RESORT TO MURDER Read Free

hour, where would we meet and at
what time?
    She grinned as she recalled groans from the
rest of the class when this kind of question came up in what -
fifth grade? sixth? But she'd always loved it, because she could
come up with the answer, eventually, with a little scribbling with
pencil and paper. And now she could do it in her head, while
driving, to pass the time. Well, some people can sing, or paint
pictures. She happened to be good with numbers. To each his/her
own. She continued her mental calculating.
    She exited Interstate 70 West and took the
smaller and narrower roads that wound their way high into the
mountains. Towns gave way to farmlands, and fields of corn or
soybeans gave way to dense forests. Soon she found herself skirting
a sharply-rising slope up a mountain, with a guard rail on the
opposite side edging a steep drop while the road took several sharp
turns. Maggie slowed to a comfortable speed, grateful that no one
was behind her, and watched carefully for a sign that said
Highview.
    Ah, there it was - a large, white-painted
board, weather-beaten enough to have been there from the Civil War
itself. Maggie turned, and heard the crunch of her tires on a
white, graveled driveway.
    The driveway wound its own twisted way
through dense trees, and Maggie had to watch the road so closely
that she was startled when the trees suddenly ended. Before her
stood the Highview. She took a deep breath and smiled.
    The Inn was a beautiful, modern lodge-hotel
tucked into the side of the mountain. The blending of stone and
natural-finished wood, along with large windows that reflected the
world outside, made it a part of its environment. Maggie noted too,
the understated landscaping as she drove up. Attractive but
unobtrusive, almost as if the plants and shrubs growing there had
sprung up from seeds that had dropped naturally in particularly
convenient and pleasing spots. A vision of peace and tranquility.
Just what she wanted.
    She laughed when she spotted two guests
strolling on the grounds. They were clothed. Not in togas, but in
comfortable shorts and T-shirts. And they looked very relaxed and
contented, a condition Maggie hoped to reach as soon as
possible.
    She parked her car and allowed a
college-aged boy from the Inn to help carry her bags into the
lobby. As she waited at the desk to be checked in, she did her own
checking out of the scene. Not bad, she thought, feeling her smile
grow as her eyes panned the spacious lounge area. Plump tan sofas
and chairs dotted the space, several facing large windows which
looked out onto green lawns and a blue, sparkling pool. Maggie
mentally plopped herself down on one of the couches, kicked off her
shoes and sighed with satisfaction.
    The silvery-haired man in a navy blazer who
had been processing her necessary paper work behind the desk
interrupted her reverie. "You play?" he asked with a smile,
inclining his head towards the protruding tennis racquet handle of
one of the bags at her feet.
    "I try," Maggie said.
    "I asked that somewhat obvious question
because we keep daily lists of guests looking for tennis partners.
Another young lady called just a few minutes ago. She would like to
play this afternoon at four. Would you be interested?"
    "Sure, as long as she's not a second Steffi
Graf."
    "No, no," he said. "Nothing like that. The
young lady in question is Dyna Hall. She specifically asked for
someone who, and I quote, `didn't mind chasing moon-balls'."
    "Sounds just about my speed. Four o'clock,
you said?"
    "Yes, Miss Olenski. Or do you prefer Ms?” He
drew out his z-z-z's with a smile curving up the ends of his
mouth.
    "Maggie's fine. Thanks..." she looked at the
name tag on his lapel, "Charles."
    Maggie picked up her key and raised it to
him in farewell, then followed the bellboy to the elevator. She was
just about to step on when Charles called to her, waving a small
piece of paper.
    "I just realized you have a message here,"
he said.
    Maggie trotted back, puzzled, and took