Moon Signs Read online

CHAPTER FIVE

  The sun was slanting through our window when I woke up. I turned on my side to look at our travel alarm and noticed that Andrea wasn’t in her bed. It was eight o’clock. “Are you in the bathroom?” Silence. I got up and went to the bathroom myself to get ready for the day.

  By the time I dressed and went to the lobby it was eight-thirty, and I was getting hungry. Andrea was there on the couch by the fireplace talking to a striking, dark-haired woman who was dressed in lavender ski pants and a deep purple sweater. A parka that matched the pants had been tossed onto the coffee table.

  “Kathleen, this is Maria Borodin. My sister, Kathleen Williamson.”

  She stood up and took my hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Her accent was even thicker than the two we had encountered last night. “Likewise,” I said, and sat on one of the chairs. “Any news from the medical examiner this morning?”

  “Nothing,” Andrea said. “The sheriff was back here this morning, though, so I imagine they’re thinking her death was not from natural causes. He talked to Asbury and Ivy in the kitchen.”

  Maria looked concerned. “Do you suppose there’s a murderer in our midst? Not a likely place for a murder, is it, here at this little hotel in the mountains?” Her English was excellent, in spite of the accent.

  “It certainly is peaceful here. I have a feeling they’ll find her death was an accident, or from natural causes,” I said.

  “Do you ski here often?” Andrea asked.

  “This is my first time. My husband is attached to the Russian embassy in Washington. I drove up a few days ago. I must go now. I don’t want to use up my ski time. It was very nice talking to you.” She picked up her parka and headed for the door.

  “Are you skiing today?” I asked Andrea.

  “Not today. I want to talk to Maggie about a lesson tomorrow. You should come with me to the ski area. Bring a book, and you can read in the Bear Paw Lodge. There’s a food court, and we can have breakfast there.” Andrea had been doing more Internet research, obviously.

  “That sounds appealing. If I can sit by a fireplace and read, I’ll be perfectly happy. Do you realize it’s five below zero this morning? There’s a thermometer outside our window. You’re going to freeze if you’re planning on wearing a pair of jeans tomorrow.”

  “I brought some thermal underwear. And I might splurge and buy some ski pants. I’ll ask Maggie’s advice.”

  “How about some breakfast? I’m starving.”

  “Good idea. Let’s go back to the Canaan Lodge and see what they have.”

  “Did you notice there’s no one behind the desk?”

  Andrea put on her parka. “I guess that’s a problem now, with Maggie giving lessons and Olga gone. Maybe Ivy or Asbury will fill in if someone shows up. It may be they don’t expect anyone till later today, but I’d think they’d have several people checking in for the weekend.”

  Ivy came through the lobby as we were leaving. “If you’re going out, I’ll take care of your room now.”

  “We’re going for breakfast. This would be a perfect time, thanks.”

  I got my parka from our room, and then we went to the car and sat there with the motor running, letting it warm up. “Maria Borodin must be the guest with the name you couldn’t read,” I said.

  “She’d have to be. She seems to be a rather sophisticated woman.”

  “I’d think so, with a husband in the Russian diplomatic corps. Her ski outfit had that look—expensive. She’s exotic-looking. She could be a model—she’s so tall and thin.” I was beginning to feel uncomfortable in my polyester pants and acrylic sweater, and I wished I’d given some thought to what people would be wearing. Andrea backed out and turned toward the highway. “I’m surprised she wouldn’t be staying at one of the fancier resorts. But maybe she couldn’t get a reservation. Or maybe, since she’s never been here before, she just picked something at random.”

  I had expected Andrea to consider all the possibilities. “Well, you’re right about the Alpenhof. It isn’t fancy. It doesn’t live up to its name. Maybe they’re planning some renovations.”

  “It wouldn’t be easy to turn it into a Swiss chalet. But who knows what young people can do, given enough energy and money.”

  We went around a curve and were just out of sight of the hotel, when just ahead, a young man stuck his thumb out. “He looks harmless enough,” Andrea said as she whipped off the road.

  “Oh, dear!” I hated it when Andrea picked up hitchhikers. And now, with a murderer running loose, it was more than scary.

  The kid ran to the car and jumped in the back seat. I turned and looked at him. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and he had sandy hair and big blue eyes. He looked like a typical country kid. “What’s your name?”

  “David.”

  Andrea looked at him in the rearview mirror. “David Hawkins. You’re Asbury’s stepson. Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I’m skipping.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “To the game room, over at the lodge.”

  Andrea put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway. “Where do you go to school?”

  “Over at Thomas, but I ain’t going today.”

  I could read Andrea’s thoughts—should we drive over to Thomas and march him into the school? I was hoping she wouldn’t—I was too hungry to wait that long for breakfast.

  I was relieved when she said, “We’re going to the lodge, too. We’ll take you to breakfast with us, but we’re calling your mother to let her know what’s happening. Parents need to know where their children are at all times.”

  David’s answer was to give the back of Andrea’s head a disgusted look and to pull a cigarette from an inside pocket of his parka. Andrea must have been watching in the rearview mirror. “No smoking in my car, David.”

  Math teachers, even retired ones, have that air of authority that’s effective against the Davids of the world. I would have lectured him, but Andrea just told him how it was going to be. He slumped back into the seat and looked nonchalantly out the window.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Thirteen.”

  “How do you like it here in the valley?”

  “I hate it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There’s nothing to do.”

  I would have suggested that going to school and learning things was something to do, but decided I’d follow Andrea’s lead and not lecture. “Have you tried skiing?”

  “Hell, no. That don’t look like any fun.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Andrea said. “I’m going to have a ski lesson tomorrow. It’s Saturday, and you won’t be in school. I’ll pay for a half-day lesson, and ski rental and lift ticket for the day, if you’ll go with me. I might need some help.”

  David looked annoyed that he was being asked to consider something that might overcome his determination to be bored and hate the valley. “I have to help at the hotel on weekends.”

  “I’ll talk to your mother. And Asbury, of course. I think they’ll agree that you need something to do around here. You could do your chores at the hotel in the evening.”

  I was considering David as a suspect in Olga’s murder, if it was a murder, and Andrea was inviting him to spend a day skiing with her. My sister and I have been best friends since we were toddlers, but there are times when I can’t fathom her mind. Then I went back to thinking about how hungry I was as we pulled into the parking lot at the lodge.

  Andrea called Ivy on her cell phone as we were waiting for our order, and David had just finished off a stack of three whopping pancakes when his mother walked into the restaurant. She spotted us at a table by the window and came over. “What the devil are you doing skipping school?”

  “I didn’t feel like going.”

  She marched him out of there and, I assume, on to school. I nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped my second cup of coffee. “He strikes me as a juvenile delinquent. Do you suppose
he murdered Olga?”

  “We don’t know yet that she was murdered. And he has a long way to go before he could be considered a juvenile delinquent, by today’s standards.”

  We were trying to decide how to spend the day when Deputy Willard Hill walked up to our table. “Good morning, Kathleen and Andrea.”

  “Good morning, Willard,” we said in unison. I could tell by the look on his face that he was busting at the seams to tell us something. Andrea removed her purse from the chair beside her. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I’d be delighted,” he said as he sat down.

  “Any report from the medical examiner?” Leave it to Andrea to get to the bottom of things.

  He frowned, as if he were seriously considering whether he should divulge what he knew. Then he leaned over and started to open his mouth when the waitress appeared at his shoulder. He glanced up. “Coffee, please, and a couple of biscuits.”

  As soon as she left, “Don’t say anything about this, but Olga definitely was murdered.”

  Andrea again: “Do they know how it happened?”

  He nodded slowly. “Knife between the ribs. Right into the heart. Looks like a professional job.” The look on his face said he’d seen hundreds of professional jobs.

  Andrea pressed on. “Have you found the murder weapon?”

  “No ma’am, but we will. We’re back there combing the hotel right now.”

  The rest of the crew was back combing the hotel, I thought. Willard Hill was having coffee and biscuits and trying to impress two older women. I couldn’t help wondering what he would have divulged if we’d been twenty and gorgeous. Andrea was asking questions, so I ventured to ask one, too. “How did the employees at the hotel feel about Olga?”

  Willard’s expression changed from knowing to somber. “I haven’t heard any bad reports. She seemed to be such a lovely lady . . .” His voice trailed off in a wistful manner.

  I decided to pursue the subject of Olga. “She certainly was beautiful.”

  Willard nodded sadly. “Very beautiful. Such a shame . . .”

  “Could the murder have been the result of a robbery?” Andrea asked.

  “Nothing was taken from the cash register, but those diamonds Olga always wore were missing. Her neck was cut when someone yanked the chain to get the diamond from around her neck.”

  The waitress interrupted with his order, so we decided on another half cup of coffee—and a biscuit. After all this was a vacation, if you could call searching for lost Monets amidst a murder investigation a vacation, that is. Of course, this idea brought my mind back to the Monets and my interest in the murder began to flag.

  But just then Willard spoke again. “We’re trying to find out about Olga’s next-of-kin so they can be notified. It seems strange, but her brother seems to be reluctant to give us any information about their family.”

  “That does seem strange,” Andrea mused. I was sure she was taking every bit of information into that mathematical brain of hers and processing it, storing each bit into its proper place.

  “He undoubtedly wants to let the family know himself, rather than having the sheriff do it.” I bit into my biscuit, thinking that I surely had supplied the logical answer to the puzzle.

  “That may be so, but we need the information in case there are family members we need to question.” Willard tipped his cup and downed the rest of his coffee. “I must be on my way to the hotel. Have a good day.”

  We sat there for a moment, each thinking our separate thoughts. “Do you think Willard was supposed to tell us all that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad he did. Let’s go back to the hotel for a while and hang out in the lobby. Then if everything is quiet, we’ll drive to Seneca Rocks this afternoon for some sightseeing.”

  When we got to the hotel, we were surprised to see Stefan there, talking to the sheriff behind the desk. Hadn’t Maggie told us he was the manager of the ski school? Surprising that he’d be at the hotel, especially since it was Friday and the weekend skiers would be showing up. They didn’t look up as we came in, and try as I might, I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  I hadn’t noticed with all the excitement last night what a good-looking man Stefan is. I guessed he’s six feet tall, about the same as the sheriff. The maroon v-neck pullover he was wearing showed off his muscular physique. His hair is light brown, and I couldn’t see his eyes as we walked toward the fireplace, but I imagined they’re green. He and Maggie do make a good-looking pair. She has auburn hair and freckles, and her eyes are bright blue.

  The man who was sitting by the fireplace, hidden by the ficus tree, when we arrived yesterday was sitting in the same place today, looking at a newspaper. Andrea strode to the couch opposite him and sat down. “Good morning. I’m Andrea Flynn, and this is my sister, Kathleen Williamson.” She extended her hand across the coffee table. I was sitting by this time, and he stood and shook both our hands, then returned to his seat.

  “I’m Gunter Bosch. I am happy to meet you.” He leaned back against the chair and went back to his paper, not looking at all like he was happy to meet us. He was repeating something he learned in a phrasebook.

  I found myself staring at Mr. Bosch, trying to get a handle on his appearance. He was the most nondescript person I’d ever seen. I felt as if I wouldn’t be able to recall his face if I looked away. He had straight wispy hair that obviously had been blond at one time, but was now turning gray. He had blue eyes behind little reading glasses in a very ordinary face. Even his clothes were ordinary-looking. He was wearing a tan sweater and khaki pants. I leaned forward. “Do you ski, Mr. Bosch?”

  “Yes. I ski.” He said the words without looking up from his paper.

  “Andrea will be taking to the slopes tomorrow. Do you think we’ll have plenty of snow?”

  “I’m sure we will. If you’ll excuse me . . .” He got up with his paper and disappeared into his room. I could hear the lock click behind him.

  I sighed. So much for conversation with this foreigner. Maybe he didn’t understand English that well. Or maybe he was simply antisocial. Or maybe he was hiding something. Maybe Andrea has me considering all possibilities like she does, but everyone becomes a suspect in my mind when there’s a crime. I looked at Andrea and shrugged.

  She nodded her head slowly. “Not too friendly, was he?”

  “Definitely not. So far I don’t feel my horizons have been broadened any by meeting the foreigners here. And of course he disappeared into his room just when I was hoping to get a look at the weather page of his paper.”

  “To see if more snow is coming?”

  “I wanted to check the phases of the moon, to see which phase we’re in now. I noticed a thin crescent moon when we arrived yesterday, but I don’t know if it’s waxing or waning.”

  Andrea smiled and looked as if she were about to say something, but we were interrupted when an elderly couple came in the front door and walked to the registration desk. She had a tiny poodle under one arm, and her husband trailed along behind her with a bag over each shoulder and a huge suitcase in each hand. Was all this for a weekend?

  Stefan turned from his conversation with the sheriff and greeted them. They talked for a while, and even though I couldn’t catch what they were saying, I guessed the woman was persuading Stefan to allow the dog to stay. Stefan didn’t look happy, and the husband looked apologetic. Finally, they appeared to be signing in. Stefan handed the lady a key and turned back to the sheriff.

  “Some people have a lot of nerve, coming here with a dog. Obviously, they didn’t check first to see whether it would be allowed,” I said. “I got the impression that Stefan was giving them a hard time about it, but finally agreed.”

  “I guess he didn’t want to turn them away. Every hotel in the valley is probably booked up for the weekend. She probably convinced him the dog is civilized. He looks very sophisticated.”

  The couple walked past us without speaking, and we could see that the little poodl
e had a pink hair ribbon and rosy toenails. “I guess it’s a ‘she,’” I whispered. Then I heard her call the dog Cherie as she nuzzled its neck. I wasn’t sure if that was her name or a term of endearment, but I supposed I’d think of the dog as Cherie for as long as she was around. The poodle’s owners went on down the hallway in our wing of the hotel, the husband still trailing along behind the wife with his load of baggage. “Wouldn’t you hate to get out in the snow and cold and wait around for a dog to do her business?”

  Andrea nodded. “I have a feeling the husband will get that chore. Did you see the way he was loaded down?”

  “How could I not notice, the poor man. I suppose they’re the first of several weekend skiers who’ll be arriving today,” I said. “They looked older than I am, and I suppose they’re here for the skiing. Oh, well, if I don’t want to ski, I don’t have to ski.”

  “You’re here to enjoy the weekend. Don’t worry about it.”

  “What do you suppose they do with the dog if they’re going skiing?”

  Andrea shook her head. “No telling. Maybe there’s a kennel in the valley, or maybe they aren’t here for skiing.”

  The dog people came back by us at that moment. She was looking at the key as they headed down the other hallway. “They’re having trouble finding their room,” I whispered.

  “The hallways are rather dark.”

  “I’ve been thinking—we still haven’t met the Nicholsons. We’ve met the other two who were guests at the time of the murder, but we haven’t met the Nicholsons. I wonder where they spend their time.”

  “They may spend the day skiing till the last run and the evenings in their room. Maybe they’re honeymooners.”

  “Do you remember what room they’re in?” Knowing Andrea’s voracious mind for details, I was positive she’d know.

  “They’re in nine, across from us.”

  “Maybe David can point them out to you tomorrow, while you’re on the slopes. He’s probably seen them, since he helps his folks here at the hotel.”

  Willard Hill came from the kitchen and nodded as he passed us. He was accompanied by another deputy, and they walked on out the front door, followed by the sheriff. Everyone looked rather grim.

  “I wonder if they found the murder weapon,” I said.

  “From the look on Willard’s face, my guess is they didn’t,” Andrea said. “Why don’t we drive on over to Seneca Rocks and hike a bit before it starts to get really cold again?”

  We went to our room, where Andrea took her digital camera from her suitcase and put it in a deep pocket of her parka. Andrea’s fascinated with gadgets, and she’s always trying, without any success, to get me interested. I still have an old Brownie camera from the fifties, and I rarely take pictures with that. She had her laptop with her, too. It was hard to imagine why she brought it, but I was sure she’d think of a reason eventually.

  I checked the thermometer outside our window. It had warmed up to seventeen degrees. I snapped the hood onto the new red parka I bought for this trip, and we were on our way.

  “Something has been bothering me since last night,” Andrea said. “I was so concerned with trying to revive Olga that it slipped to the back of my mind.” She shifted into third as we started up a hill.

  “What is it?”

  “There was a ball point pen on the floor near Olga. I noticed it when I knelt down beside her. It was one of the stick type, red with a black cap. It had some writing on it. I just remembered it while we were sitting in front of the fireplace earlier.”

  “You mentioned that the pen holder and pen we used to sign in were knocked to the floor.”

  “This was a different pen, on the other side of Olga.”

  “The sheriff was there, talking to Stefan. Maybe you should have mentioned it to him.”

  Andrea took a long breath. “The deputies undoubtedly found it when they were checking out the crime scene. I’ve been trying to remember what it said on the pen. I think it was a pen from a bank. Let’s look as we go through Harman. Maybe we’ll see a bank there, and it’ll come to me.”

  We drove around the town of Harman and found only one bank—the Grant County Bank, housed in a rectangular building with three windows and a door spaced out across the front.

  “That’s not it,” Andrea said. “I’ll know the name when I see it.”

  I had no doubt she would. That’s Andrea.

  We drove on to Seneca Rocks, where we saw only a Toyota that looked to be from the early 90’s and an ancient blue pickup in the parking area. “It seems to be very quiet here today,” I said.

  Andrea pulled in beside the pickup. “I’m sure they have a lot more visitors in the summer.”

  A young couple approached us as we got out of the car. They were good looking young folks—he was tall and muscular, with dark hair and eyes; she had fair skin and blonde hair.

  “Aren’t you staying at the Alpenhof?” he asked.

  “Yes, we are,” Andrea said.

  “We’re Wes and Staci Nicholson. I came out of our room to get some ice yesterday evening, and I saw you sitting by the fireplace, talking to a deputy.” He was looking at me.

  I nodded. “I’m Kathleen Williamson, and this is my sister, Andrea Flynn. The deputy was questioning me about Olga’s death. Andrea was with the sheriff upstairs. We’re the ones who found the body.”

  Staci gave a little shudder. “Terrible, wasn’t it? From what I heard today, I understand she was murdered.”

  Andrea was looking at them with a noncommittal expression on her face. “Had you asked Olga earlier to get some ice?”

  “Yes, we did,” Wes said. “We wanted to have a drink in our room. We bought some bread and cheese at a market in Davis on our way to the lodge, and we were planning on eating in our room. When I saw the commotion going on in the lobby, I figured Olga never got around to getting the ice.”

  Andrea nodded. “So you didn’t go and look in the ice machine?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. She was checking to see if someone had slipped by her as she kept watch.

  “No, I didn’t. We decided to have some wine without ice.”

  “Have the deputies talked with you yet?” I asked.

  Staci nodded. “They came by our room this morning. We had decided that we’d come down here rather than go skiing, and that’s the only reason we were still there. If we’d gone skiing, we’d have left earlier. There wasn’t much we could tell them, though. We were in our room and didn’t see anything. We’re from Charleston, and this is our first time to stay at the Alpenhof, so we didn’t know anything about the owners or anyone who works there. We’re just here for a long weekend.”

  “Have you been doing some climbing?” Andrea asked.

  “No, we only walked back to where the trail begins to get steep.”

  “That’s probably all we’ll do,” I said. “It’s still mighty cold out here, even though it’s warmed up a little. The wind is cutting.” My feet were beginning to get numb, just standing there by the car.

  Andrea pushed the lock button on her remote control. “We’d better go. It’s too cold for standing around.”

  The Nicholsons agreed and got in the Toyota and then waved to us as they drove away. “What do you think?” I asked. “Could they be murderers? He did ask Olga for ice. And he’s a mighty big guy—certainly big enough to overpower someone her size. Of course, he talked readily about asking for ice. If he did that to get Maggie out of the way so he could attack Olga and take her diamonds, would he admit it?”

  “Maybe he thought Olga told Maggie who asked for it and she had told us, so he decided it would be best to get it out in the open and act innocent about it.”

  I tied the string to my hood under my chin. “He had no way of knowing Olga would send Maggie for the ice and take over the desk, especially if they’ve never been at the Alpenhof before and didn’t know anything about Olga.”

  “I suppose it could have been an attempt to get Olga alone, thinking that since sh
e’s one of the owners, she’d send someone else. What did they have to lose? If Olga went, at least they’d have some ice for their drinks.”

  “They’re a nice looking couple. They look honest.”

  “They don’t look like they’d murder anyone, but then who does?”

  “The little man who hides behind the ficus does. He’s creepy!”

  “We’ll keep an open mind. The Nicholsons may be wondering whether you and I are capable of murder.”

  I threw back my head and laughed. “You must be joking.”

  “Not at all,” she said, with a look that told me she was dead serious.