'The local sheriff is an ass!' he said, sitting down heavily. Jane could hear his stomach rumble. 'He was all for just carting off the body and letting your pal Tenny Garner send in a maid to clean up the room.'
'And you tried to stop him?'
'Of course I did. That's not the way to treat a sudden death.'
'I thought you were the one who said there was nothing suspicious about it.'
Mel took a deep breath. 'I don't know whether I should tell you this or not—'
'You might as well,' she said sweetly. 'After all, we're both on vacation. It has nothing to do with us.'
He cocked an eyebrow at her and thought for a long moment before finally saying, 'Did you notice the 'distribution' of all those papers?'
'Yes; they were everywhere.'
'No, they weren't.'
'Well, I guess there weren't any in the bathroom or the kitchen.'
'That's not what I mean. I'm talking about the living room.'
Jane closed her eyes, picturing the room where they had found Doris. Papers all over. On the coffee table, the sofa, the floor…
She opened her eyes very wide. 'Oh! She wasn't lying on any of them, was she?'
'Bingo.'
Their salads arrived. Trendy, rather bitter lettuce with little groupings of berries and slivers of something crunchy like water chestnuts, only pink. Normally Jane would have questioned the waiter about the ingredients, but not tonight. 'So you assumed the papers had been flung around after she collapsed.'
'It seemed likely. First I suggested that the sheriff have the remains of the coffee in her cup tested, but he said there was no need for that. She was an old lady and just had a heart attack and he, the sheriff, had a houseful of company at home — his in-laws, who were probably drinking all his best beer while he was wasting time, the in- laws being the greedy sort who would do that kind of thing to an absent host. About that time Ms. Garner got there, heard the last of the conversation, went and puttered around the kitchen and said there was another coffee cup missing.'
'Ah — so maybe she was having coffee with somebody who took the other cup away. Fingerprints, maybe?'
Mel shrugged. 'You never know. So the sheriff— his name is Plunkbucket, by the way—'
'It isn't!'
'No, but it's something like that. He says every time he's ever been up here, people are roaming around the grounds with coffee cups and glasses and things, and Ms. Garner admits that's true and the missing one might just turn up in the spring melt. Apparently all sorts of stuff show up when the snow disappears every spring.'
'Didn't you tell him you're a detective?'
'Oh, I did that. And it made the situation about ten times as bad. He resented me enough before that; then, when he found out I was not only a detective, but from Chicago as well, he really got nasty. City slickers trying to tell him how to do his job, et cetera.'
'But did he agree to test the coffee left in the cup?'
'Well, yes and no. He's testing it, but only because of my threat to report him to anybody I could find to listen if he didn't.'
'You feel that strongly that her death was suspicious?'
'No, I don't. But I was pissed off by then. Some of her genealogy chums had turned up by that time, and they were backing him up like mad that it was just an unfortunate but inevitable result of her bad heart and a disastrous afternoon. They told him all about the debate and how she'd been laughed out of the room. What the hell
'I dunno. Fruit of some kind. Don't you like it?'
'It's okay. Just a funny texture. I'm hungry enough I'd probably eat broccoli if somebody put it in front of me.'
'How did the sheriff explain the papers thrown all over?'
'Just a fit of pique. He actually used those words, I swear. After hearing of the debate that the genealogy people kept yammering about, he figures she came back, fixed herself a cup of coffee, then got herself all worked up to a temper tantrum and threw her work around. This activity leading, naturally, to a heart attack.'
'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.'
