RESORT TO MURDER

by Mary Ellen Hughes

Book 1 in the Maggie Olenski series

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2000 Mary Ellen Hughes

All Rights reserved

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of this author.1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

July 22, 1974

Merle pulled into the parking lot of the
brightly lit diner, tires crunching gravel, and turned off the
ignition. The car shuddered to a stop. Got to get that fixed
sometime. A neon sign in the window blinked at him, hypnotically
whispering "Alma's" over and over, promising "good food". He looked
over at his young passenger, a kid he had picked up a couple hours
ago in West Virginia. A boy, barely nineteen, who needed a ride to
Maryland, looking for the job he couldn't find back home.

"Well, kid, this is where we part ways. You
should be able to catch another ride easy here. C'mon in and I'll
buy you a cup of coffee."

They pushed through the door and eased onto
two stools in front of the near-empty counter. The aroma of freshly
made coffee and doughnuts filled the air, and Karen Carpenter's
mellow voice crooned through the radio. A young, heavy-set waitress
in a blue and white checked uniform came up to them, pulling a
pencil from her hair, ready to take their order.

"Two coffees."

She nodded, and pulled up crockery and
spoons from a lower shelf, and set them down with a soft clatter.
As she poured from a glass coffee pot, the music changed to news,
and a brisk male voice reported the latest developments in the
Patty Hearst kidnapping case: she had been identified as one of a
group of bank robbers, members of the SLA.

"Ain't that something?" the man asked. "A
girl as rich as her, gettin' into all that. Looks like that
kidnapping thing was one big joke on everybody."

The waitress barely raised her eyes from
what she was doing. "Mmm," she said. She put the pot back on the
burner and began to turn away.

"Hey," he said. "I remember you. From
Madison High. Class of '63.” He struggled to think of her name, and
gave up. "Remember me? Merle Haisler?"

The young woman's eyes widened, then showed
recognition. "Yeah, sure. How're you doing, Merle?"

"Doin' pretty good. Got me a job as district
salesman, for Hirsch and Eland. You got a tractor? I'll sell you
some parts for it."

The woman grinned. "That's great,
Merle."

"So what's new with you?"

"Oh, nothing much.” She glanced over her
shoulder, as though there was something she had to do.

"You hear from any of the old group?" he
asked. "Go to reunions or anything?” As he said it he remembered
she hadn't been part of his old group, or part of any group, for
that matter. She had been a quiet loner – nice enough he supposed,
but not someone he ever spent more than a fleeting thought on.

She shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither. But I read about what
happened to Jim and Cherilynn, about their baby, you know? Who
woulda thought somethin' like that could happen back there? I mean,
it's not like they're rich or anything. I might go see them when
I'm in town," Merle said, aware of a stiffening in the woman as she
stood before him, thinking she must feel as bad for them as he did.
"But, heck, what do you say? I mean, they got another kid, but
still...."

An older woman with blond hair piled high
came up and nudged the waitress. "You got a call," she said, her
voice kept low. "Your babysitter again. You gotta do something
about all these calls, you know. Alma's gettin' sick of it.”

"Hey, you got a kid?" Merle asked.

The waitress just looked at him, then turned
and hurried into the kitchen.

Merle watched her, noticing for the first
time the thin gold band on her left hand. He turned to the teen
next to him. "It's a small world, kid. Who'd a thought I'd run into
someone like her after more'n ten years. And who'd a guessed that
she... well, it just shows you never know.” He shrugged and sipped
his coffee, which wasn't bad at all. He'd had worse, with all the
places he had to drive through.

He looked up as she suddenly reappeared,
holding two plates of chocolate cream pie that she set down in
front of them.

"On the house for an old school buddy," she
said, with a wide, pleased smile.

The boy's face lit up as he reached for his.
Merle realized the kid must have been hungry and felt a twinge of
guilt for not asking him. He grinned at her though, and said,
"Well, ain't that nice. Thanks, hon'."

"And I put extra whipped cream on yours,
Merle," she said. "I remember you liked that.”

Merle nodded, wondered how in hell she
happened to remember that, and dug into it. The boy was easing the
cream off his, and Merle reached over with his fork and scooped it
up. "No use wasting it," he said, laughing. She waited a few
moments, said, "Enjoy," then moved down the counter to wait on a
new customer.

Merle finished his pie, and sat for a while,
smoking a cigarette, chatting to the boy and to people nearby about
the weather, the latest game. Finally he drained his cup, and
pushed it away from him.

"Well, I gotta get on the road.” He stood
up, hiking up his pants, tucking in his shirt. He stifled a yawn.
"Nice seein' you, hon'," he called to the waitress. What the heck
was her name? "And thanks again.” He turned to the boy, pulled a
ten out of his pocket and slid it over to him. "Good luck,
kid."

As he climbed into his car, Merle thought
about the boy. Just nineteen, and scrambling for work. It's a tough
life sometimes. Merle felt lucky to have his steady job, a job with
a future, he hoped, but at least a job with a regular paycheck.
Things weren't too bad. With what Jeanine was making, maybe they
could afford... he yawned again. Better get on to Fredrick, find a
cheap room quick and get some sleep.

He pulled onto 70, eased into traffic. Not
too busy, this time of night. The headlights in his rear view
mirror bothered his eyes, though. He looked away, rubbed at them.
Yeah, maybe they could start looking at houses, small ones. His
eyes still felt raw, kinda blurry. Should he pull over? Nah, he
wasn't that tired. Shouldn't be. He just had coffee. He'd perk up
in a minute. The radio. He needed something to listen to.

Merle reached for the radio knob. A horn
blared. What the heck! Had he wandered to the next lane? Better
concentrate. Blurry. Things looked blurry. He blinked, tried to
clear it away. Eyes heavy. So heavy. He opened his window to get a
little cool air on his face.

Take some deep breaths.
Wake up. Tired. So damn tired. What's that up there? That big
shape. Can't see. A truck? It doesn't have its lights on. It's not
moving. My God. It's parked on the shoulder and
I’m
on the shoulder! Pull out! Pull
out! Too late! No!

***

CHAPTER 2

June 19, 1999

LeAnn Rimes' song on the small portable
radio ended, and the news reporter began talking about the latest
backup on the outer loop of the Baltimore beltway. Maggie reached
for the off button but stopped in dismay as she saw her red, wet
fingertips.

"You'll have to hurry, Maggie!” Agnes called
from the doorway.

"I know, I know," Maggie answered, grabbing
for a wad of tissues, the exasperation in her voice aimed as much
at her inky fingers as at the school secretary. Maggie grumbled
about cheap, leaky pens.

"Mr. Braun wants those grades in by noon,
dear. He wants to be out of here and on his way to Ocean City."

Maggie held in the aggravation she felt, as
she had often controlled it when dealing with Agnes during the last
three years, Maggie's entire teaching career to date. The woman was
a relentless nagger on behalf of her boss, Principal Braun. She
obviously thought it was more important to get her esteemed boss on
his way to the beach on time than to have carefully calculated
grades. Or possibly Agnes thought grades were produced by wiggling
one's nose?

"He'll have them," Maggie said with a tight
smile, "just as soon as I've done them."

Agnes' pale, wrinkled face puckered
disapproval. "Well, I certainly hope that will be by noon," she
said. She jerked her head out the doorway and clicked her stubby
heels down the hall, searching, Maggie was sure, for other
recalcitrant teachers to badger.

Maggie threw the red stained wad of tissues
into the waste basket and grumbled aloud about unreasonable
deadlines, certain high school principals and the school system in
general. Since she was alone, she felt free to vent her opinions
freely, although Mac, her office mate, had suffered through some of
her complaints in the past. She could guess pretty well how he
would have commented if he were there, with his dry wit given to
quotations from his beloved field of English literature.

Just the other day, after Maggie had spent
hours grading geometry exams and felt more than a little
exasperated with the faulty logic of a few of her students, she had
leaned back in her chair and groaned. "Mac, I need a vacation. A
change of scene to recharge my batteries. I'm feeling burned
out."

Mac had looked over in his heavy-lidded way
from his side of the room and replied, "Get thee to a nunnery,
Maggie."

"I'd love to," she said. "As soon as I find
a nice, peaceful one. Do cloistered convents have tennis
courts?"

It was then that he told her about the
Highview, a mountain resort somewhere in western Maryland. He and
his wife, Ali, had spent a pleasant weekend there a couple years
ago, he said. He even located a phone number for her, printed on
one of the many cards tucked into his bulging wallet. Mac was a
saver, a fact evident with a glance at his messy half of the
office.

Maggie wrote it down, and promptly made a
reservation. Now there was a room waiting for her, and she would be
heading for it as soon as she had finished grading. Carefully. At
her own pace. And to her own satisfaction. If she could only find a
pen that didn't leak.

***

CHAPTER 3

Lori felt the hot June sun bring prickles of
sweat to her face as she moved quickly over the grass, away from
the Highview's kitchen. She wiped at the moisture and turned to
look back at the side door she had had to prop open because of its
automatic lock. She saw a flash of sunlight, a reflection off the
metal trim of the door. The brick must have slipped, she thought.
Or did someone move the door?

She shook off the thought and glanced at her
watch. No one saw her leave, she was sure. And there was time. They
shouldn't miss her for a few minutes, and she would be back before
the lunch rush. She picked up her pace as she came closer to the
cool shade of the trees ahead, clutching the book in her hand.

Lori stepped carefully
onto the mulched path with the white sneakers that formed part of
her summer waitress uniform. “
Clean
white sneakers," the manager, Ms. Crawford, had
warned her that first day of work, and she watched where she set
them on the path which wound through the trees. After a few minutes
she was deep into the woods. She slowed down and looked around. Now
where...?

"Lori! Over here!"

Lori spun around and smiled.

"Oh, there you are.” She walked to the small
clearing and ducked under a low-hanging poplar branch, her pony
tail brushing against the bark. "I was afraid.... It's getting
late. I'll have to hurry."

Lori didn't see the rock as it came crashing
onto her skull. She didn't feel the blood seep through her light
brown hair, and she never heard the words spoken above her limp and
lifeless body.

"No hurry."

***

CHAPTER 4

It was two P.M. when Maggie finally took off
in her '95, burgundy Dodge Shadow, the red ink scrubbed off her
fingers. Agnes' relentless urgings to hurry had only made her
tense, but gradually, as the miles ticked by, she felt the
pressures of the last few days slip away - all, that is, except one
big one.