RESORT TO MURDER (6 page)

***

CHAPTER 7

May 23, 1997

Melanie was bushed. Working the evening
shift was good for tips, but hard work. She didn't realize how
tough waitressing could be. She thought she was in good shape, but
now she seemed to be tired all the time. Would these high energy
pills help?

Guaranteed - that's what she was told. All
natural, too. Everyone here at the Highview took them, that's what
she was told too. Well, she sure needed something. And they didn't
cost her anything, either. She'd just take a couple....

Melanie didn't hear the door to her room
open as she rinsed shampoo out of her hair in the shower. So she
didn't hear the pills being dropped into the diet soda by her bed,
the soda she always sipped as she watched David Letterman,
unwinding before she turned out the lights and went to sleep.

Tonight she would watch
David Letterman, and she would turn out her light sooner than
usual, yawns overtaking her. She would sleep the soundest she had
ever slept, never knowing that it would be the final sleep of her
life. She wouldn't hear the screams of the girl who eventually came
to wake her, long past her usual rising time. The girl who
couldn’t
wake her,
because Melanie was dead.

***

CHAPTER 8

June 20, 1999

Maggie drove down a portion of the same
winding road she had driven up the previous day on her way to the
Inn. As the posts of the guardrail rushed by she reflected on how
quickly, and how drastically, her expectations for this week's
vacation had changed.

Twenty-four hours ago she thought she faced
seven days of relaxation and recreation. She hoped to leave all
major problems behind her in Baltimore. Suddenly, overnight, those
problems had shrunk considerably in importance next to the
horrifying one that had loomed up. One of her former students had
been murdered. She, Maggie had found the body. And now she would be
facing the parents of that girl. Exams, grades, fussy principals,
and demanding parents paled by comparison.

Holly had slipped Maggie the Basker family's
address as she and Dyna ate breakfast in the hotel's dining room,
adding a few brief directions in a low voice as she poured coffee
into Maggie's cup.

"I got this from Crawford's files, which she
usually guards like a dragon, so keep it to yourself, OK?"

Maggie promised she would and thanked
her.

"Want me to go along?" Dyna asked. She sat
across the table from Maggie wearing hot pink spandex bicycle
shorts with a sequin-dotted T-shirt. Beaded earrings brushed her
shoulders.

Maggie declined, but not
because of Dyna's costume of the day, although it
was
somewhat
inappropriate for a condolence call. She worried that even her own
visit might be too intrusive, that Lori's mother wouldn't remember
who she was. But she still wanted to see her if she could, even if
only briefly.

As she drove, Maggie wondered what she would
say. She had gone to funerals and wakes before, of course, but she
realized it had almost always been in the company of her family.
Aged relatives and older friends of her parents had died,
invariably of natural causes, and Maggie's role had been simply to
be there, a sympathetic presence, while the older generation did
most of the talking.

There seemed to be a set script for those
events, platitudes and expressions of sympathy that rolled out
easily. Those deaths had been expected, usually peaceful, and
sometimes a relief for all concerned including the deceased. There
was never the horror that was connected with Lori's death. What
platitudes could she offer on the murder of a young daughter?

Maggie felt the stomach tremor return, an
echo of the one she had had at the crime scene. She suddenly wished
intensely that her mother were here with her now, and Maggie could
simply shift the burden to her.

Her wish surprised her. For the past several
days Maggie had done her best to put distance between her mother
and all the other family members who had gone down together to
Bethany. It wasn't simply the vacation plans that she had rebelled
against. It was their whole attitude toward her. In her parents’
eyes, she was still their little girl. She had been earning her own
money teaching for three years now and had her own apartment -
which was another major crisis in the Olenski household - but they
still refused to accept her as an adult. Maggie didn't know what it
would take, but she was doing her darnedest to find out.

Part of the problem, she understood, was her
parents' background. They had both grown up in the same
neighborhood in Baltimore, surrounded by grandparents, aunts and
uncles, and cousins. They had each lived at home until they
married, turning over their paychecks to their own parents and
receiving allowances in return. Maybe they couldn't think of Maggie
as grown up until she got married. If that were the case, then she
would have a long-running battle ahead, as there was no prospective
bridegroom in the picture, and Maggie felt in no hurry to find
one.

She reached into the bag of sour balls in
her console and rooted around with a quick sideways glance until
she found her favorite - tangy grape. She unwrapped it and popped
it in her mouth, and felt her stomach tremors ease just a bit.

She saw the sign for Coopersburg, where the
Baskers lived, and followed it onto a road to the right. The little
town was not all that far from the Highview. From what Maggie could
tell as she drove into it, with its collection of small businesses
with drably modest store fronts, the Inn was likely a major source
of income for many of its citizens, either as employment or as a
consumer of some of their supplies or services.

The Inn possibly drew from
several such small towns surrounding the area. If that were the
case, Maggie could
almost
understand the sheriff's desire to keep the Inn's
reputation intact by downplaying any unpleasant incidents that
occurred there, if in fact he had. Campaign contributions from the
owners might be a major concern, but preserving an economy and way
of life might be just as important. Whichever it was, though,
selfish or unselfish motivation, the end result - suppression of
the truth - was just as unacceptable.

Maggie checked the address on the slip of
paper Holly had given her, and recalled what she had said:

"Green Street should cross Main where the
laundromat is, and there's a tavern across the street in a yellow
building. I don't know if you go right or left on Green, but it
shouldn't be too hard to find."

Maggie found the street, decided on a left
turn, and located the house within two blocks. As she pulled next
to the curb, she noticed several other cars parked nearby and
realized she would not be the only one making a condolence call at
this time. She had another anxious thought that perhaps she would
be intruding, and considered just pulling away. Turning around and
going right back to the Highview.

Her mother's voice in her head stopped her.
"People don't want to be left alone at times like this.” Anna
Olenski had said it many times, and Maggie remembered helping her
wrap freshly baked bread or fix a casserole to take to a friend or
relative in mourning. "They need a little kindness to take away the
hurt."

Maggie didn't have a loaf of bread or a
casserole, so she would have to do her best on her own. "All right,
Mom, you win this time," she said aloud. "But I'll take it from
here, okay?"

Maggie climbed out of her car and walked up
the steps to the porch of the frame house. The porch could have
used a little paint, but it was otherwise in good shape. The house
was an old frame clapboard, two stories and a high attic. A chain
link fence surrounded the back yard, and a medium-sized,
multi-breed tan dog barked dutifully at her once or twice beyond
it.

Maggie's knock was answered by a grim,
large-sized, middle-aged woman. She wore a flower-printed blouse
stretched over the top of navy polyester pants, and her dark hair
framed a face that bore no resemblance to Mrs. Basker's, as Maggie
remembered it. She looked at Maggie stonily, blocking the door with
her bulk, and asked, "Yes?" in an unwelcoming tone.

"Ah, I'm Maggie Olenski. I was Lori's math
teacher in high school. If this is a bad time, I certainly
understand...."

"Oh! Come in, dear, come in.” The stern face
morphed into that of a generic, kindly aunt, and she pulled Maggie
by the arm through the doorway, moving back several steps to make
room. "I was afraid you were one of those reporters. It's been
terrible. How they can bother people with questions at a time like
this. `How do you feel?' How do they think we feel! So," she said
to Maggie in a softened tone with a hint of reverence, "you teach
up there at the high school?"

"No, actually I teach in Baltimore. I had
Lori in class when she lived there."

Maggie had stepped into the living room, and
she saw Lori's mother sitting on the sofa. She was being attended
by another large woman who dwarfed Mrs. Basker's own small frame.
The larger woman was alternately rubbing the grieving woman's hand
and moving offerings of food, coffee, and Kleenex a fraction of an
inch closer on the coffee table in front of her. The aroma of
perking coffee drifted in from the kitchen. Lori's mother looked up
and stared blankly at Maggie.

"Mrs. Basker, I'm Maggie Olenski. I
taught...."

Mrs. Basker's blank face relaxed to a soft,
sad-eyed smile. She stood up with a slight unsteadiness and reached
out to Maggie. "Miss Olenski. Yes, I remember. How kind. Lori
always... Marlene, would you get a cup for Miss Olenski?" she
turned to the woman at her left, and asked in a small voice. "Come,
sit down.” She motioned to Maggie. "So kind."

Maggie took the vacated spot on the sofa and
Lori's mother sat beside her. The older woman pushed at wisps of
grey-brown hair around her face and immediately offered some of the
small sandwiches and cookies on the table with anxious, jerky
movements. Maggie hesitated, then saw that accepting something
would please the woman and took a vanilla wafer.

"Lori was a very special student of mine,"
Maggie began, "a very special girl. I'm so sorry....” She broke
off, her voice unsteady, and Mrs. Basker gripped her hand in both
of her own.

"I know, I know, dear."

Maggie looked into this grieving mother's
eyes, and saw the pain deep inside them, thinly veiled by a
lifetime of conventions and habits, habits that placed immediate
concern for her visitor over her own distress. She felt that was
harder to take than a flood of tears would have been.

Marlene emerged from the kitchen carrying a
cup of coffee for Maggie and set it on the table in front of her.
Maggie gave a quick smile of thanks, and Lori's mother moved the
sugar closer, half rising when she thought Maggie might want cream
which wasn't there, only relaxing when Maggie assured her she
didn't need it.

A tall man whose freckled face resembled
Lori's more than her mother's stood near the doorway of the
kitchen, and Maggie recognized him as Mr. Basker. He was quietly
listening to the murmurs of a shorter man clad in overalls whom he
gazed at with solemn, sunken eyes.

Mrs. Basker cleared her throat gently and
said, "Did you drive all the way up here from Baltimore, dear?"

"Not today. I arrived yesterday, to stay at
the Highview."

"Oh, I see.” Mrs. Basker seemed to be
struggling to place that piece of information into its proper
niche.

Maggie took a deep breath. "Mrs. Basker, I'm
the one who found Lori."

"Oh!” Her hand rose to her mouth as the
thought of all that that implied became clear. Maggie saw her
grapple with it, feeling some of her anguish and wishing she hadn't
had to be the cause of it. The fact would have come out sometime
though, she knew, in news reports, or hearsay, and perhaps it was
just as well to get it over with. Who could say? All she knew was
this woman, this family, had a long road of healing ahead, and
maybe it was best to clear it now of as much debris as
possible.

After what seemed like a long silence, Mrs.
Basker's hand reached out for Maggie's again. "I'm sorry for you,
but I'm glad for Lori's sake that you were there for her. I'd like
to think she knew, somehow. She always liked you so much.” She
looked at Maggie with pain-filled eyes, the veil now dropped, and
whispered, "Who killed her? Who killed my little girl?” Two large
tears moved slowly down her face, and Maggie could only shake her
head helplessly.

She didn't know.

As more people arrived at the Basker's,
Maggie rose to leave. Some quick introductions, a few more words,
then she made her way to the door, escorted by the same large woman
who had admitted her, Lori's Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose came out onto the
front porch with her, pulling the door closed behind her, thanking
her for coming.

"You staying on at the Highview?" Rose asked
as Maggie started to step down.

"Yes, at least for now."

"It's a nice place," Rose said politely, her
face not quite agreeing with her words. "Did the town a lot of good
when it got built up there.” Rose heaved a sigh and settled down
onto an old metal porch chair. She pulled a handkerchief out of her
sleeve and wiped at her face.

Maggie sat down on the top step. "I was
talking to someone last night who works there. She said Lori's
wasn't the first death at the Highview, that another girl died of
an overdose of pills which the sheriff called a suicide."

"Yes, yes, I remember," Rose said, shaking
her head. "A terrible thing. I didn't know the girl. But it's
always a terrible thing when someone so....” Rose's gaze moved to
the oak tree standing tall and silent at the edge of the yard. She
was quiet for a few moments, then sighed. "Death shouldn't come
violently, especially not to the young. It should come quietly,
like a friend, when one has finished all one has to do and is
tired, and ready to go. Don't you think?"