Jane was doing some mental arithmetic. Tenny looked only about forty, but she could be as much as fifty years old. Which would make Joanna Smith in her early sixties. The same age as Jane's mother. But the difference was amazing. Cecily Grant was trim, fit, and stylish. This woman looked much older. Or perhaps only from a different era. That was it. She wasn't so much old as old-fashioned.
"Is that part of an afghan you're working on?" Jane asked.
"Yes. I'll have to keep it in our own apartments, though. Back in the early days, when it was just hunters who came here, I made things like this for the cabins. But when we rebuilt it as a resort and Tenny took over all the decorating, she told me I had no taste."
"No! I can't imagine Tenny saying a thing like that!" Shelley exclaimed.
Joanna waved her hand deprecatingly. "Oh, but she's quite right, my dear. Tenny has lovely taste. I wouldn't dream of interfering in her decorating. Bill and I are just old frumps. Back when these were just hunters' cabins, we were fine. Bill could talk hunting all day with the guests, and I'd cook plain-cooking dinners for them. Big old roasts and buckets of stew and fried chicken. But when we expanded and made it a resort — well, we were out of our element. Bill was a wonder with the finances, but me and him don't know a thing about skiing or any of that kind of thing. As far as I'm concerned, all this snow is just something you have to put up with. Can't imagine grown people wanting to play in it. And my sort of cooking isn't what appeals to the kind of people who come here." She laughed. "It doesn't even appeal to me anymore. I've gotten used to Tenny's chefs and eating in the dining room. Not sure I even know how to cook anymore. When we retire, I'll have to learn all over again."
"Are you looking forward to retiring?" Jane asked, just to keep the conversation going. "My father keeps talking about retiring, but I think he's scared to death somebody will take him seriously."
"Not us. We're ready. At least Bill is. A place like this is an awful lot of work and worry," she said, blissfully unaware that this wasn't the kind of thing a seller should be saying to a potential buyer's wife. "Every time some pipe bursts in the middle of the night or half the maids come down with the flu at the same time or some group that's booked a big block changes their mind, Bill has to take care of it. Tenny's a big help, but it always comes back to Bill one way or another."
Bill had finished talking to the concession attendant and joined them. He wasn't a big man by any means, but he had a wiry, rugged look. And, as soon became apparent, the manners to match. Joanna introduced him to Jane and he merely grunted noncommittally. "That damned kid thinks he's on vacation or something," he groused.
It took them all a moment to realize he meant the employee he'd just been talking to. "Told him twice to clean the storeroom and it hasn't been done yet. I told Pete it was a mistake to hire a white kid for the job. The Indians work much better. They don't want to yammer around socializing with all the swimmers. They just want to do their job and get paid and go home."
"Now, Bill," Joanna said soothingly, "you know the guests like Tory. They're always saying how nice he is."
" 'Nice' don't get the storeroom cleaned. And what the hell kind of name is Tory, anyway?"
Jane suddenly understood why he'd been so happy with the hunters' cabins and felt the resort was such hard work. The man wasn't suited to it at all. He was a tough, macho, reactionary old buzzard. Still, it had been his own choice, and in his own way he was good at it. At least, he must be for the place to be so nice and successful. Tenny's responsibilities must have extended to keeping him out of the way of the guests. Jane noticed that Joanna had finished a light yellow row on her granny square and had selected a bright neon pink for the next row. Yes, between hiding Joanna's ghastly domestic products and Bill's abrasive personality, Tenny had a full-time job.
As they'd been talking, Jane had been watching Todd and John, who were starting to look like big white raisins with blurry red eyes. She excused herself, got them out of the pool and dried off, and insisted, over their halfhearted protests, that it was time to get dressed and rest for a while. While they were getting ready, she brought them burgers and fries packed in the reusable padded boxes the resort used for carry out orders.
When she came back to the pool, the boys were bundled up and ready to go. She took her leave of Shelley and the owners, saying she needed to dress for dinner, and abandoned Shelley to the Smiths. Shelley wouldn't mind; she was in corporate-wife mode. Jane had tried to get the girls out of the pool, but they were determined to stay and claimed that Tory had told them they could eat dinner at poolside. Jane and the boys walked back to her quarters, taking the shortcut through the woods this time. It had gotten dark quite suddenly and snow was falling, but the path was clear and lighted at five-foot intervals with little lanterns. She reached her door just as Mel did from the other direction.
"You've napped. I can tell," Jane said.
"Sheet creases on my face?"
"No, just bright eyes and a nice smile. Are you ready for dinner?"
"I can't ever remember being hungrier."
"Good. I'll change fast."
"I'll go back and let the boys in and get them set-tied for the evening," he offered. He returned a few minutes later and came in and turned on CNN in the living room while Jane ran a comb through her hair, put on fresh makeup and some of her new clothes. Shelley had made her shop before coming on this trip, and her "best dress" for the resort was a long red suede skirt that not only had been on sale, but fit her perfectly. Shopping never went that well for her unless Shelley was along. Bargains of this sort seemed to call a siren song to Shelley as she stepped over the threshold of a dress shop. She'd stand for a moment, head cocked, eyes half closed, then head directly for the best deal in the store. With the red skirt, Shelley had selected a cream silk blouse and a sweater/jacket with the cream of the blouse, the red of the skirt, and several shades of khaki and brown in a splashy leaf-like pattern. It was really a stunning outfit.
"Wow!" Mel said, when she reappeared. "You look great!"
"Shelley picked it all out," Jane admitted. "Let's go. Oh, I almost forgot again. I've been carrying around a folder that belongs to one of the genealogy people."
"Why are you carrying it around?"
Jane explained briefly about the genealogy debate and how she'd run into Doris Schmidtheiser and helped pick up her papers, but Doris had fled in mortification before Jane could hand these over. "I just need to drop them off on the way to dinner. I checked on where she's staying and it's on our way. I meant to leave them as I came here, but forgot."
"Okay, but you won't stay and talk, will you? I'm starving."
"Promise."
Jane's sweater/jacket had a hood that looked warmer than it turned out to be. She was stylish, but freezing by the time they got to Doris's cabin. She had tried to ignore the cold by talking a blue streak about Doris, the Holnagrad Society, and Doris's claim that Bill Smith was the rightful Tsar. When they arrived, Jane tapped lightly on the door and it swung open under her touch. Doris must have been so disconcerted when she returned that she hadn't pushed it closed properly.
"Mrs. Schmidtheiser?" Jane called through the open doorway. "Yoo-hoo! Are you home? Mrs. Schmidtheiser?"
There was no answer.
"I'll just put it inside," Jane said. But the moment she stepped inside she knew something was wrong. "Mel," she said softly.
The alarm in her voice brought him instantly to her side.
The cabin was arranged just like Jane's, with an entry hallway that opened onto the living room straight ahead and the kitchen to the left and the bedroom hallway to the right. In front of them, papers were strewn all over the floor.
"Stay here," Mel said sharply.
He went into the living room and Jane, in spite of his orders, followed him.
Doris Schmidtheiser was crumpled on the floor, next to the coffee table. Mel was kneeling beside her, feeling for a pulse. "Janey, you better wait outside."
"I'll freeze out there," Jane said. "Is she dead?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Heart attack? She took heart pills."
"Probably. I'll call the police, then alert the hotel people about what's happening."
He went to the phone, but pulled out a handkerchief to put in his hand before he picked up the receiver. He dialed 911, spoke briefly, then dialed the hotel operator. "Who's the owner, Jane?" he asked while waiting for the hotel operator to pick up.
"Bill Smith, but I think you probably want to ask for Tenny Garner."
He did, then identified himself and told Tenny that a guest had died and he'd already summoned help.
"Why the handkerchief?" Jane asked after he'd hung up. "If you think it was a heart attack."
"No reason especially. Just habit."
Jane looked at him.
"Well, that and the mess. Whenever you have a death in the midst of this kind of disorder, you have to wonder."
"You think it's murder?"
"No!" he said emphatically. "I don't think any such thing, and don't let your imagination go rocketing off, either. She's an old lady who had a bad afternoon. She had heart troubles and was under a lot of stress at a high altitude. That's it."
"Okay, okay. I was just asking."