The Body in the Snowdrift (22 page)

“Yes,” Faith said. “Tom called me. And it's already been on the news.”

“I can't believe it. All this time, we thought John had deserted us, and something else was going on.”

“Something else”—such a Marian expression. Such
innuendo, such tact. What “something else” could it have been that took John away on Sunday? A “something else” that had led to his death last night?

“We can't think about it now. Do the children know what's happened?”

Faith shook her head. “No, I couldn't think of any way to tell them. Especially with Amy around—and Ben.”

“Betsey and I are going to take them to Waterbury, do the Ben & Jerry's factory tour, whatever anyone wants. The police have said we can. They're letting most people leave, people with no connection to John or the resort. Why don't you come with us? There's no reason for you to stay here.”

Actually, there were a number of reasons for Faith to stay. Besides getting Scott away from the Hansel and Gretel cottage and talking to Dennis about the Williston motel's parking lot, she wanted to see how her staff was holding up. They had worked for John and liked him. This had to be a terrible shock—and they were young and far from home, which made it all much worse. The restaurant would, of course, be closed. The whole mountain was closed off, according to the news she'd heard earlier. It gave her an odd, almost claustrophobic, feeling. She knew the police were trying to keep ghoulish sightseers away, but did they also hope to trap someone inside?

Her thoughts returned to the young Latin American students. Where were they? Some of them worked in housekeeping as well as at Le Sapin. Vincente did some shifts in the cafeteria. That must be open to feed the guests still waiting for permission to leave, and the police, Faith thought. Wendell had taken supplies from
the cafeteria last night. Did they have enough? There was plenty of food in Le Sapin's freezers. They could use it if need be. She'd have to check in with Simon.

Fleetingly, she thought about Wendell. He would have been her pick for prime suspect—except for his inability to move even one of his flabby muscles last night, let alone grapple with John, who, although short, had been in very good shape. And what would his motive have been? Professional jealousy? Highly unlikely. Faith doubted that Wendell cared enough about food, other than Tater Tots and McNuggets, to be envious of anyone's culinary prowess. Her mind continuing to whirl, she realized Marian was expecting an answer.

“I think I'll stick around here. I'm not sure what the food situation is,” she said, “and they might need my help.”

“All right. Perhaps they will. But, dear, go through the lodge. Don't go outside by the slopes.”

Faith had no desire to view the hideous scene, and she hoped Marian had also stayed away. A hideous scene, a crime scene. She couldn't even begin to imagine how it could be cleaned up, what sorts of equipment and decontaminants they would have to use. Things beyond Pete's ken, things that required more than overalls as work clothes.

“I won't, and I'm sorry the rest of the family has had to be there. I also want to check on my staff. I'm sure they're terribly upset.”

“Oh dear.” Marian was looking terribly upset herself. “Didn't Tom tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Faith was close to panic. “Has something happened to one of them? Who is it?”

“I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to scare you like that. They're all safe and sound. It's just that the police have been questioning one of the boys in particular. He seems to have had a quarrel with John last Saturday night, and he's also the last person to have seen John—or at least the only person they have been able to find so far.”

“Do you remember who it is?”

“I think his name is Eduardo. Now, help me get the children ready. Where's Scott? Still sleeping?”

Eduardo! Faith knew one thing for sure, and that was that Eduardo hadn't been the last person to see John Forest alive. That person had been John's murderer, and Eduardo was no murderer.

 

Anxious to find out what was happening, Faith had gotten the kids ready to go in record time. She'd told Marian that Scott was with Ophelia. Like Faith, Marian had felt that was the best place for him at the moment and would make the outing much easier.

“Betsey would resent anything I said, but Dick is going to have a word with her about what he calls ‘loosening the reins' a little on Scott. After all, the boy will be a man before we know it, and he has to start practicing some independence. It's only normal. Poor Betsey. Dennis works so hard, and I'm sure when he is home, the last thing he wants to hear about is Betsey's master plan for each boy,” Marian had said, revealing a full grasp of the situation, especially the influence “Daddy” had.

As soon as Marian and the kids were out the door, Faith left, too. Carefully avoiding any views of the slopes, she went to search for her staff.

The kitchen was empty and spotlessly clean. It should have been a hive of activity, the staff preparing tonight's menu. She pictured each of them at their stations, laughing and talking back and forth in a mixture of Spanish and English, the radio on, background music—the oldies station she'd found for them. John would never preside here again, a colorful presence and a truly gifted chef. Suddenly, the room was full of ghosts, and she turned the radio on. She needed to sit down for a moment. There were bottles of Pellegrino in the refrigerator. She opened one and poured herself a glass. “Time in a Bottle” was playing. Faith almost laughed and realized how close she was to hysteria. She wanted Tom—and she wanted to go home.

She went over to the phone and dialed the number for housekeeping. Maybe Candy knew where the students were.

“Housekeeping.”

“Is this Candy? It's Faith Fairchild.”

“Oh, hi, Faith. Isn't it awful about John? I told my Jessica that something must have happened to him, because he never would have left without a word to anyone like that. Even if just to me. I've known him forever, and he used to spend Thanksgiving with us.”

Faith's attention was momentarily diverted. “He didn't have any family?”

“Not to speak of. Of course, there was Patty, his wife, but they'd split up years ago. I don't think they kept in touch, which is why this is all so weird.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven't heard about the money?”

“No, what money?” Faith wished Candy would just spill it all out.

“Patty got a call from the police early this morning. Pete must have told them about her. They're trying to track John's movements since Saturday night. I would have told them not to bother. I mean, they weren't divorced, but they weren't on the best of terms, either. I never wanted to pry, but it had something to do with the way he was running the kitchen at her parents' inn—butter instead of margarine, he said, but that was just his side. I never met the woman or her mom and dad myself, but there're always two sides.”

Faith was getting ready to scream, Get to the point! but settled for “Yes, that's certainly true. So the police called Patty Forest….”

“And it seems John
had
been in touch with her recently. In fact, he went down there the Thursday before he died. The inn is near Quechee—it's closed, but Patty still lives in it. Anyway, he left a suitcase with her. It had one of those combination locks, so she couldn't get into it without wrecking it. Besides, John would have known. If he wasn't already dead, that is. He told her to keep it in a safe place and he'd be back for it.”

Candy was a veritable gold mine of information. How does she know all this? Faith wondered.

“When she told the police about his coming and leaving the suitcase, they told her to stay put and they'd be there right away. Sure enough, the staties were pulling up almost as soon as she hung up. Her words exactly.”

“You mean you've been talking to Patty Forest?”

“Called me as soon as they left. I guess I'm the only one she could think of, or maybe she wanted to talk to a woman.”

Candy's voice trailed off as she pondered the possibilities. This is no time for the woman to become mute, Faith thought, and hastened to get her going again.

“Did she say why she was calling? I mean, I'm sure she was shocked and wanted to talk to one of John's friends, but did she give another reason?”

“She wanted to know what it looked like. Didn't want to come and see, but said she had to know. The police had only given her a general idea, and she wanted details.”

Faith almost threw up. But Candy continued on in a matter-of-fact manner.

“You'd have to know if something like this happened to you. I went to see myself. Otherwise, you'd imagine worse.”

Faith hadn't thought of it this way, but there was a certain logic to this line of reasoning. It was true that what you imagined was generally much worse than reality. Generally—not always. She had no desire to gaze on John's mortal remains and was trying hard not to imagine what they looked like.

“The police took the suitcase, then?”

“Patty wasn't about to let them have it without her knowing what was inside. ‘It's my property, and you have to give me a list of the contents,' she told them. According to John, Patty was no shrinking violet. Too bad he didn't find that out before they got married, he said.”

The tale was beginning to resemble one from
The Arabian Nights.

“What was in the suitcase?” she asked, hoping this wasn't going to be another
Pulp Fiction.

“Money! Fifty thousand dollars! Boy, was she glad she made them open it. After seeing it, she didn't even care that the suitcase probably can't be used again.”

Fifty thousand dollars. Where would John have gotten his hands on that much cash? If he'd gambled, as Faith suspected from the kitchen staff's ready differentiation between
dice
and
dice,
he must have been playing with some pretty high rollers to accumulate that much. And the fact that he'd left it with Patty meant it was an unaccustomed sum—and a sum that he didn't want showing up in his bank account.

“You're probably thinking what I'm thinking: where did John come up with that much money? I mean, he made a good wage here—better than anybody, even Pete. The Staffords were always desperate to keep him from going someplace else, although in my opinion, they need Pete more, but that's neither here nor there.”

Faith was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Do
you
have any idea where the money came from?”

There was a pause, a long pause, and just as Faith was going to ask the question again, Candy said, “No. Not a clue. But it's Patty's now.”

 

Candy had told Faith that the Latin Americans were all working at the Sports Center. It was far enough away from the slopes to give the remaining guests the illusion that everything was all right. And the police had commandeered the indoor tennis courts, along with Josh's adjoining office, as their command post. Faith
called both condos, and getting no answer at either, she headed down the drive to the Sports Center. Maybe Tom would be there—or one of the other Fairchilds, who might know where he was. She decided to walk by Simon's office on her way out. They could be meeting there.

Did this mean the end of Pine Slopes? Certainly for this season. Even if it could reopen in time, it was tainted, literally, and she was certain few skiers, especially families, would want to slalom down these slopes. It would take a marketing genius to figure out a way to lure vacationers back. Simon was smart, but was he that smart?

They had to be hoping that Gertrude would hold off on her demands, given the nature of this tragedy. But what if she didn't? The resort would be toxic
and
bankrupt. Faith didn't have the years of memories that had made this little piece of Vermont so special to Tom and his family, but in this short—very short—week, she had come to care about its future.

Simon's office had been empty, but the Sports Center was full of people, some of them in uniform. You could see into the tennis courts from the entryway, and there were more people there, most of them dressed in street clothes, more than ready to leave.

“Mrs. Fairchild.” It was Josh. He looked terrible. “You know, right? I mean about John. Who could have anything against him?”

He looked as if he'd been crying.

Impulsively, Faith hugged him. It was like hugging a girder. The man seemed to be made of steel, but he was definitely soft inside. He hugged her back.

“I met him only briefly, but I liked him very much, and I am so sorry for all of you. It's hard to lose a friend, but to lose one this way is worse.”

Josh snuffled a little and nodded.

“Your family was here for a while talking to the police: then some of them went back to help keep people away, and some of them are at Harold and Mary's.” He nodded in the direction of the elder Stafford's A-frame.

“And how about the kids from South America? Candy said they were here.”

“Juana and Vincente are over at the Sports Bar. I just sent Alessandro and Tomás back up to the cafeteria for more supplies. We're almost out of chili.”

“Where's Eduardo?”

Josh looked upset. “He's in my office with someone from the state police's crime unit. I don't know what's going on. I've just heard rumors. Something about a fight he had with John.”

Faith turned and headed straight for the tennis courts. Eduardo had the right to an attorney. He shouldn't be left to deal with all this by himself, and he didn't have anyone else to turn to except Señora Confianza.

The señora was wrong, as she soon discovered. The first officer she spoke to took her to the office as soon as she told him who she was. And there she found Eduardo, another officer—and her husband.