An Old Faithful Murder Read online

  AN OLD FAITHFUL

  MURDER

  A Susan Henshaw Mystery

  Valerie Wolzien

  © Valerie Wolzien 1992

  Valerie Wolzien has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1992 by Ballantine Books.

  This edition published in 2019 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  For Pat and Eldred

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  Yellowstone National Park was established by an act of Congress on March 1, 1872. It is the largest geyser area in the world, studied by scientists, protected by park rangers. Here trumpeter swans still fly across pristine lakes and rivers. Here deer and antelope still play, and buffalo roam right down the middle of paved highways.

  Over two million tourists visit the area each year. The boardwalks, built through geyser basins and hot springs, are surrounded by high rails to keep the tourists away from boiling water and dangerous steam. Bulletins are published and signs are posted warning of bear attacks and the dangers of seemingly harmless bison and elk. And, in the winter, ski trails are patrolled and fires are kept burning in a system of warming huts so that hikers and skiers don’t succumb to the below-zero temperatures that last for weeks on end. But even the most well-prepared ranger can’t be blamed for not anticipating murder.…

  ONE

  “ ‘Many experienced skiers talk loudly, sing songs, or shake tin cans filled with rocks.’ ”

  “We won’t have to worry about surprising bears with Chad along.” This announcement was made by the older sister of the boy who had been reading from the park bulletin. “He has a perpetual-motion mouth. He never shuts up.”

  Her fourteen-year-old brother scowled at her. He was sitting at her side in a vehicle carrying ten tourists and their driver the fifty miles from the south entrance of Yellowstone National Park to their hotel. Snow Lodge, a group of dormitories and cabins surrounding a main lodge, was located near Old Faithful Geyser, and they traveled to it over a road carved from packed snow. Their elegantly named snowcoach rocked from side to side, bouncing passengers in their seats. Luggage and half a dozen pairs of skis were piled on the rear and top of the half-moon-shaped vehicle, and Chad, who had been quoting from the official park brochure, looked up at the ceiling as a particularly sharp turn caused some shifting. But his sister was still (he would have said always) talking.

  “No one told me there were bears around here.” She frowned at the sheet of paper she had taken from her brother.

  A very pretty girl sitting directly across from the feuding siblings spoke up. “Me either. Besides, I thought bears hibernated in the winter. If I had known there was danger of bear attack, I’d never have agreed to come on this trip. I’m too old for family vacations anyway,” she announced, flipping her long ponytail over one shoulder.

  “It says here—” Chad grabbed the paper back from his sister and shook the half dozen sheets of newsprint “—that bears can be dangerous in the winter—that they come out of their caves to search for food. This is printed by Yellowstone National Park. I didn’t make all this up, you know.”

  The driver of their vehicle glanced back at his feuding passengers and decided to interrupt. “You people probably won’t have to worry about bear this time of year. It’s been real cold since December, and most of ’em are still tucked away in their dens. But there are other dangers for you—if you’re all skiers—mainly hypothermia. The weather here in Yellowstone will kill you faster than any bear.”

  “Then why did the National Park Service include bear warnings in the information they handed out?” Chad asked.

  “They keep expenses down by publishing only one brochure for the entire winter season. And the grizzlies do start leaving their dens in a few weeks—at the end of February. Come back then and you’ll have to worry about bears—real hungry bears.” He took off his hat and scratched his straight, sandy hair as he spoke. “I guess it’s time to introduce myself. My name is Dillon Jones, and I’ve been living and working in the park for four and a half years. I’m a fishing guide in the summer, and I’ve been driving these things in the winter for the last two years—”

  “These ‘things,’ as you call them … Do they ever slide off the road?” Chrissy, Chad’s sister, interrupted to ask.

  “Nope. There hasn’t been an accident in a snowcoach that I know about. They were designed and built to transport schoolchildren in northern Canada—they may look silly with those skis on the front, the tracks over the rear wheels, and their coat of bright yellow paint, but they’re safe, I can tell you that. Now, these snowmobiles that you see all over the roads are a different story.” He waved out the window as a trio of those vehicles skidded by. “Course, down in Jackson, they’ll rent a snowmobile to any idiot who wants one—and most idiots do.”

  Eight people in his audience either chuckled or smiled appreciatively. The remaining two passengers, an attractive young couple in their mid-twenties, didn’t look up from their Penguin paperbacks: A Tale of Two Cities for him and The Bostonians for her.

  “We’ll be stopping in a few minutes for a short lookout, so maybe it’s time we all introduced ourselves. I told you that my name is Dillon. And you’re … ?” he prompted the woman sitting next to him.

  “Joyce Ericksen. And my husband, Carlton, is sitting behind me—”

  “And I’m Heather and this is my brother, C.J.,” the teenage girl who had worried about bears spoke up before her mother could introduce the whole family.

  The back of the snowcoach contained seats in a horseshoe-shaped arch around an open aisle, and the two readers were next in line. The young man looked up first.

  “I’m Jon,” he said seriously.

  “And I’m Beth.” She pushed her glasses farther up on her nose and smiled at the group before returning to her book.

  The Henshaws, Chad and Chrissy’s parents, were seated along the wall of the coach directly behind the driver. The mother, a brunette in her mid-forties with the tired smile of someone who had spent four days getting ready for the family vacation, spoke up. “I’m Susan, and this is my husband, Jed. And the kids can introduce themselves.”

  “I’m Chrissy,” said the girl, “and I guess everyone’s already heard from Chad.” She grinned at him. He didn’t return her smile.

  “The place where we’re stopping has a nice trail down to a real pretty waterfall.” Dillon forestalled any more squabbling by explaining his plans to the group. “The water is still running, but ice has been piling up at the bottom of the falls since November. It’s re
ally something to see.”

  “Is that the only stop we’ll be making?” Joyce Ericksen asked, looking at her children’s feet. They were both wearing running shoes. “I didn’t know we were going to be sightseeing on the way to the lodge.”

  “Actually, this is the shortest stop we’re going to make,” Dillon answered. “We’ll be at West Thumb for quite some time. Time enough, in fact, for everyone to walk down to the geysers that line Yellowstone Lake there. If we’re lucky, you might get a chance to see your first buffalo—they hang around the hot springs to take advantage of the warmth,” he added, pulling hard on the steering wheel and guiding the cumbersome vehicle over to the side of the road. He opened the front door for his passengers to exit, and they all filed out into four feet of snow.

  Susan Henshaw, tugging her knit hat over her brown curls, was one of the last to exit, stepping directly from the snow-coach into a snowbank.

  “We could use some skis right now,” Jon commented. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, thanks,” Susan lied, feeling the snow in her hiking boots melting against her already cold ankles.

  Beth smiled again and followed Jon down a path through the drifts, anoraks billowing out behind them, nylon gaiters protecting their legs and feet from the high snow.

  Susan turned to her husband. “They look like they were born on skis. Are we going to be the only beginners up here?”

  “When I called, they told me that there are two beginning ski classes each day, so I doubt it,” he reassured her before following their children down the trail.

  “Don’t worry. Neither of my kids have skied before, and my husband and I have only gone cross-country once or twice.”

  Susan turned and found Joyce Ericksen by her side. The two women leaned back against the snowcoach and squinted into the bright sunlight. “That’s good to hear. This will be the first time for everyone in my family.”

  “Your kids will pick it up easily,” Dillon said, joining the women. “Don’t worry. Yellowstone in the winter is fabulous. Everyone has a good time here,” he promised, and hurried off to follow his group.

  “What he didn’t say is that old folks like us won’t learn quite as easily as our children do,” Susan said.

  “And that we’re going to be miserable each night …” Joyce picked up the theme.

  “And stiff every morning,” Susan chimed in. They smiled at each other.

  “Is this your first time here?” Susan asked, now that they felt more comfortable with each other.

  “In the winter. We camped one summer when the kids were little. But we’ve been living out of the country until recently. We just moved to Los Angeles a few months ago. What about you?”

  “We’ve never seen this in the winter either. We did come here twice in the summer—although Chad was just three years old the first time and doesn’t remember it.

  “I’m getting chilly,” Susan added. “Do you think anyone would mind if we waited inside?”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Joyce said, opening the door and climbing on board.

  Susan followed quickly. “Oh, look,” she said, moving aside the Henry James novel so her coat wouldn’t douse it in snow. “They left their books. I’m surprised they didn’t take them along to read at the overlook.”

  “Silly, aren’t they? It’s an affectation. Jon is completing his doctorate in geology, and he’s got this idea of being a Renaissance man, so he’s taken to doing serious reading in public places.”

  “I …” Susan didn’t know how to begin, she was so embarrassed.

  “He’s quite a good cross-country skier, though. And so is Beth, I understand.”

  “I … You know them,” Susan said, finally able to collect her thoughts. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “I didn’t meet Beth until today, but Jon is my brother-in-law. My husband’s brother. And don’t be embarrassed. After all, he’s doing all this for attention. I suppose we should have explained that we are all related. Except, of course, Beth—unless Jon marries her. In fact, we’re on our way to a family reunion. My husband’s father arranged it as an anniversary present for his wife. They have five kids, although none of them is exactly a child anymore, and we’re all going to spend the week at Snow Lodge.” Joyce pulled her hand-knit ski cap off, revealing a long ponytail that was only different from her daughter’s in that it was streaked with gray. She used the hat to scrub off the frost that had formed on the windows.

  “Wait till you see the whole group of us. We probably appear pretty eccentric to outsiders. Especially since everyone is expected to bring his or her significant other.”

  “How many … ?”

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Joyce admitted. “In my experience, significant others tend to come and go—becoming more or less significant, I suppose. My husband is the oldest child and the only one who got married, so Heather and C.J. are the only grandchildren in the family. This will probably be an interesting vacation.”

  Susan got the impression that Joyce wasn’t looking forward to this particular family event. She explained her family’s plans. “We’re meeting friends—a couple we’ve known for years and their new baby—but they’ve skied before. All except the baby; he’s only three months old,” Susan added to explain this deficiency.

  “How old are your kids?” Joyce asked.

  “Chad is fourteen, and Chrissy is almost seventeen,” Susan answered, looking curiously at the other woman, admiring her Nordic good looks and the confidence with which she carried off the straight ponytail, freshly scrubbed face, and hand-knit clothing. It was not, she thought, a style that many carried successfully into middle age. Joyce Ericksen had done so beautifully.

  “Here come the kids,” Joyce announced, peering through the cleared spot on the window. “It looks like they’ve paired off. The boys are together, and the girls, too. How lucky they’re the same ages. I do hope C.J. has found a friend. He is apt to pester Heather to death when they’re the only kids around.”

  “I know what you mean.” Susan leaned forward to look out the window. “Chrissy and Chad are the same way. Oh, look. I hadn’t noticed that the girls are wearing identical parkas in different color combinations.”

  “Different, but equally bright,” Joyce answered, getting up to open the door for their children.

  “Mom, Chrissy and Heather are wearing the same parkas—and they bought them on opposite coasts,” Chad announced, following C.J. into the vehicle and sitting down next to him.

  “Just goes to show …” C.J. began.

  “… that bad taste is a national problem,” Chad finished for him. Both boys were apparently thrown against the backs of their seats by the force of their laughter.

  “Ignore them,” Chrissy ordered Heather, appearing in the doorway.

  “Naturellement. What other way is there to deal with mes enfants?”

  “You speak French,” Chrissy said, awed.

  “My family has been living in Paris for the past ten years, so my French is pretty good,” Heather agreed modestly.

  “Yeah, she can be stupid in two languages instead of just one,” C.J. crowed.

  “Paris!” Chrissy breathed a lot of envy into the one word.

  “But I’ve only spent one single day in New York City in my whole life. You shop at Bloomingdale’s!” Heather reassured Chrissy of her own worth.

  “And that certainly stands up well against the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower,” Jed Henshaw laughed, climbing into the snowcoach and sitting down between his wife and Jon Ericksen.

  “Next stop: West Thumb and our first look at a geyser basin.” Dillon put the snowcoach in gear and pulled it back on the road.

  “And maybe a vicious buffalo or two.” C.J. leered at his sister.

  “And everyone knows that buffalo hate neon ski parkas,” Chad added.

  “Especially ones that are pink and purple,” C.J. said.

  “Or orange and green,” Chad added.

  The adults just looked at each other and
sighed. Susan wondered if anyone had ever done a study on the ecological impact of dropping a teenager or two into a geyser.

  TWO

  “Do you feel comfortable with all this room switching?” Susan asked her husband as she crammed three pairs of long underwear into one small dresser drawer. “I mean, I don’t worry about Chrissy and Heather sharing, but Chad is still young, and we really don’t know the Ericksens all that well.…”

  “What can happen? We’ll be right next door. The boys will probably keep us awake all night talking and joking around.” Jed pulled a pair of L.L. Bean boots from a duffel bag and looked inside them. “Are these Chad’s or mine?”

  “Yours. Chad ripped the top binding from one of his,” Susan answered, stopping in the middle of folding a sweater to look out the window.

  “Is there a moose out there? Or maybe a sexy ski instructor?” Jed joked, joining her.

  “It’s just so quiet and beautiful.… Oh, look, there are skiers—all in a line. They’re moving so smoothly. Do you think we’ll ever look like that, Jed? When can we take a lesson? What did they tell you at that place?”

  “ ‘That place’ is called the ski shack—it’s that quaint Nordic building next to the main lodge. Actually, it’s a rustic log cabin stuffed to its hand-hewn rafters with technologically designed skis, gear, and clothing made almost entirely from petrochemicals. There’s also a supply of herbs, raisins, and whole grains sorted into plastic bags—for eating on the trail, I suppose. Anyway, Carlton Ericksen was there, and he had just signed his family up for the beginners’ lesson tomorrow at nine. They added our names to the list. So we should be out nice and early.”

  “I wonder if it is just the four of them or if other family members are going to take a lesson, too,” Susan mused, carefully folding pearly pink silk glove liners and explaining about the anniversary reunion to Jed.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He dumped half a dozen rolls of wool socks on the bed and flipped the now empty duffel bag into the wardrobe.