bother them, but they were pleasantly surprised when the waiter invited them to take their dessert and a complimentary after-dinner brandy in the Cigar Room. This well-screened appendage to the dining room turned out to be an interesting and attractive room with excellent ventilation, windows on three sides looking into deep woods, and small, intimate tables. There was a dessert trolley that was rolled silently toward them as they took a table near the inside wall.
Jane chose a parfait glass beautifully layered with raspberries, white chocolate shavings, and cream, while Mel picked a custard with a caramel-and-ground-hazelnut topping. Neither of them could finish their desserts. Jane sat back, looking over the other people in the room. "See that man over there with the light orange hair?" she said. "That's Dr. Lucke. Lucky. He's the president or chairman or whatever of the genealogy group. He's very nice."
"And who's that with him? The slick-looking one."
"I'm not sure, but he was standing near the podium when I went to the door of the room the debate was in. I think maybe he's the man who devastated poor Mrs. Schmidtheiser. Gordon? Gorton? Something like that."
"And in that corner?" Mel asked, tilting his brandy snifter slightly to indicate where another two men sat talking seriously.
"Hmmm. That's an interesting combination. The dark, handsome one is HawkHunter. I'll have to fill you in on all the Indian business. The funny thing is, the man with him is Pete Andrews. He's the nephew of the owner of the resort."
"I thought he was somebody official. He turned up at Mrs. Schmidtheiser's cabin while the sheriff was there. He seemed sincerely upset about her death. I guess he would be. Resorts don't like guests dying."
"He actually knew her as well. You know she was promoting Bill Smith as Tsar of Russia. Well, Pete's the nephew who encouraged her and the Holnagrad Society people to come here for their conventions in the first place."
"What do you mean about it being an interesting combination?"
"HawkHunter is giving the owner a lot of trouble, and the only time I met Pete Andrews, he was complaining bitterly — almost hysterically — about Hawk-Hunter. But they look like they're getting along now." She explained briefly about the conflict over the ownership of the land.
She frankly stared for a few minutes. The two were talking seriously, but there was no hint of either cordiality or animosity in their appearances. A waiter hovered near them.
"Mel?"
"Hmmm?" he responded dreamily.
"If her death weren't natural—"
"Jane!"
"No, I'm not suggesting we butt in. I'm just curious. An intellectual exercise. If it weren't natural, why do you think anybody would have done her in? She was obsessive and not terribly likable, but—"
"Jane, I don't know enough about her to speculate and neither do you. More important, I don't want to. I'm on vacation. I've already involved myself a lot more than I should have. It's Sheriff Plumbasket's problem now."
"Plumbasket?"
"Something like that."
"I'll probably find out that his name is Jones," Jane muttered.
"Jane, I wonder if the hotel is full."
"I have no idea. Why?"
"I was just thinking… since our rooms and travel and meals are all paid for, this trip is virtually free. Except for tips and things."
"Yes?"
"Well, it seems downright ungrateful not to pay for at least one room. A room where, maybe, you and I could be alone for a few hours." He ran his hand lightly along her forearm.
"I didn't bring along a decent nightgown," she warned him, smiling.
"My only interest in your nightwear is getting you out of it, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I had noticed. And don't think I don't appreciate it. Although I hate to think of the money I've wasted at Victoria's Secret in the last couple months."
Their love life was about as spontaneous as building a pyramid, Mel had sometimes complained, but the complaint wasn't too serious. He'd accepted, with fairly good grace, Jane's "rule" which was that she was simply too bone-deep old-fashioned to conduct an affair in her own house.
"I'm the mommy there," she had told him. "It's not that I imagine my kids don't know the nature of our relationship, but I just couldn't get 'into the spirit' of the thing with them roaming around the house, blabbing on the phone in the next room, or banging on the bedroom door to ask where I put their favorite jeans."
She'd gotten so wholeheartedly "into the spirit" when she was away from home — at his apartment and on the two weekend trips they'd taken — that he'd have been a fool to mess with a good thing.
She hadn't added to her prohibition to lovemaking in her home, Unless we were married, because that was a word neither of them wanted to use.
Yet.
Or maybe ever.
"I think you're right," she said. "It would only be polite to pay for a room. Just as a way of thanking our hosts, of course. An entirely unselfish plan."
"I'll see if there's anything available. Wait right here," he said.
Jane watched as he left the room.
"Jane… Mrs. Jeffry. Are you alone? Would you like to join us in an after-dinner stroll?"
Dr. Lucke and his dinner companion were standing next to her table.
"Thank you, Lucky, but I'm alone only for the moment. My friend has gone to — to make a phone call," she improvised, wondering if she was blushing, and if so, whether they could tell in the dim lighting.