J.R. awakened feeling warm and toasty; almost too warm, in fact. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew that he was near a warm fire, for he could hear the crackling and popping of the logs, and could feel the heat it emitted. The blanket covered him completely, even his head, so he pushed it down to his waist and turned over to doze awhile longer.
A wonderful aroma was drifting through the building, reminding him of his childhood, when his mother had awakened him on Sunday mornings with her delicious pancakes. He lay still for several moments, holding onto the pleasant memory of the woman who had given him life. Any moment, she would come into his room to tell him that it was time to get up.
Consciousness gradually drove back the sleep and the fond memories, and he became aware that he was still wearing his bathrobe to keep himself warm when the power had gone out. Opening his eyes, he rolled onto his back and stretched contentedly. The fire had died down to glowing red-orange embers that were still popping and sending out showers of sparks and cinders. The air that surrounded him was warm, and he noticed that the heater was blowing again. At some point during the night, the electricity must have been restored.
�Good morning, Jedediah,� Barnaby said, entering the room. �I was just coming to wake you. Betty said to tell you that breakfast is almost ready.�
J.R. tossed the blanket back and sat up, raking his fingers through his unruly hair as he yawned. �Did I oversleep?�
�I should say so. It�s almost eight thirty.�
J.R. shrugged. �Okay.� Eight thirty was not what he considered �oversleeping�, but he knew his cousin rose with the sun each day. Glancing down at the bathrobe, he asked, �Do I have time to get dressed first?� he asked.
�Yes, but hurry up. You don�t want the pancakes to get cold.�
�On my way,� J.R. responded, but he continued to sit there a few moments, trying to drive away the drowsiness that lingered in his eyes. Yawning, he dragged his fingers through his hair again.
�Jedediah ��
�Okay, okay.�
Picking up his blanket, he forced himself to get up off the sofa and stumbled up the stairs to his room. He tossed the blanket on the bed, and went into the bathroom. He glanced longingly at the tub, wishing for a steaming hot shower, but knew that if he took the time, Barnaby would be coming up pounding on his door, so he turned on the faucet in the sink and splashed cold water on his face to wash away the sleepiness.
Returning to the bedroom, he selected a pair of jeans and a pullover sweater and put them on, followed by socks and sneakers. Lastly, he dragged a brush through his thick, longish hair, tucked the room key in his pocket once again, and started down the stairs.
Betty and Barnaby were seated at the table waiting for him, so he picked up his pace and sat down in an empty chair. A large stack of golden pancakes sat in the middle of the table, along with a bowl of butter pats and a large bottle of maple syrup.
�This looks terrific, Betty,� he praised as he helped himself to three pancakes and spread butter over them, then smothered them in maple syrup.
�Why thank you,� she replied as she poured him a cup of steaming hot coffee. �I�m sure glad the power came back on.�
�Me, too,� J.R. agreed.
Barnaby smiled. �It gave me quite a turn to find the two of you sacked out on the sofas when I came down. I didn�t even know the power had gone out. I must have been more tired than I realized to sleep right through it!�
�I woke up freezing!� J.R. told him. �So I decided to come down here and sleep on the sofa to stay warm.�
�I heard him up, and decided to come down, too,� Betty said, neglecting to inform him of the details that had actually gotten her out of bed. Changing the subject, she asked, �What are we going to do today?�
�Well, I hate to do it, but I guess we�ll have to go through the file cabinets and any desk drawers that are not locked,� he replied.
J.R. uttered a barely audible groan at the prospect of spending the day rifling through paperwork.
Without missing a beat, Barnaby suggested, �Jedediah, if you would like, you may explore the rest of the building and see if you can find anything that might help us. There are still a lot of rooms, both upstairs and down, that we haven�t seen. I�ll go through the paperwork.�
Exploring, even alone, was preferable to the young detective than sitting around the common room or searching through the offices. �Okay. I guess I may as well start at the top and work my way down.�
After he had finished his breakfast, J.R. wiped the syrup from his lips with his napkin and stood up. �Well, I think I�d better get started on those rooms upstairs.� He quickly departed.
Barnaby stood up as well. �And I�ll get started on those file cabinets.� Like his cousin, he made a rapid departure.
Betty lingered at the table and took another sip of her coffee. �I guess I�ll clear the table,� she said to herself.
In the corridor, Barnaby turned toward the reception area once again while J.R. trotted up the stairs. At the second floor landing, he turned and proceeded up the next flight of stairs to the third floor.
It was eerily quiet as he reached to uppermost floor and stood at the head of the long corridor, gazing toward the window at the other end, where it adjoined another corridor in a T-shaped replica of the floor plan on the first level. Drawing a deep breath, he started down the hallway. An ice machine, soda machine, and machines offering a variety of candy and chips were tucked into an alcove on his left, and he could not resist stopping to see what varieties of snacks were offered. The soda machine contained all the most popular brands of soft drinks and juice, and the candy machine displayed a variety of his favorite chocolate bars.
He had a few coins with him, so he pushed his fingers into his front pocket and tried to reach the coins that were nestled at the bottom, but his probing fingers couldn�t quite reach them. He pushed harder. Not quite there, yet. Sucking in his abdomen, he reached a little farther and felt his fingertips touch the coins. Almost there. Pressing his tongue between his lips to aid his concentration, he forced the hand in deeper, and finally succeeded in getting his fingers around the coins. Then came the hard part � pulling the hand back out clutching the coins.
He paused to draw a couple of breaths, silently cursing the tight jeans that were currently in fashion, then sucked in his abdomen again and pulled. The hand stopped just inside the pocket opening, held fast by the seam. With the other hand, he peeled back the seam, and his fist finally popped out. He was not surprised to see that the hand had gone white from lack of circulation. After flexing his fingers, forcing the blood back into them, he slipped a couple of coins into the slot and selected a candy bar. It dropped into the hopper, and he removed it and unwrapped it, then proceeded down the corridor, checking the doors he passed.
As expected, most of the rooms on the upper floors were locked guest rooms, but as he passed one door that was different than the identical guest room doors, he paused to glance at it. The sign on the door read: HOUSEKEEPING.
Reaching out, he grasped the door, but was not surprised to find it locked. He knew the housekeepers� master key would be locked inside it somewhere, and that fact made him determined to get inside.
Stuffing the last bite of candy into his mouth, he hurried back down the stairs and went into the office area. Barnaby, who was thumbing through an open file cabinet, watched curiously as he went straight to the reception desk and started searching through the keys that were dangling from their hangers beneath the counter.
�What are you looking for?� the elder Jones asked.
�There�s a housekeeping room upstairs. It�s locked, but I know there is probably a master room key inside it. I hate to snoop in private rooms, but if we�re going to get to the bottom of this . . .�
�Good idea, Jedediah,� Barnaby said, approvingly. �I don�t think you�ll find it with the guest room keys, though.�
J.R. looked up. �Yeah, you�re probably right. Where would they keep it?�
�Well, the head housekeeper probably has a key, and my guess would be the general manager would also keep a key in case she called in sick or something.� He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the adjacent office. �That�s his office back there.�
�Okay. Have you tried the phones yet? Maybe they�re wor ---�
Barnaby shook his head, negatively. �Betty tried them first thing this morning, and they�re still out.�
J.R. went into the manager�s office, but stood in the center of it, wondering where to start looking. �If I was a housekeeping key, where would I be?� he mused.
His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking note of the very expensive looking desk near the window, and the ornate bookcases adorned with brass curios and framed photographs of a man, woman, and two children, presumably the manager�s family. A large brass coat rack stood in the corner near the door. On the long wall was a sofa and coffee table, and opposite them, a closed door attracted J.R.�s attention.
Curiously, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was very dark, so he flipped on the light switch. It was a private bathroom with nothing of interest, so he turned the light off and backed out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Placing his hands on his hips, he looked around the room again, deciding finally that the desk was a likely spot for the key. Grasping the middle drawer, he attempted to pull it open, but as expected, it was locked. As was every other drawer in the desk.
He sat down on the edge of the desk, wondering how he could get inside the desk without damaging it.
Then, his eyes settled on the credenza beneath the window. Without holding out much hope that the key he sought would be there, he slipped from the desk top and opened the double center doors on the ornate piece of furniture, squatting down to see inside. There, hanging from tiny hooks on the inner side panel, were several keys. Tabs were hanging from the key rings, so he turned them around to read them. The first one was for the receptionist�s desk, so he moved on to the next one. Lifting the tab on the second one, he read: Housekeeping.
�Yes!� J.R. exclaimed as he snatched the key from the hook.
Rising again, he made his way around the desk and out the door.
�Find it?� Barnaby asked as he rushed past.
J.R. held the key up to show him, then trotted rapidly up the stairs to the third floor again. He was winded when he reached the top, but, eager to get inside the housekeeping room, he did not slow down to rest.
When he reached the door, he inserted the key and heard the satisfying �click� as the key turned inside the lock, and the door swung open.
He stood in the doorway for several moments, looking around the large housekeeping room. As expected, it held stacks and stacks of clean sheets, pillowcases, and blankets on long metal shelving. Bottles of various disinfectants and cleaners were lined up on smaller shelves, but curiously the room did not have a disinfectant smell. Several vacuum cleaners were standing in their designated places, as were the housekeeping trolleys.
A time clock was affixed to the wall, and punch cards were inserted in slots. He lifted one of them from the slot and examined the inky blue print that indicated when the maid had clocked in and out. Wilma Metcalf had clocked in at five o�clock the previous morning, and had clocked out again at one o�clock, only two hours before their arrival. He returned the card to its slot and picked up the one directly beneath it. Again, the card revealed that the maid had clocked in and out the previous day, but of course, had not clocked in that morning. Undoubtedly, due to the hazardous road conditions, they would not be able to make it in.
Beside the time clock was a clipboard with a pen attached to it by a string tied around the eraser end, and he picked it up and looked at the top page. It was a schedule sheet, designating the assigned duties of each maid on the third floor. As expected, the tasks had been completed the day before, but there were no entries for the current day. He knew that in any hotel, under normal circumstances, there was always someone on duty in housekeeping. Logically, it seemed to J.R. that at least one or two housekeepers should have been snowed in with them. But then, so should the hotel guests!
With a sigh, he returned the clipboard to its original position, and opened the desk drawer. This desk was not locked, and inside it he found the master key to all the rooms on that floor. With the master key in hand, he left the housekeeping room, leaving the door open so that he could return the key when he was finished with his search.
Turning toward the large picture window at the intersection of the corridors, he walked to it and looked outside. The snow was still falling heavily, but the wind had died down, allowing the large fluffy flakes to drift slowly toward the ground. It was thinning a bit, also, providing shadowy glimpses of the snow covered trees that dotted the lawn. It was still falling thickly enough, though, that he could not see the forest.
Turning around, he glanced up the corridor toward the stairs, and then to his right and left, observing the number of closed doors that lined the hallway. It would take all day to search each room, so he decided to randomly select a few rooms. Moving to the nearest door, he rapped his knuckles politely on it. �Hello? Is anyone in there?� he asked. He knew there would be no answer, but it seemed the proper thing to do. After pausing a respectable length of time, he inserted the master key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The design of the room was similar to his, only in different colors. The bed was made, and there were no personal items lying about anywhere. He pulled open a dresser drawer to verify that the room was unoccupied, then backed out and pulled it closed behind him.
Moving down the hallway, he tried another room. This room had a definite �lived in� appearance. A suitcase was standing on its end beside the dresser, and personal items belonging to a man and a woman were scattered about the bathroom countertop. The bed was made and the drapes had been pulled open.
Feeling like a prowler, he backed out of the room without going through any of the personal belongings, and pulled the door securely closed behind him. With reluctance, he checked several more rooms, but did not linger in any of them. It was becoming clear that he would not find anything helpful in the private rooms, so he returned the master key to the housekeeping desk and closed and locked the door behind him.
He moved down to the second story, and began his search with the housekeeping room on that floor. It was a replica of the one of the third floor, but with different maids� names listed on the time cards and schedule sheets. As before, he found no indication why no one had remained inside the resort.
Feeling a bit disappointed, he walked down the stairs to the first floor and returned the borrowed Housekeeping key to its place inside the credenza, and looked around to make sure he was leaving the room exactly as he had found it.
Barnaby was seated in a vinyl easy chair before the huge hearth in the community room, pouring over the guest registry and various documents found behind the lobby desk in the hopes of finding something that would help them solve this mystery.
�Couldn�t find anything?� Barnaby asked when J.R. emerged from the offices.
Not a thing,� he replied, dropping down on the sofa near the aging detective.
�Nothing here, either. I�m afraid we may not find out anything at all. There just doesn�t seem to be any clues. When this storm clears, we may have to drive into the nearest town and alert the authorities. It could be they�re aware of something we aren�t.�
�Yeah,� J.R. agreed. �Where�s Betty?�
�I think she�s going through the kitchen to see what she can prepare for lunch.�
�Is it lunchtime time already?�
�Near there. It�s about eleven thirty. I think she�s bored with the search for clues and decided to occupy herself in the kitchen. She said she�ll have something ready by one.�
�Well, I guess I�ll see what the rest of the rooms downstairs hold.� He pushed off the sofa with his hands, and followed the corridor toward the picture window once again. This time, instead of turning right toward the daycare facilities, he turned left, moving into a darker, dimly lit corridor. The first door was far down the long hallway, and he walked resolutely toward it.
J.R. could not help feeling a little spooked. Exploring the huge resort hotel alone, moving up and down the deserted corridors, had left him with a distinctly uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Every creak of a floorboard beneath his feet, every rattle of a door or windowpane caused him to jump with alarm. Once the storm cleared, perhaps the telephone service would be restored and they could notify the police that something was amiss at the resort, but for the time being, it seemed they were snowbound. No way out, no way in.
The door to the nearest room was standing ajar, a fact which sent up warning bells to the young detective. Every other door had been closed. Why had this one been left open? Steeling himself for what he might find behind it, he pushed the door open and stared in surprise at his discovery.
It was a billiard room, containing two billiard tables. Long wooden cues stood on end in holders on the wall, and the balls were sitting in their triangle racks on the tables. Momentarily forgetting his business of searching the building, J.R. lifted one of the cues from the wall and removed the rack that surrounded the triangle of balls on one of the tables.
He chalked the tip of the cue, then lined up the white cue ball and scattered the triangle with a loud clatter. Two of the balls dropped into the pockets.
�Good shot, J.R.,� he said, approvingly.
Over the next few minutes, he dropped each ball into the pockets, then, remembering that he needed to complete his search of the building, he retrieved the balls and replaced the triangle and turned the cue to its holder.
Leaving the billiard room, he went to the next door. It was standing wide open, revealing a large gymnasium style room with a volleyball net on one end and a basketball court on the other.
�Boy, they thought of everything,� J.R. commented to himself as he snatched a basketball from the bin, dribbled it several times, then tossed it through the hoop and caught it on the second bounce. Replacing the ball in its bin, he left the gym and proceeded down the corridor to the next room.
It was another gymnasium style room, smaller than the first, containing a surprising variety of indoor games and sports were designated to entertain guests who were forced indoors due to inclement weather. For older guests, there were the old fashioned favorites like shuffle board, chess and checker boards, and darts, all contained in the smaller gym where they would not be disturbed by the younger people playing volleyball and basketball.
Resisting the urge to try out the dart board, J.R. walked across the hall to a smaller room, in which he found the expected assortment of outdoor recreational props such as cross country skis, sleds, and ice skates. Through a side door, he found an adjacent garage containing snowmobiles and tobogganing sleds.
His heart was beating faster with excitement. When the storm cleared, he was determined to check out one of those snowmobiles, and then later maybe the cross country skis.
Reluctantly leaving the garage, he returned to the corridor. Only one door remained, the only closed door in the recreational areas, and he moved toward it, curious to see what lay behind it.
Half expecting to find the slaughtered bodies of every guest and every one of the resort employees, he hesitated with an intense feeling of trepidation just as his hand seized the door knob. During the course of his employment with Barnaby, he had had occasion to view a number of dead bodies, but he had yet to come across the scene of a brutal mass murder. That was something he hoped he would never witness, but as he gazed at his hand on the door knob, he could not help but consider that that might be exactly the chilling scene he was about to enter. It was presumably the last unexplored room in the building, other than private guest rooms. The employees and guests had to be somewhere, and it seemed conceivable that they could be behind this final door. Still, there had been no signs of a struggle and no evidence that anyone had been assaulted or killed, nor was there any evidence to the contrary. So where were they?
�Get a grip on yourself, Jedediah.,� he told himself, aloud. He rarely referred to himself by the name he despised, but his edginess at the moment seemed to justify its use.
After a brief hesitation, bracing himself for whatever might be concealed in that room, he turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.
Go to Act V