Jane noticed that Mel was gazing into the middle distance and stroking his chin. "Don't even think about it," she said.
He grinned. "You don't see me as a mountain man?"
"Was there anything else about him in the book that encouraged Doris in her claims?" Jane asked Tenny.
"Yes. The book said he spoke with a heavy, mysterious accent. And Uncle Bill did say that though his father couldn't read or write English, he kept his account books in something that looked like Russian."
"Looked like Russian? Couldn't that be determined pretty easily?" Jane asked.
"Yes, except that Gregory had Bill burn all of them when he — Gregory, that is — was sick with his final illness. At least that's what Uncle Bill said happened."
"You don't believe him?"
"I don't know. Uncle Bill's a very private man. He might have said that just so nobody would bug him about seeing the account books. Then again, he didn't need to even admit that he thought the writing was Russian, so it might well be true. There's also a highly questionable story the local historian picked up, about some Russian visitors here once who talked to Gregory in their native language and he was able to talk with them. I don't know that I buy that. There's never been a time I know of that Russian tourists happened through this area. I don't think you often find Russian tourists anywhere."
"Did you ever ask your uncle straight-out whether he thought his father was the person Doris Schmidtheiser claimed?" Jane asked.
"Oh, sure. About five years ago, when Doris found him and the group started meeting here. You know, that was Pete's doing. He loves all this silly stuff about Uncle Bill being the Tsar."
"He must be upset about Mrs. Schmidtheiser's death," Mel said.
"Frantic," Tenny agreed. "Since Uncle Bill and Aunt Joanna have no children, I think Pete has always seen himself as the 'heir presumptive'. Poor dolt."
"You mean he took it seriously?" Jane asked.
"Oh, he pretended to scoff, but he was always quietly getting together with Doris and her adherents. And trying to convince Uncle Bill to go along with it all. It's the sort of thing designed to appeal to him. Pete's not exactly into the work ethic. He works harder at trying to find an easy way to get rich than most people actually work at their jobs. He was a stockbroker in California before his mother died and he came here. I think he sailed pretty damned close to the wind and something went badly wrong. When he first came here, he asked us to tell anybody who called looking for him that we hadn't seen him for years. But whatever it was apparently blew over after a while."
"You don't like him much," Mel observed.
"Oh, he's really okay most of the time. Sort of an amiable fool. A rah-rah guy who's perfect for his job here. He'd have made a good entertainment director on a cruise ship. He's dumb and chirpy, except for an occasional burst of bad temper. Our customers here are on vacation. They don't want deep thoughts. And he buzzes around like a mindless goodwill ambassador. He's valuable in his own way, I guess. If he'd just stay in his proper place," she added grimly.
Mel picked up on her tone. "What do you mean?"
Tenny looked disconcerted. "I've blabbed too much already. I shouldn't be boring you with all this. It's not your problem."
"But it might soon be," Shelley said significantly.
Tenny stared at her for a long moment, then said, "Well, Uncle Bill gave orders that we were to be absolutely honest with the investors. I guess you might as well know. It doesn't matter anyway, except that it makes me mad."
"What's happened?" Shelley prodded.
"Pete had dinner with HawkHunter last night," Tenny said. "My spies tell me that he was giving HawkHunter a load of nonsense about how if he, Pete, were in charge of the sale of the resort, he'd make sure the tribe's rights to the top of the mountain would be respected."
Jane remembered seeing Pete and HawkHunter together in the Cigar Room. And she also remembered the waiter who had found so many little chores to do near their table.
"He also hinted to HawkHunter that Uncle Bill was so anxious to retire and get away that he might give Pete power of attorney to negotiate the sale of the resort on his behalf."
"Is that likely?" Shelley asked, alarmed.
"About as likely as our little mountain suddenly growing a peak!" Tenny said furiously. "God, no. Uncle Bill wouldn't trust Pete to buy a quart of milk and come back with the right change. I told you, it was just annoying and of no significance."
"There's more to this," Jane said.
"What are you, a mind reader?" Tenny asked with a strained laugh. "Yes, there's more. That idiot Pete had the nerve to suggest to HawkHunter that Uncle Bill was going a little batty and this mythical power of attorney might not be given entirely freely. The nice person in me keeps saying not to tattle to Uncle Bill about it, but the nasty little kid inside would like to pull up a lawn chair to the sidelines and watch the fireworks."
"Is that why you're looking for him?" Mel asked.
"No. I'm doing Aunt Joanna's bidding. She wants him reminded that he has a doctor's appointment this afternoon for the ingrown toenail he's been complaining about. She thinks he's gone missing on purpose so he can pretend he forgot about it. It takes an act of Congress to get him to a doctor."
"Forgive me for saying so, but he can't have been an easy husband for her to be married to all these years," Jane said. She'd finished her cereal and was wishing she'd gotten some bacon and toast with it. She was hungrier now than when she had started eating.
Tenny cheered up. "He'd be hell on wheels for most of us, but she adores him. They've never had children except for me in a way, and she's been mother and wife to him. Bossing him around, talking his ears off, surrounding him with ghastly little domestic stuff. They're perfect for each other."
"She told us you said she had no taste," Jane said with a smile.
Tenny laughed. "I never said that in my life."
"Don't worry. I saw the thing she's crocheting. And she seemed to take real pride in your taste."
"Excuse me, but we got sidetracked," Mel said. The waiter was back with his breakfast, a substantial order that Jane looked over longingly. "You want the muffin?" Mel asked.
She nearly snatched it. "Yes, thanks."
"You said you asked your uncle what he thought of Mrs. Schmidtheiser's claims," Mel said to Tenny. "What was his response?"
"Pretty much that she might be right and he didn't care. He said Gregory sometimes mentioned the Old Country in a vague way. He'd say the winters here weren't any worse than in the Old Country, that sort of remark."
"Could that mean Russia?" Jane asked.
"Sure. Or it could mean a mountainous area of Germany or Switzerland, or any part of Finland, for that matter," Tenny said.
"So he didn't care about the truth of it?"
"I don't think it was so much that he didn't care as it was that he understood and respected his father's privacy. If the old man didn't want anybody to know his background, then nobody — not even Bill himself — had any business snooping into it. He wasn't so fanatic about it that he really minded Doris and her pals, but he wasn't about to help them. It's a shame Doris couldn't have lived a few more years—"
She glanced around at their confused expressions. "I forget that you haven't been subjected to as much genealogy as we have. I meant the census. The government grants you privacy when you answer the census questions. For your lifetime. And it considers the average lifetime to be seventy years. So right now the most recent census that's available to the public is the one of 1920. Gregory could have been anywhere then. Maybe already up in the mountains someplace where no census taker could find him. Or maybe in transit from wherever he came from. But by 1930, he was right here, so in the year 2000 the genealogists can go to the National Archives and see his answers to the questions."