we were so wet and cold that the garrote didn’t really register
until much later, probably when Ava opened her leather
suitcase. But it had been niggling at me all along.”
“Incredible,” Renie murmured. “Barry must have been
murdered a year ago this very weekend.” She stopped suddenly, a stricken expression on her face. “Oh, God —he may
have been murdered by one of them!” Her brown eyes were
riveted on the lodge.
“You’re right,” Judith said in wonder. “Let’s hurry, coz.
We’ve got to finish up and get the hell out of here.”
They were met at the door by the African-American man
who had exchanged his pinstripe suit for a turtleneck sweater
and corduroy pants. “I’d appreciate it,” he said in a grave,
concise voice, “if you’d tell me what’s going on. It’s not safe
to have outsiders wandering around in the snow. OTIOSE
isn’t legally covered for such contingencies.”
“Coz,” Renie said, sounding tired, “meet Eugene Jarman,
Junior, vice president-legal, as if you couldn’t
guess.” She offered the attorney a small smile. “Gene, you
honestly don’t want to know.”
Gene Jarman quietly closed the doors behind the cousins.
Frank Killegrew and Ward Haugland were both in the lobby,
wearing worried expressions and virtually matching outfits
of plaid flannel shirts, tan khaki pants, and brown suspenders. Beyond them, Russell Craven huddled by the fire, his
face averted.
“I’m afraid it’s my business to know,” Gene responded,
his blunt features solemn. He was average height, but the
self-assured way he carried himself made him seem much
taller. “Let’s sit down and discuss this.”
Judith and Renie looked at each other. “Okay,” said Renie,
removing her blanket and tossing it over one arm. “Has
anybody unlocked the liquor cabinet? This isn’t going to be
pretty.”
“Liquor,” Ward Haugland echoed, his lanky form twisting
around. “There must be liquor somewhere.”
Judith had spotted what might have been a wet bar in the
dining room. “I’ll check,” she said. “Give me a hand, coz.”
Five minutes later, the cousins had lined up bottles, glasses,
mixer, and a bucket of ice on the big polished burl coffee
table in the lobby. By then, other members of the OTIOSE
executive corps were streaming in. It appeared that their
master had spoken.
“Who’s missing?” Killegrew asked, not bothering to look
around. Judith guessed that others did that for him.
In this case, the task was performed by Ward Haugland,
as befitted his executive vice president’s status. “Ava and
Leon,” Ward said in his faint drawl. “They’ll be here any
