shoulders slumping in relief. The antidote to her attack of
nerves appeared to consist of making herself busy. She deftly
poured out a shot of Scotch and offered it to Frank. “Drink
this,” she urged. “It’s a stimulant.”
“It’s Scotch,” Killegrew murmured, but he accepted the
tumbler. “Oh, my God! What’s happening to us? This can’t
be real!” He attempted to sit up; Nadia and Ward each supported his effort.
“What happened?” Judith asked Ward, as the pager went
off again in her purse.
No one seemed to hear the sound. “We were sort of moseying around Andrea’s room, checking things out— without
touching, mind you,” Ward added with a quick glance at
Gene Jarman, “and then we finally decided we’d better have
a look at that pillowcase. Gene allowed as how it probably
would be okay as long as we sort of held it up by the corners.
Sure enough, there were some marks on it—kind of a reddish
one and sort of a blackish one. When Frank saw that, he just
keeled over.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Killegrew grumbled. “My entire
staff is being wiped out!” Regaining his usual jocund manner,
he gave Margo a belligerent look. “If I knew which one of
you was doing this, I’d use that gun of yours and take matters
into my own hands!”
“If you knew,” Margo said between clenched teeth, “I’d let
you.”
Nadia was leaning into Killegrew. “Are you all right? You
shouldn’t get so upset. It’s bad for your digestion.”
“Screw my digestion,” Killegrew growled. Then he put a
hand on his chest. “If I had a heart attack, I’m over it.
Whatever it was, nobody can blame me for a collapse.” He
glanced at Ward. “You’re right. I’m one tough customer.
Everybody knows that Frank Killegrew is fit as a fiddle and
still captain of the good ship OTIOSE!”
“Yes, sir,” Ward replied with a crooked grin. “I mean, aye,
aye.” He saluted his superior.
“I think,” Gene said slowly, “that one of us has to try to
get out of here and seek help.”
“How?” Margo demanded with a sneer. “The good ship
OTIOSE doesn’t have wings.”
“I looked outside from upstairs,” Gene went on, ignoring
Margo. “The snow is letting up and the wind is down. There
are skis in this lodge. There might even be a snowmobile
around here someplace. If we could dig a path from one of
the entrances, we could get somebody out. Who skis besides
Frank?”
“I do,” Ward responded, “but it’d take hours to shovel the
snow away from the doors.”
“If a path can be cleared, I can get out of here,” Ava volunteered. “I ski, so does Margo.”
Margo was still sneering. “It’s at least a mile to the highway. The snow’s covered all the landmarks. We’d get
