SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 11
that affected them as a couple. And Renie always told Judith
everything. The cousins were as close as sisters, maybe closer,
because they hadn’t been forced to grow up under the same
roof. Judith felt like slugging Joe, shaking Renie, and giving
Bill a boot just for the hell of it.
Judith would never admit it, but she was in the mood for
murder.
TWO
FRIDAY DAWNED COLD and cloudy. Renie was driving the
Jones’s big blue Chev, which was fitted with snow tires, and
carried chains in the trunk. The cousins set out at nine on
the dot, heading east toward the mountain pass that was
located about an hour outside of the city.
“I made a list,” Renie said, patting an envelope that lay on
the seat between them. “It’s on top. Take it out and go over
the names. When—and if—I introduce you, it won’t be so
confusing.”
Judith perused the single sheet of typewritten paper as they
crossed the floating bridge that led out of the city. “You
should have included descriptions,” she complained. “These
names and titles don’t mean much. The only one I’ve ever
heard of is the CEO, Frank Killegrew. I’ve seen his name in
the newspaper.”
“Good, that leaves only nine, and four of them are women.
Don’t worry about it,” Renie counseled. “With any luck, you
won’t have much contact with them.”
Judith scanned the names: After Franklin Killegrew, president and CEO, there was Ward Haugland, executive vice
president–network and customer services. Judith made a face.
“What’s with these complicated titles? Why can’t Haugland
just be an executive vice president?”
12
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 13
“Because telecommunications is complicated these days,”
Renie replied. “It’s still in a state of flux. First came the big
Bell System divestiture, sixteen, seventeen years ago, along
with the revolution in technology. Independent companies
like OTIOSE are still trying to find their niche.”
“Is that why I get four phone bills instead of one?” Judith
asked.
“Yep. You’ve got your local carrier, your long distance
company, your leased equipment, your…what?” Renie shot
Judith an inquiring glance.
“My pager,” Judith said. “It’s really Mike’s pager, but he
doesn’t use it anymore. The problem is, neither do I. I only
took it from him so Mother could get me in an emergency.”
“Has she ever paged you?” Renie asked as they reached
the mainland and flourishing suburbia.
“Never. She swears she lost the number and wouldn’t use
it if she found it.”
“Then get rid of the thing. It must cost you twenty bucks
a month.”
“Arlene has the number,” Judith said. “Like now, she could
page me if she has a problem taking over for the day at the
B&B.”
Renie shrugged. “Then maybe it’s worth it.”
They drove the interstate past industrial complexes, car
dealerships, fast-food chains, trendy restaurants, and gas
stations the size of a mini-mall. It never ceased to amaze Judith that what used to be vacant rural areas where the family
gathered hazelnuts, blackberries, and Christmas trees was
now a thirty-mile stretch of commercialism. At last they began
to climb, but even where tall trees still grew, there were large
swaths of housing developments. The city had sprawled, almost to the pass itself.
“Joe says Bill’s going to retire.” Judith finally broached the
subject that had been on her mind since Tuesday night.
“He’s talking about it.” Renie pulled into the fast lane,
passing a big semi-truck.
14 / Mary Daheim
Judith noticed that some of the taller trees were dusted
with fresh snow. “Really?” she remarked. “You haven’t said
so to me.”
Renie gave a little shrug. “It won’t be final—or real—until
he hands in his retirement application to the university administration. I never anticipate, you know.”
“Joe’s talking about it, too.” Judith tried to keep her tone
light. “Of course he wouldn’t retire for another three years.”
“Good for him,” Renie said, moving back into the righthand lane. “Both of our husbands have had long careers.
They need to kick back and enjoy themselves.”
“Yes.” Judith’s tone was dubious. “Yes. I suppose they do.”
A vision of Dan McMonigle, supine and blimplike on the
sofa, rumbled through her mind’s eye. “It’s just that I’ve been
through quite a bit of change lately. With Mike married and
now being transferred, he and Kristin could end up in Alaska
or Hawaii or Florida where I’d hardly ever see them.”
“So Joe retires and you travel.” Renie shrugged. “That’s
what people do. Frank Killegrew’s retiring, by the way,” she
added as they drove further into the forest and away from
civilization. “Haugland’s his heir apparent, but I’ve heard
you can’t count on it.”
Judith glanced at the list Renie had given her. She wasn’t
terribly interested in OTIOSE’s career paths. All she could
think of was trying to live on Joe’s retirement and Social Security. Would he insist she give up Hillside Manor and retire
with him?
“Doesn’t retirement make you feel old?” Judith finally
asked.
“Huh?” Renie seemed puzzled. “No, why should it? It’s a
natural act, like eating or shopping for shoes. Besides, I won’t
give up my graphic design business. I do it at home, we can
use the extra money, and I’d be bored stiff if I didn’t work.”
“I agree,” Judith said as low clouds drifted across the
SNOW PLACE TO DIE / 15
divided six-lane highway. “I’d like to keep the B&B going
for another ten years. But I’ll definitely dump the catering
part in the next few months. Say,” she went on, changing
gears, “speaking of caterers, what about the guy who disappeared last year?”
Renie frowned. “I told you. He left on some errand and
never came back. End of story.”
Judith, who possessed a very logical mind, wanted details.
“He never came back to the lodge? Or he never came back,
period?”
“Period.” Renie was exhibiting a touch of impatience. “This
Barry…Newsom or Newsbaum or…Newcombe, I think it
was, had forgotten something for his catering stockpile. He
went off that Friday afternoon, presumably to the nearest
store which is at the summit of the pass, and never came
back. When he didn’t show up for work the following
Tuesday after the long weekend, his co-workers back at the
company weren’t concerned. They figured he was tired out
from his catering duties. But later, one of the executives asked
about Barry because they hadn’t seen him after he left the
lodge Friday afternoon. I guess he was listed as a missing
person, and that’s what he still is—missing.”
“The executives didn’t miss him that Friday?” Judith was
incredulous.
“I guess not,” Renie replied, negotiating the wide, sweeping
switchback turns. “They probably thought he hadn’t been
able to find what he was looking for at the summit grocery
and had gone all the way back into the nearest town. It had
started to snow hard by then, so maybe they figured Barry
couldn’t get back up the pass. Bear in mind, coz, these big