"Better not to," Mel said. "By then the chances of anybody remembering when the snowman had appeared would be almost nil. All possible witnesses would have been long gone, and half would have forgotten most of the details of their stay here. And there certainly wouldn't be any question of physical evidence — time of death, footprints, anything like that."
"But footprints are really a lost cause," Jane said. "By the time the sheriff's people got there, the whole area was trampled. And anyway, it had snowed overnight and covered them up. I do remember when I was heading for the thing, there wasn't a mark anywhere near it. And I would imagine packing a body in snow would make havoc of body temperature. Not only is snow cold, but I understand it's an insulator. At least the gardening programs say so."
"Tell me what the sheriff's people did," Mel said.
"They actually seemed fairly thorough. They took a lot of photographs. They brought two toboggans up the hill. One for Bill, and the other to put the snow on as they removed it from around the body. They packed the snow into plastic containers and labeled them."
Mel nodded. "Good. They can melt it down and check for fabric fibers. What else?"
"Well, after they took the body away, they dug a big circle around where it had been. I mean dug the snow, not the ground. The woods must act as some kind of windbreak or snow fence. The snow wasn't awfully deep right there. They took away a lot of samples of that, too. I guess they were looking for anything the murderer might have dropped."
"Not necessarily the murderer, keep in mind," Mel said absently, gazing past her at the fire.
"What do you mean?" Shelley asked. She had gone to the kitchen and came back with a third mug of cocoa for Mel.
"Nothing, really. Just that the person who killed him and the person who put him in the snowman aren't necessarily the same. They probably are, but that's not proof."
"But why else would anybody build the snowman around him if they didn't kill him?" Jane asked.
"I don't know. A grisly prank, maybe? I didn't mean to suggest that it was likely, just that you can't afford to jump to any conclusions with something like this. Did the sheriff say it was murder? Smith didn't, by any chance, die of natural causes, did he?"
"No, the sheriff said there was clearly a violent blow to the head. Fortunately, I didn't see that much. I only saw his shirt and hand and knew it was a person; then I screamed and turned away. I didn't find him on purpose, you know," she added, harking back to his earlier criticism.
"I know. I'm sorry I was nasty about it. It's just that you do have a way of finding bodies."
"The sheriff mentioned that, too. Rather pointedly. It's a talent I do nothing to encourage," she said wryly.
He nodded and changed the subject. "Do you have anything to eat here?"
"Linda Moose foot is bringing our lunch with hers. She should be along any minute now."
And as if summoned by the thought, Linda opened the door, calling out, "Hello? Mrs. Jeffry?"
"Come in, Linda."
Mel and Shelley extended their sympathies to her on the death of her employer.
"To tell the truth, he wasn't a really likable man," Linda said. "But I'm sorry he's dead. His ties to our tribe go back a long way. We have good reason to be grateful to him. They're saying it was murder. Is that true?"
"I think so," Mel replied. "Who's saying that?"
Linda shrugged. "Everybody. Well, finding him in a snowman… and all the sheriff's people… what else could people think?"
"True enough," Mel admitted.
"How are Tenny and Joanna doing?" Jane asked.
"Pretty well. They were expecting it, after all."
"What?" Mel exclaimed.
"Oh, I don't mean that he'd be murdered. Nobody expected that. But that he'd die. See, he had a very bad heart condition. Not too many people knew. He was real private about his life. But he'd had a couple heart attacks, a pacemaker, angio-whatever. All of that. I guess that's why he was so anxious to sell the resort and retire in what little time he had left. Tenny asked those who knew about it to keep very quiet. They didn't want the investors to be swayed one way or the other by knowing. I guess they didn't want anyone to think they were desperate to sell — or to feel sorry for him. Either is likely. I s'pose I shouldn't be telling you now, but it doesn't matter anymore."
Shelley had prepared yet another cup of cocoa and handed it to Linda before starting to unpack the food from the insulated bags Linda had brought along.
"Thanks, Mrs. Nowack. Anyway, Tenny and Joanna had known for a long time that he could literally go at any minute, and I think in a way they'd already done some of their grieving, if that makes sense."
"Who knew about this?" Mel asked.
"Not too many people," Linda said. "A lot of the tribe, of course, knew he'd been in the hospital a couple times, but I don't think many of them realized how seriously ill he was. I knew only because Tenny's car broke down and I had to drive her down to Denver one time when he'd had one of his attacks. He'd collapsed in a store there and Tenny was really upset. His doctor knew, naturally. Pete Andrews must know, I assume. I don't know who else. Why does it matter?"
"I don't imagine it does," Mel said. "But I was thinking that anybody who wanted him dead really only had to wait a while. Is that true?"
"I guess so."
"So maybe the people who did know about his condition would have less reason to take matters into their own hands. But it really wasn't common knowledge, it sounds like."
"No, I don't think so. The time I had to drive Tenny to Denver, everybody else was told he was in Florida, looking for property to buy to retire to. He was very secretive about his personal life. People up here in the mountains tend to be that way. Especially if it has to do with bad health or bad luck. They have a great horror of being pitied."
"Then it's doubly sad that he had to die—and be found as he was," Jane said quietly.
Chapter 13
Jane and Shelley refused to let Linda clean for them when she'd finished her lunch. This was partly consideration, but partly a desire to talk over the implications of Bill Smith's murder with complete freedom from eavesdroppers. Linda left to do Mel's cabin and took the boys' lunches with her. Mel accompanied her, saying he needed to make some phone calls.
But before leaving, he took Jane aside for a moment. "What did you mean about the sheriff mentioning that you found the bodies? Both of them. He wasn't actually suspicious of you, was he?"
"I don't know. I think maybe so," she said, shivering.
"I'll sort this out," he said coldly.
"I think he's going to try to wring information out of the sheriff at the same time he tells him off and will come back mad as hell," Jane said to Shelley as she closed the door behind them.
"Maybe not. The sheriff might not mind his help now that he has a clear-cut murder on his hands. Tell him off about what?"
"Me. What's this?" Jane asked, picking up a book on the floor next to the sofa.
Shelley looked. "It must be Linda's. That backpack thing of hers was open. It probably fell out. Oh, it's a copy of I, HawkHunter. In paperback. I wonder if they have it at the little bookstore here. It would be interesting to read it again now that we've seen him in person."
Shelley took the book and glanced at it, then turned it over. "You'd think they'd have put a new publicity picture on the back. This must have been the original. What a nerdy-looking kid he was when this was published. Imagine having a best-seller when you're what — twenty-two or — three?"
Jane gazed at the picture. "Isn't it a shame that men get so much better-looking as they get older and we just fall apart?"
"Speak for yourself, girlie-girl," Shelley said in an old-crone voice.
Jane took the book back and continued to stare at the photo. "Shelley, this isn't just a matter of graceful aging." She giggled. "Look at the nose. The man doesn't have that nose this week."