“My family fled Armenia during the First World War,”
Max said in a toneless voice, “but some of our relatives were
massacred by the Turks. It was a bloodbath.”
“I had two great-grandfathers who were lynched,” Gene
said, staring into space. “One in Alabama, the other in South
Carolina. My uncle was almost beaten to death during the
freedom marches in Mississippi. In Oakland, two white cops
gave my father a concussion
for no reason. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.”
“Really,” Russell said in a huffy tone, “none of you are
showing much spunk. All we have to do is lock them in their
room. Then we’ll be safe until we can get out of here.”
The suggestion was met with apathy. Slowly, the cousins
moved back towards the others.
“Russell,” Judith began in what she hoped was a reasonable
tone, “you’re off base. If you’re relying on logic, let’s put it
to the test. For openers, we weren’t here last year, which is
when all this may have started. We have nothing to do with
OTIOSE or any other telecommunications outfit except for
my cousin’s tenuous connection through her freelance design
business. I was asked to fill in for some other caterer at the
last minute, as at least some of you may know. Why on earth
would either of us come to Mountain Goat Lodge and start
killing people? It makes absolutely no sense.”
Russell adjusted his rimless glasses. “Killing often doesn’t.
People go on rampages.”
“We don’t,” Renie declared. “Margo, I’ve worked with you
before. Have you ever had any reason to doubt who and
what I am?”
Margo’s expression was unusually vague. “No—I guess
not. But then I never pay much attention to consultants as
individuals. They come in, do their job, and leave.”
Renie sighed. “Yes, I understand that part. But if we’d
wanted to kill you, we’ve had ample opportunity. Why didn’t
we poison your food?”
“Too obvious,” Max responded.
“Poison can be extremely subtle,” declared Judith, who’d
had experience with its cleverly disguised lethal effects. When
the others regarded her with wide-eyed alarm, she hastened
to explain. “I read a lot of mysteries. There are poisons that
can’t be detected, poisons with delayed reactions, poisons
that can be masked in various ways.”
“That’s true,” Margo said glumly. “I read mysteries, too.”
“So what do we do?” Max asked, automatically turning to
Killegrew.
The CEO scratched an ear. “I don’t know. Eat lunch, I
suppose.” Somehow the callousness of his remark was diluted
