Murder, My Suite by Mary Daheim

By Mary Daheim

Gossip columnist Dagmar Delacroix Chatsworth and her yappy lapdog Rover's fresh remain on the Hillside manor left hostess Judith McMonigle Flynn's nerves, and most sensible mattress linens, in tatters.So Judith joins cousin Renie for a few well-earned low season R&R at Canada's well-known Bugler Ski inn -- in basic terms to find with horror that the swanky getaway is the subsequent cease on detestable Dagmar's itinerary.But it sort of feels the cousins are not the single site visitors with severe grudges opposed to the dirt-disher and her malicious mutt. And while one of many despised lady's entourage is murdered at the snowless slopes, Judith units out to nook a killer -- ahead of extra hapless hangers-on observe that Dagner's corporation could be much more toxic than her pen. Gossip columnist Dagmar Delacroix Chatsworth and her yappy lapdog Rover's fresh remain on the Hillside Manor left hostess Judith McMonigle Flynn's nerves, and top mattress linens, in tatters. So Judith joins cousin Renie for a few well-earned low season R&R at Canada's well-known Bugler Ski inn -- in basic terms to find with horror that the swanky getaway is the following cease on detestable Dagmar's itinerary. however it turns out the cousins are usually not the single visitors with critical grudges opposed to the dirt-disher and her malicious mutt. And whilst one of many despised lady's entourage is murdered at the snowless slopes, Judith units out to nook a killer -- prior to extra hapless hangers-on realize that Dagmar's corporation could be much more toxic than her pen.

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Cars weren’t allowed inside the village. The cousins left the big parking lot, carefully following Renie’s map. They crossed a spacious square, where young people skateboarded, dogs drank from water troughs, a mime entertained bench-squatters, artists sketched various subjects, including one another, and three exuberant youths tied multicolored balloons to the patio of a French restaurant. There were flowers everywhere, bright red and yellow and green splashes of color in planters, window boxes, and tiny garden plots.

The trying day and the oppressive heat had sapped Judith’s patience. She gave Joe an exasperated look. “Believe it or not, I do get foreign guests. And yes, their English isn’t always perfect. ” Joe arched his red eyebrows above the glasses. “Rusty. ” He offered his wife a placating smile. “This wasn’t a reservation, Jude-girl. I asked. Honest. He didn’t even know he was calling a B&B. In fact, he seemed anxious to hang up when I told him he’d reached Hillside Manor. ” Judith frowned as Joe turned his attention back to his book.

Karl was brushing lint—or possibly the memory of Nat’s touch—off the sleeves of his navy blazer. Agnes was still cringing in her chair, clutching at the high neckline of her plain blouse. A magnum of champagne was being delivered. The gaiety seemed forced. But the party was going on. Judith turned back to the dinner entree listings. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mia Prohowska leave the table and head for the ladies’ washroom. “I’m having the baby-back pork ribs,” Judith announced, trying not to stare at Nat Linski, who was brooding over a frosted glass of vodka.

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