She tried to sit down, but was leaning too far forward. Crouch! she told herself frantically, but she was so tense that her knees just wouldn't get the message.
With a terrific mental effort, she made her legs go limp and sat down. By that time she was moving so fast that she kept going for another five feet, sending up a spray of snow. The thing that finally stopped her was the snowman. She didn't so much crash into it, for her speed had diminished considerably, as bump into it firmly. Very firmly.
The snowman's head rolled off, sending the crown/ bowl spinning across the snow.
"Jane! Are you all right?" Shelley yelled from someplace off to her right.
"I'm okay," Jane said, trying to stand up. Where had her skis gone? she was wondering. If they'd buried themselves in the snow, how would she ever find them? Still shaky from her adventure, she leaned on the snowman, placing her gloved hand where its head had been. But as she did so, the whole front section of the snow crumbled away in a slab.
And there, inside the snowman where there should have been nothing but more snow, was the body of Bill Smith.
Chapter 12
It was another hour before Jane and Shelley could get away. The sheriff and his deputy had been summoned, people had been questioned extensively (especially Jane, who had discovered the body), the bunny slope had been cleared of skiers, and finally the earthly remains of Bill Smith had been taken away. By that time Jane and Shelley were frozen clear through. They hadn't been allowed to do anything but sit impatiently on the bench next to the equipment hut.
"At the risk of seeming insensitive, I'm starving," Shelley admitted when they were finally allowed to leave.
"Me, too," Jane said. "Let's go get some sandwiches at the lodge and take them to one of our cabins. I wish I knew where Mel was. He should have been there before the sheriff and his crew of bumblers trampled everything. I guess that's not really fair to say. They seemed to be taking it very seriously this time."
"I wonder if the sheriff is going to look more closely into Mrs. Schmidtheiser's death now."
"Surely he'll have to," Jane said. "I didn't like the way he started asking me more questions when he realized I was the one who had found her, too."
"It's just a weird coincidence, Jane."
"You and I know that, but that's when he asked me how I knew them both before I came here. Not if I knew them, but how I knew them. Shelley, I'm really uneasy about this."
The atmosphere at the lodge was subdued. Apparently word that the proprietor of the hotel had died had filtered down through the guests. And though few of them had ever seen him, much less met him, the news clearly dampened everyone's spirits. There was no sign, of course, of Tenny, Joanna, or Pete.
"Jane, you order us some sandwiches and chips and maybe some salad," Shelley said. "I'm going to give Paul a quick call on the house phone and see where all the kids are and what they're up to. I don't like not knowing exactly where they are."
"Me, neither. Keep an eye out for Mel, too, would you?"
Jane ordered plenty of sandwiches, assuming that they might end up feeding children as well as themselves. Even if the sandwiches weren't consumed right away, they'd have them for snacking. Shelley came back as Jane was settling in front of the fireplace in the main lounge. "Got the food yet?"
Jane shook her head. "They're real busy. It'll take about ten more minutes."
"Okay. I've got everybody accounted for. Katie and Denise have taken the shuttle to town to shop at the music store. Mike is skiing with the girl he met yesterday," she said, ticking them off on her fingers as she spoke. "Todd and John are playing Nintendo in Mel's cabin and they want lunch."
"I ordered lots of extra sandwiches. Did you find Mel?"
"Yes, and he's meeting us at your cabin."
"Did he know about Bill?"
"Yes. Don't sidetrack me. I'll forget the rest of my list. Paul's leaving in an hour. He says that naturally their negotiations have been put on hold and he thinks it would be bad for the investors to hang around looking like vultures waiting to pounce on the grieving widow."
"Oh, dear. I guess we should all go, shouldn't we?"
"No, no reason to. In fact, he asked me to stay on to attend the funeral. And it would cost the absolute earth to get plane tickets on such short notice for all of us. If you don't mind, I'll just move in with you, though."
"Fine by me."
Ever efficient, Shelley nodded and continued. "Now, if you'll wait for the sandwiches and bring them along, I'll go ahead, say good-bye to Paul, grab my stuff, then get a nice fire started in your cabin so we can get good and warm. I'm not sure I'm capable of getting warm again, but I'd like to give it a shot. Let me have your key."
And without any more fuss, she was gone. Jane marveled, as she had so often over the years of their friendship, at how well organized Shelley was under the slightest pressure. She seemed to be able to pluck information out of the air — her rapid determination of where all the children had gone was proof of that— and to make quick, sensible decisions whenever they were required.
Jane waited another ten minutes and went back to the carryout section of the restaurant. Linda Moosefoot was waiting there, too. Her eyes were red.
"Oh, Mrs. Jeffry, I was just on my way to your cabin. Do you mind if I have a fast lunch first? I should have been there an hour ago, but what with…" Her voice trailed off and she sniffed.
"Good heavens! Don't think about it. There's no need to tidy up after us."
"No, I'm glad to have something to do."
"Then bring your lunch along and eat it with us. I'm waiting for sandwiches."
Just as she spoke, the waiter came through the door from the kitchen, took a look at her, and slapped his forehead. "Shit," he muttered and then looked even more upset that she'd heard him.
"You lost my order?" Jane asked.
"I'm so sorry. We had a cancellation of an order and I think I canceled yours by mistake."
"No harm done. Let's start over."
Linda said, "Give him your order and I'll bring it along with mine."
"Thanks. My toes are numb. I have to get these boots off to see if they're still alive," Jane said.
As she reached her cabin, actively shivering now, Shelley opened the door. "I've dumped my stuff in the bedroom and the fire is going. Come in. You look half dead yourself."
They didn't talk about the body until Jane had replaced her boots with warm, fuzzy slippers and was huddled in front of the fireplace.
Shelley had fixed them both hot cocoa. "I thought it was better for shock," she said, handing Jane a steaming mug.
Mel arrived a minute later. He was both angry and concerned. "I should have known, if there was a murder victim anywhere within a ten-mile radius, that you'd stumble onto it," he said to Jane.
"Not so much a stumble as a slide," she said, her voice weak.
"Are you all right?" he asked contritely.
"Fine. Just cold and hungry."
"Tell me what happened."
Jane recounted her collision with the snowman. "That's why it was so large and squat. Bill Smith's body was inside the body of it. He was in a sitting position. It looked like the snow had been piled up around him, and then I guess the snowball head was stuck on top of the pile. Putting aside the fact that murder is unthinkable in itself, why on earth would anybody do anything so bizarre?"
Mel said, "Not so bizarre, really. If you hadn't run into it, the chances are that nobody would have found him until summer."
"Ugh!" Shelley said. "Just imagine—"