Snowbound


 

Snowbound

                                                                       ACT I


          J.R. Jones folded his arms on the backrest between Barnaby and Betty, and gazed worriedly through the windshield of his cousin’s Lincoln Continental.  The wipers flapped rhythmically back and forth in an attempt to clear the glass of the rapidly accumulating snow, but their only noticeable accomplishment was to pack the snow into a solid mass at the bottom that severely restricted the blades’ reach.  The atmosphere was dusky, even though it was mid-afternoon, and the car’s headlights barely penetrated the heavy snowfall.
          It had started snowing an hour ago, minor flurries at first that drifted lazily toward the earth, but then, as they proceeded into the higher elevations, the snowfall had steadily increased until now visibility was deteriorating at an alarming rate.  The huge flakes were falling so thickly that Barnaby could hardly see fifteen feet in front of the car, which crept slowly along the narrow paved road between the stands of leafless trees which stood on either side like ghostly shadows.
          The car radio was turned on to a local radio station, and the weatherman’s voice droned, “ . . . the storm has drifted farther south than previously expected . . .  very dangerous driving conditions . . . “
          “Yeah, no kidding,” J.R. agreed, sarcastically.
        “ . . . advised to remain indoors  . . . “
          Betty turned her head to smile at him.  “Well, look at it this way; we’ll have lots of fresh snow to ski on and go snowmobiling.”
          “Yes, yes, there is that, provided we don’t fall into a drift and disappear until spring!”
          “If we do, maybe they’ll send out the St. Bernards for us.”
          “ . . . all ski slopes and outdoor activities in the area have been shut down for the duration of the storm . . .” the weatherman’s voice informed them, drawing a deeply discouraged sigh from J.R.
          “They’ll reopen,” Betty assured him.
          “I just wish I could see where the road is,” Barnaby complained.  “I’d hate to roll into a ditch.”  He reached down to turn up the defroster, which was struggling to clear the glass of the fog on the windows, then he glanced in the rear view mirror at the younger man.  “That was good foresight, Jedediah, bringing along those tire chains.”
          “I wasn’t sure what we’d find up here,” J.R. replied.  “I almost threw them away when I moved to L.A. from Chicago.  Figured I’d never need them again.  They’ve been in my trunk all this time.”  He paused, wishing once again that his father’s elderly cousin would allow him to drive, since he was more familiar with driving on snow, but bit back the request.  He had already suggested it, but Barnaby had declined the offer.
          They were on their way to a mountain resort near Tahoe, their first family vacation since J.R. had joined the investigative office five years earlier.  Convincing Barnaby to close the office for a full week had been difficult enough, but convincing the aging detective to agree on a trip to a winter resort had been even harder.  Their ideas of a perfect vacation differed vastly from Barnaby’s preferences, so it had taken the combined effort of Betty and J.R. to convince him that he would enjoy a trip into snow country.
          The weather reports they had checked before leaving Los Angeles had indicated partly cloudy skies in the region, with a chance of flurries on the southern edge of a storm that was expected to track north of the resort.  To their surprise and dismay, the flurries had quickly turned into the heaviest snowfall any of them had ever seen, and now, estimating that they were only a few miles from the lodge, the car was floundering in the deepening drifts and they were in danger of becoming stranded.
          As they went around a curve in the road, the tires skidded sideways on a particularly slick spot before the chains found traction again, and J.R. gripped the seat back, resisting the urge to offer to take over the wheel again.
          Barnaby eased off the gas, and they continued to move forward at a crawl.  Glancing to his right, J.R. saw that Betty’s face had tensed, and her complexion was almost as pale as the white fleece pillbox hat that covered her auburn hair.
          On the radio, the weatherman’s voice continued his weather advisory.  “ . . . visibility continues to decrease as the storm advances . . . accumulations of two feet or more are expected in the lower elevations with an additional one to two feet in higher elevations  . . . avoid driving if at all possible . . . “
          Leaning forward in her seat, Betty reached for the radio and turned it off.  “He isn’t telling us much that we don’t already know,” she said.  “Except for the heavy accumulations, which I could have lived without knowing!”
          “He was getting on my nerves anyway,” J.R. agreed.  He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately.  “We’re going to make it, Betty.  It shouldn’t be much farther.”
          “We’re coming up to an intersection,” Barnaby said.  “I don’t want to come to a complete stop on this, so see if either of you can read that sign.  I’m hoping it’s our turnoff.”
          Peering through the space on the windshield that had been cleared by the continuous motion of the wipers, Betty and J.R. both leaned forward and tried to focus on the rectangular shaped brown sign that had materialized just ahead of the red octagon shaped STOP sign at the intersection.  A white building was stenciled on the sign along with white lettering and an arrow pointing to the right.
          “I can’t make it out,” Betty said.
          “It says . . . Mount Royal Lodge, one mile,” J.R. read.  “The arrow points to the right.”
          “You have good eyes, J.R.,” Betty said, admiringly.
          “Well, I’ve had lots of experience getting around in the snow,” he replied, casting a meaningful glance at his father’s cousin.
          Barnaby ignored the implication.  He would not have stopped at this point, even if he had wanted to, for it would have increased the risk of getting stranded in the snow.  Even with the tire chains, he wasn’t convinced they could get the car rolling again.
          Turning the wheel carefully to the right, he eased the car through the intersection, and they proceeded toward the lodge.
          “One mile isn’t that far,” Betty said, cheering considerably with the confirmation that they were nearing their destination.  “Even if we got stranded now, we could hike the rest of the way and come back with snowmobiles to get the luggage.”
          J.R. was shaking his head, negatively.  “A mile in snow this deep is a lot harder than you’d think.  You’d be exhausted before you got halfway there.”
          “You just have to look at the dark side, don’t you?” she teased.
          “Well, the good side is that there is no wind.  The wind in Chicago makes it seem a lot colder than it is.  However, if worse comes to worst, being the youngest, I suppose I could hike up to the lodge and send back help.”
          Betty exchanged amused glances with her father in law.  “Somehow, he made that sound like an insult!”
          J.R. laughed.  “No, no I didn’t mean like that.”
          The woods that crowded close on each side of the vehicle were becoming noticeably thinner, and they fell silent, gazing expectantly through the windshield, hoping that, at any moment, they would see indications that they were nearing the resort.  Finally, they emerged from the wooded area into an open space, and directly ahead of them, they could see a large dark shadow through the snow that was the lodge.
          “We made it,” J.R. said with so much relief that Barnaby glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.
          “Did you have any doubt?”
          “Well, I . . .  just . . . “  He let his voice trail off, preferring not to commit himself to an answer. 
          Barnaby was smiling, feeling a great deal more relieved than he wanted to admit.  Carefully, trying to avoid the snow covered curbs that he knew were there but could not see, he pulled into the parking area in front of the lodge.
          “Look at the cars,” Betty exclaimed, indicating the vehicles that were parked in the lot.  They could not determine exactly how many vehicles were parked in rows in the lot, but every one of them were covered so thickly with snow that they looked like huge snow drifts with only small portions of color showing through gaps where the snow on top of the cars and beside them did not quite meet.  “It must have been snowing for quite some time before we drove into it.”
          “Yeah, looks like it,” J.R. agreed.  “Must be fifteen inches or more already on the ground.  They could easily get that two additional feet they were predicting.”
          “I’m going to pull up to the door, so we can unload our suitcases without falling into a drift, as Jedediah would say,” Barnaby said.  “Maybe they will have a valet who will park the car for us.”
          Slowly and carefully, he maneuvered the Lincoln between two rows of snow covered shrubs that designated the boundaries of the oval drive which led to the covered port at the entrance, and finally pulled beneath the shelter.  The chains clattered on the bare pavement as the car came to a halt near the door.  Barnaby turned off the ignition, halting the wipers mid-swipe.
          J.R. exhaled a sigh of relief.  “We made it.”  Reaching out, he affectionately slapped his cousin’s arm.  “Good job, Boss.”
          Sliding across the seat, he opened the back door and stepped outside.  His breath turned to steam in the frigid air, drifting like a wispy cloud around his head as he observed the front of the lodge.  The ornate double doors were made of heavy wood, with long vertical wood handles, polished from years of use.   Two large planters stood on either side of the door, but the flowers they had held had been removed for the winter.  Icicles from a previous thaw hung like long crystal ornaments from the eaves.
          While Barnaby opened the trunk of the Lincoln, J.R. shoved his hands into his coat pockets and walked to the edge of the port behind the Lincoln, stopping just short of the curtain of falling snow.  His vision was so impaired by the thickly falling snowflakes and foggy atmosphere that he could see very little of the scenery that surrounded the lodge. He could just see the shadowy stand of trees that they had just left moments earlier, and even though he could not see the complete circle, he knew from the photos on the flier he had ordered last summer that the woods surrounded the building on all sides. 
          But the thing that struck him the most was the complete and total silence.  There was no wind, no sound of voices, no engines running.  Absolutely nothing.  It was the most perfect quiet he had ever experienced.  Here, the world seemed to be in perfect peace.
          One by one, Barnaby lifted the suitcases and duffel bags out of the trunk and placed them on the curb outside the door, casting a reproachful glance at his young cousin for not helping.
          Noticing his intent concentration on the view that could barely be seen, Betty moved closer to him.  “J.R.?  What is it?” she asked, curiously.
          “Listen.”
          She cocked her head slightly, listening intently, but no sound came to her.  “I don’t hear anything.”
          “Exactly.  No car horns, no people shouting, no bells ringing.  No sirens going off.  Just peace and quiet.”  He turned to smile happily at her.  “This is going to be a great vacation!  I have the strange urge to build a snowman!”
          Betty laughed softly.  “Come on; let’s get inside out of the cold.”
          They turned around just as Barnaby slammed the trunk closed.  J.R. immediately felt a twinge of guilt.  “Barnaby, you should have waited.  I’d have helped you with that.”
          “It’s done, Jedediah,” he told him.
          J.R. picked up his large duffel bag, and moved toward the heavy double doors, noticing as he did that no one had appeared to take the car keys or their belongings.  “It’s kind of strange that there is no valet to take the car, and no porter to take the luggage, don’t you think?”
          “That is strange,” Barnaby agreed.
          “Maybe some of the staff couldn’t make it in because of the heavy snow,” Betty suggested, tucking her clutch purse under her arm as she picked up her suitcase.
          “Sounds logical.”
          In the lead, J.R. grasped the door handle, pulled it open, and stepped into the lodge.
          A huge room with a high beamed ceiling opened up before him.  The floors were polished hardwood, and directly opposite the door was the decorative staircase leading up to the second and third floors, constructed of the same wood.  On the left was the check-in counter; on the right was a comfortable living-room environment with a huge fireplace and an assortment of chairs and sofas for the guests to enjoy.  The only thing that was missing was the human presence always found in hotels and resorts.
          “J.R.?” Betty said from behind.
          “Oh, sorry,” he apologized as he quickly stepped away from the door to allow his relatives to enter.  They filed in, and Barnaby closed the door behind them.  “The lights are out,” J.R. said, pointing to the ornate overhead fixtures.  “And no one seems to be here.”  He turned to glance quizzically at Betty, who had made the reservations.  “Are you sure they’re open this season?  It’d be just our luck that they’d be closed for repairs or remodeling, or something.”
          “They must be open,” Barnaby replied.  “The cars in the lot . . . “
          “Yeah, that’s true,” J.R. agreed.
          “They were open long enough to take our reservations,” Betty told him.  She set her suitcase down with a thump, and withdrew the confirmation sheet from her clutch bag.  Holding it out for him to view, she pointed with her finger.  “See?”
          “Okay, okay.  So, where are they?”
          They looked around the deserted room again, but no one replied, because no one knew the answer.
          Betty moved toward the check-in counter, and leaned over it to see into the office behind it.  Raising her voice, she called, “Hello?  Is anyone here?”
          Her voice echoed through the silent, empty building.  It was becoming abundantly clear that they were the only living beings inside the building.


 

                                                                  ACT II

          For several long moments, J.R., Betty, and Barnaby all stood in silence and gazed at one another, indecisively.  Finally, Barnaby, standing just inside the door, reached for the light switch on the wall, and flipped it to the “on” position.  Light from the ceiling lamps illuminated the large room.
          “Well, at least we have power,” he said, opting for a positive tone. 
          “And heat,” J.R. added as they heard the blowers from the central heating and air-conditioning unit kick in.
          “I wonder why the lights were off,” Betty said, walking a short distance away from the others to look around the large room.  “Everything seems to be working.  Turning the lights out is something you do when you leave the premises, especially when you know you’re going to be gone for a while.  But why would everyone go at the same time?”
          “Not to mention, where would they go in this weather?” J.R. added.  He glanced at his watch.  “It’s after three o’clock, so they can’t all be in the dining room having lunch.”
          “Even if they were all in the dining room, I don’t think they would have turned out the lights,” Betty reminded him.
          “Right,” he agreed.  “There’s a blizzard outside, so it’s highly unlikely that they’re on the slopes.  Unless they went to the slopes and got stranded.”
          “There should still be some staff, even if they did go to the slopes,” Barnaby said.  “Besides, they would have been watching the weather reports.”
          “The storm wasn’t supposed to go this far south,” J.R. said.  He paused briefly, his gaze moving slowly around the room.  “Where is everyone?” he asked again. 
          When no one else moved and no one else offered an answer, J.R. went to the check-in counter and found the round metal ringer sitting on the countertop.  Placing his hand over it, he pounded it a couple of times to announce their presence.  The ringer was loud in the quiet of the deserted resort, and Betty’s body flinched noticeably at the suddenness of it.  They looked around expectantly, waiting for an attendant to come running from a back room, explaining that he was understaffed due to the weather.
          When no one appeared, Barnaby suggested in a calm voice, “Betty, check the switchboard.  See if it is operational.”
          Betty hesitated, disinclined to invade the workspace belonging to a business that was not her employer.  “Barnaby, are you sure I should?”
          “No one is here to object, that’s for certain,” he told her.  “If the phones are working, I think maybe we should notify the police that something is amiss here.  Someone should be here.”
          “What, you think we’ve stumbled onto a crime scene?” J.R. asked, casting another wary glance around the room.
          “I don’t think we should jump to conclusions, but something very clearly has happened here.  A resort hotel is never deserted in peak season, yet this one appears to be.  There are cars in the parking lot, but no one is here.  The front door was unlocked, yet the lights have been turned off as if no one was expected.   The question is, where have they all gone?  And why?”
          “Well, all right,” Betty replied, reluctantly.
          Placing her purse atop the counter, she went to the door that led into the business offices and attempted to turn the knob, ignoring the square red sign that read Employees only.  Her hand met complete resistance from the knob.
          “It’s locked,” she announced.
          “It can probably be opened from the inside,” J.R. said.  “I can take care of that.”
          Removing his heavy winter coat, he placed it and his duffel bag on a roughly hewn wooden bench near the door, then carefully hopped up onto the counter in a seated position and swung his legs around to the other side.  He then slid off into the reception area.
          Typical of every hotel reception area he had ever seen, this one contained the usual typewriter, calculator, mail slots, registry books, ledgers, and other miscellaneous items necessary to run a business.  A soda can was lying on a bed of crumpled paper and discarded envelopes in the waste basket beside the desk, and he paused briefly.
          “Barnaby, doesn’t the cleaning crew usually empty waste baskets overnight or at the end of the business day?”
          “Yes.  Why?”
          “Just curious.  The waste baskets are about half full.”
          “So, either the cleaning crew did not come in last night, or business was operating normally this morning.  If we can’t find any clues to what’s going on here, we’ll examine the waste baskets later.  Maybe we can find some useful information there.”
          Moving to the closed door, J.R. turned the knob and pulled it open for Betty to enter.  It opened inward, presumably to avoid whacking some unsuspecting guest who happened to be walking past.
          “While you were in there, you could have just checked the switchboard yourself, you know,” Betty scolded him.
          He looked surprised.  “Oh.  I didn’t think of that.”  He gave an exaggerated shrug.  “Well, I probably don’t know how to work this kind anyway.”
          She patted his cheek, teasingly.  “You’re probably right.”
          While he held the door open, she slipped inside and went to the reception area.  The switchboard was not visible, so she proceeded into the small alcove adjoining the check in area where the switchboard was located. 
          While she was doing that, J.R. allowed the door to close behind him as he passed through it and wandered around the large common room.  On the right of the front entrance was a large picture window overlooking the snowy meadow.  He paused briefly to look outside, but the snow was still falling too heavily to see very far, so he turned toward the fireplace.  It was huge, constructed of native stone, and dominated the wall in which it was set.  The hearth was cold; the remnants of the last logs were a pile of gray ashes and blackened slivers of wood that had fallen through the grate.  The adjacent wall was wood paneled with a large picture of a snow scene positioned over the sofa.  Magazines and brochures were stacked neatly on the corners of the coffee tables.  A few glasses were sitting in coasters where guests had left them and the maid had not picked them up.  Traces of orange liquid remained in the bottoms.
          “Someone’s been here recently,” J.R. said, breaking the silence.  He pointed to the glasses, but did not touch them.  “Looks like orange juice, so they must have been here for breakfast.”
          Betty returned to the check-in counter a moment later.
          “The phones are dead,” she announced.  “No one can call in or out.”
          J.R. glanced apprehensively at Barnaby. “Could the lines have been cut?”
          Barnaby gazed back at him for a long moment.  Both of them were already treating the resort as a crime scene, when there could also be a logical explanation that they had not discovered yet.  “Could be the storm has interrupted the service,” he reminded them.
          “Yeah, could be,” J.R. agreed, but he and Betty were exchanging worried looks, spooked by the fact that they were totally isolated from the rest of the world.
          “So, what are we going to do?” Betty asked.  “We can’t call for help, and we obviously, we can’t go back out in this weather.”
          “We’ll have to stay here,” Barnaby replied in a calm voice of reason.  “You’ve worked in a hotel before.  We should have three rooms waiting for us, so you should be able to get us checked in.” 
          Betty gave him a reproachful glance, but she did not argue.  For a moment, her experienced eyes scanned the journals and ledgers that were lying on the workstation beneath the check-in counter.  Finally, she spotted the large black ledger stenciled with the words “Guest registry, 1981”, and opened it.  The names, addresses, telephone numbers, and room numbers of the resort guests were written across the pages, every page in the same meticulous print.  The guest’s signatures, mostly illegible scrawls, were placed in the final space.  She thumbed through the first few pages until she reached the current date, Saturday, January 10.
          “Here we are,” she announced.  “We’re the only arriving guests expected today, but it looks like there are about . . .  “  She paused to count the names.   “ . . .  twenty six other guests who have checked in, but have not checked out.  Several more are expected tomorrow.”
          “Twenty six current guests,” J.R. mused.  “They can’t have disappeared, so, they’ve got to be around here somewhere.”  Glancing at Barnaby, he added, “Don’t they?”
          “One would think so,” Barnaby answered.  “And the staff, too.  There doesn’t even appear to be a caretaker around.”
         “We’ve been written in the ledger, and the room numbers have already been inserted.”  Her eyes traveled along the wall, searching for something.  “Keys . . . keys . . . keys,” she mumbled to herself.  “Ah!  Here they are.”  She reached under the counter and produced three keys with a numbered plastic tab.  “J.R.?  You’re in room number 205.”  She presented him with his key.  “If you would be so kind?”  She turned the ledger around on the counter and presented him with a pen.
          With a smile, J.R. took the pen and signed his name.  “You’re pretty good at this.”
          She smiled in response to his praise.  “Barnaby, you’re next.”
          Barnaby signed his name in the space indicated and accepted his key, then Betty signed the space beside her name.  “Okay, we’re all checked in.  Now what?”
           “Now, we take our luggage up to our rooms and get settled in, then we’ll try to solve this mystery that has been dropped in our laps,” Barnaby replied.
          J.R. returned to the bench at the front door to collect his duffel bag and his coat.  He could see Barnaby’s vehicle through the window, still parked under the port.  “Well, since no one seems to be here, I guess there is no reason to move the car,” he said.
          “If they come back, we can move it later,” Barnaby agreed.
          J.R. straightened up, duffel bag in hand, and looked at him with concerned eyes.  He had not failed to noticed the “if they come back” in his cousin’s phrase.  Shifting his gaze to Betty, he saw that she was looking back at him with an expression that mirrored his own.
          After a moment, she made her way back through the offices and exited the locked door, and retrieved her purse from the countertop, and picked up her red suitcase.
          Since no one seemed eager to take the initiative, Barnaby smiled inwardly and led the way to the attractive, rustic staircase and started up.  J.R. fell in step behind him, and Betty, casting a worried glance behind her, as though fearful of being followed by some unseen malevolent being, brought up the rear.
          “I don’t suppose either of you have seen ‘The Shining’, have you?” she asked.
          “No,” Barnaby replied, patiently.  “Was it good?”
          J.R. glanced over his shoulder at Betty as he answered Barnaby’s question.  “Well, if you had seen it, you wouldn’t need to ask why it comes to mind.”
          The staircase was solid and well constructed with no apparent creaks or groans; the only sounds heard were the thumping of their heavy winter shoes and the swishing sounds of their clothing as they made their way up to the second story landing.  There, the staircase made a sharp turn as it proceeded up to the third and final floor.
          “This is lovely,” Betty said as the trio paused at the second story landing to gaze down the long corridor.  While the common room downstairs was rustic and decidedly “western” in appearance, the guest accommodations promised to be more upscale, as evidenced by the hallway décor.  Fine carpeting covered the floor, and the walls were papered in a stylish pattern.  Keeping with the western theme, paintings depicting wildlife and mountain scenery were hung on the walls between many of the rooms, while ornate light fixtures were affixed between others at intervals. 
          “Yeah, kind of an interesting cross between pastoral and posh,” J.R. agreed.  “I like it.”
          “I’d like it better with other people here,” Betty added, glancing over her shoulder again to look down the long staircase. Following her lead, J.R. looked down the staircase also, but the only thing that could be seen was the steps and a small portion of the downstairs floor at the bottom. “I admit, I’m a little creeped out by this,” Betty continued.
          “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Barnaby promised.
          Room 201 was the first door on the right, and on impulse J.R. grasped the knob and turned it to see if it would open.  It was locked, as he had known it would be.  Turning back to his companions, he saw that Barnaby was looking at him with an amused expression at what he must have deemed a useless gesture.  J.R. smiled sheepishly.  “Yeah, I know.  It was worth a try, though.”
          They proceeded down the corridor until J.R. stopped at the door labeled: 205.   “This is mine.”
          Betty and Barnaby were in 204 and 206 across the hall.
          “Looks like I’m all by my lonesome on this side of the hall,” J.R. quipped.  Inserting his key in the lock, he began singing the old Paul Anka hit, “I’m just a lonely boy, lonely and blue . . . “
          He heard the click as the lock released, and he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
          The lights were off and the drapes were drawn, leaving the room very dark and shadowy, so he reached for the wall switch and pressed it to the on position.
          He was standing in a small entryway, lit by an ornamental brass fixture attached to the wall.  The bathroom was directly to his left, so he leaned around the door frame and pressed light switch just inside the door.  The lavatory was quite large with the usual tiled floor, white commode and bathtub with shower, but the eye-catching feature was a wall to wall mirror and vanity with a sink in the center and a tremendous amount of counter space on each side.  An electrical outlet below the light switch provided power for the guests’ electric shavers and hair dryers.  Basic white towels of assorted sizes and wash cloths were draped over the towel rack.
          “Nice,” he said aloud to himself and he withdrew from the lavatory and began forcing the room key into his front pocket.
          As he struggled with the key, the door, which he had been holding open with his foot, slipped free and slammed shut with an echo that resounded down the corridors and sent J.R. spinning around in alarm.
          He breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hand on his chest to calm his pounding heart.  “Get a hold of yourself, J.R.,” he muttered.
          Hefting his duffle bag, he carried it into the room and deposited it on his bed.  Then he took a few moments to gaze around the room, taking in the details of what would be his home for the next five days. 
          It was a standard sized room, large enough to move around with ease while still being small enough to be considered cozy.  It held the usual double bed and dresser, and a circular table sat in the corner near the window for guests who preferred to dine in their room.  A menu sat in the center of the table for convenience in ordering room service.  A television was positioned inside a small entertainment cabinet with doors that concealed it when not in use. 
          Delaying the dreaded task of unpacking, J.R. opened the cabinet on the entertainment center and turned on the television, then stepped back and sat down on the foot of the bed.  The picture was poor because of bad reception, but he could just make out the shape of the weatherman’s face as he spoke of the storm: “This storm has escalated into the worse blizzard we’ve seen in more than twenty years.  The wind has increased significantly just in the last few minutes, reducing visibility to almost zero, and snowfall amounts could exceed previous estimates.  Again, residents should remain indoors if at all possible, and travelers are advised to seek shelter immediately.”
          As if on cue, he heard the windowpane shudder as the wind struck it forcefully.  Although he had only just sat down, he immediately stood up again and went to the heavy drapes, designed to hold the morning sun at bay for late-nighters, and pulled them open all the way.  Particles of snow scratched at the windowpane, driven by the wind, and at least a foot of snow was drifted against the glass, but beyond that he could see nothing except the solid gray blur that filled the picture window.
          Leaning on his hands on the window sill, he pressed his nose against the cold glass and squinted into the grayness, trying to see something, anything, of the mountain scenery that he knew was there, but his eyes were unable to see through that impenetrable curtain of snow.  The cold seemed to seep through the glass and creep into the pit of his stomach.  Whatever had happened in that resort, they were completely isolated from the rest of the world.  There was no way in, and no way out, and they had arrived at the resort just in time to prevent becoming stranded in the automobile.
          He shivered inside his heavy knitted sweater, not entirely from the chill that lingered near the window.  Behind him, static had obscured the audio on the television, so he left the window and flipped it off.
          With nothing else to do, he unzipped his duffel bag and removed the clothing and his personal accessories and stored them in the closet and the dresser drawers.  His shaving kit, toothbrush, toothpaste, hair dryer, and hair brush was taken into the bathroom and placed on the countertop beside the sink.
          As he emerged from the bathroom, he heard a knock on his door, and leaned over to open it.
          Barnaby and Betty stepped inside.
          “We’re going back down to see if we can start trying to solve this mystery,” Barnaby said. 
          “Okay.  Did you see the weather report on television?” J.R. asked as they stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind them.  Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “They said this is the worst blizzard they’ve seen in twenty years!”
          “Just our luck,” Betty said.  “Our first-ever family vacation and we’re trapped in this building all alone with raging storm outside and a mystery inside!”
          “The storm will pass,” Barnaby said, patiently.  “And we’ll get to the bottom of the mystery.”
          Betty and J.R. exchanged glances, worried that the storm as well as the mystery would interfere with their vacation.
          Barnaby saw the looks that passed between them.  “There must be a logical explanation for all this,” he insisted.  “I really don’t expect to find that a crime has been committed here.  There are absolutely no indications of that.”
          “Not yet, anyway,” Betty said.  “We really haven’t looked.”
          “So, where is everyone?” J.R. asked.
          “I have no idea,” Barnaby admitted as they started down the stairs.  “But we’ll find out.”

                                                                    ACT III

          When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they paused briefly as Betty and JR waited for Barnaby to decide where they should start in their investigation.
          The elder Jones stood quietly for several moments, his gaze slowly making its way around the common room and the reception desk, the only areas of the resort, other than their rooms, that they had even viewed.  “I think maybe we should take a look around the building,” he suggested.
          Betty and J.R. exchanged apprehensive glances again, wondering exactly what they would find in the other rooms of the large resort building.
          “I sure wish the phones were working,” Betty said.  “If you want my opinion, I’d much rather the police had a look around the building than us.”
          “Unfortunately, even if the phones were working, they still couldn’t get up here through the storm,” J.R. reminded her.
          She shrugged, reluctantly conceding that he was right.
          Turning to his right, Barnaby looked down the long corridor ran parallel to the staircase leading away from the reception area.  Several doors designated other rooms, and at the far end of the corridor was a large picture window.  Intersecting the east-west corridor at the window was another corridor running north-south, so they started down it to see what other items of interest the large building contained. 
          The first door they came to was on the right.  Barnaby turned the knob and pushed it open to reveal a large banquet style room with white decorations.  White flowers adorned a speaker’s podium, and white and baby blue streamers adorned the long banquet tables.  The silver serving trays and warmers were empty, as was the crystal punch bowl.  A large stone fireplace backed up to the one in the common room, and over the mantle was a large banner which read, Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Taylor.
          Betty smiled.  “I think they have either just had a wedding reception here, or they’re in preparation for one.”  Noticing the reception book on the table by the door, she lifted the silver cover with her forefinger.  It was empty of the names of the guests.  “Looks like they’re in preparation.  No signatures.”
          They backed out of the room and proceeded down the hallway again.  Farther down the corridor on their left was a large double door that was propped open with wedge-shaped rubber door stoppers.  It was a large spacious area filled with square tables, most sitting individually, but others were pushed together to accommodate larger occupancy.  Each one was draped with a white table cloth and bundles of silverware wrapped in a white cloth napkin.
          “I think we’ve found the dining hall,” Betty said.
          J.R. felt his stomach grumble with eager anticipation, and he placed his hand over his abdomen as if to sooth it.  “You know, we skipped lunch because of the snow,” he reminded them.
          “I’m kind of hungry, too,” Barnaby agreed.  “I vote we have an early supper before we continue this investigation.”
          “Well, I’m starting to think this investigation isn’t going to turn up anything useful,” J.R. told him.  “There is simply no sign of another living being anywhere in this building.”
          Barnaby nodded.  “I’m in agreement with that, but I think we need to explore the building, anyway.  In the meantime, why don’t we see if we can find anything in the kitchen that we can make a meal on?”
          Again, Betty hesitated.  Asking her to invade the receptionist’s workspace was one thing, something she was familiar with and could do with respect for the position, but encroaching on the cook’s terrain was another matter entirely.  She had heard that some chef’s were extremely territorial.
          As if reading the thoughts behind her eyes, Barnaby stated the obvious, “Unless we want to go to bed hungry tonight, we’re going to have to find something, even if it’s simply opening a can of soup or making sandwiches.”
          Betty nodded.  “You’re right.  I just feel like a trespasser or something.”
          “If we’re asked, we’ll explain the situation when we have an opportunity to do so.  Under the circumstances, I don’t see how anyone could object.  Besides, meals are included in the price of our reservation, and since no one is here, it’s up to us.”
          Betty turned toward the swinging double doors leading into the kitchen, and placed her hand on it as if to push it open.  Then, she paused to glance over her shoulder at her companions, her face vividly expressing the concern that they might find more than just a meal in the pantry.  “Maybe one of you guys should go first,” she said, reluctant to take the lead in entering the kitchen.
          “Betty, we’ve found no evidence to suggest that foul play was involved here,” Barnaby said, logically.
          “We haven’t found anything to suggest otherwise, either,” J.R. added.
          “We all agree that something is going on here,” Betty reminded them.  “We just don’t know what it is.”  She stepped away from the door, determined that one of the men would have to go first.
          J.R. placed his hand against one of the doors and slowly pushed it open, peering through the crack between the two of them.  The angle was not sufficient to see very well, so he pushed it a bit wider and inserted his head inside the room.
          The kitchen was huge and well equipped for the preparation of large meals to accommodate their large clientele.  Several large preparation tables stood in the room, and there was a great deal of counter space equipped with restaurant sized toasters, blenders, and other appliances.  Also included were a large grill, range tops, and ovens. 
          His eyes dropped to the floor.  It was covered in smooth linoleum for easy cleaning, and he was relieved to see that there were no dead bodies piled in the corner.
          “What do you see?” Barnaby asked.
          J.R.’s body jumped in response to the abrupt inquiry, and he glanced quickly over his shoulder at Barnaby, who grinned broadly.
          “Jedediah, you’re as jumpy as a frog with the hiccups!”
          Embarrassed by his edginess, J.R. did not respond.  He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside, followed by Betty and Barnaby.
          “Nice,” Betty said, admiringly.  “Very clean, just as I would expect a kitchen to be.”
          They spread out, looking around the kitchen.  Barnaby placed his hand over the grill, spreading his fingers about an inch above the smooth surface to test the warmth.  “It’s cold.  Hasn’t been used in a while,” he told them.
          Betty opened the pantry door and found it well stocked with a variety of goods that could be used in preparing meals while they were there.
          A narrow alcove lead off the kitchen, and J.R. followed it, inquisitively.  He was greeted by two closed doors, one of them at the far end of the corridor, the other built into the wall on his left. He approached the far door first and placed his hand on the doorknob.  The metal knob was very cold, indicating that it was probably an outside door.  Curious to see what was beyond it, he turned it and pulled it open.  Totally unprepared for the sudden blast of icy cold wind and snow, he stumbled backward several steps, driven by the force of it.  Quickly, he threw his weight against the door and pushed it closed again.  Definitely an outside door!
          Brushing the snow from his sweater with his hands, he turned to the other door, and realized that this one was a walk-in freezer.  He reached for the door handle, but stopped just as his hand touched it, again consumed by the fear of what he would find inside it.  He had heard of several instances where restaurants were held up by criminals who herded the employees into the freezer and either murdered them outright or left them there to freeze.  He hoped that was not the case here.
          Bracing himself against what might be revealed, his thumb pressed the handle, and he pulled the door open.
          Again, he was assaulted by cold air, but this time there was no wind or snow.  Labeled boxes of various kinds of meat were stacked on the shelves in the freezer, as well as frozen vegetables and boxes of ice cream desserts.  He exhaled an audible sigh of relief at the absence of physical evidence of foul play.
          Closing the freezer door again, he returned to the kitchen.
          Betty was still looking through the large stock of food items in the pantry.  “What sounds good?” she asked.
          “Don’t go to too much trouble,” Barnaby told her.
          “If you can find some buns, there are some hamburger patties and fries in the freezer back there,” J.R. suggested, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. 
          “Good.  Bring me some, and I’ll see if I can get this fryer going.”  She handed him the wire basket used for deep frying and a plate to hold the patties.  “Here.  Put them in this.”
          J.R. returned to the freezer and filled the fryer basket with frozen ripple cut fries, and opened one of the boxes and removed three hamburger patties, and carried them back to the kitchen.  Betty had turned on the fryer and the grill, and was waiting for them to heat up. 
          When they were ready, she inserted the wire basket in the grease and plopped the hamburger patties down on the grill.
          When they were done, they carried their plates of hamburgers and fries into the dining room and selected a table in the center of the room.
          “This is excellent, Betty,” J.R. said.
          “Yes, not bad for an impromptu meal,” she agreed.
          The windows rattled and shuddered against a particularly strong gust of wind, and they glanced at it, even though nothing could be seen through it except the swirling whiteness and an occasional gray shadow that marked the location of a nearby tree.
          “That is some storm,” J.R. said.  “I opened the back door off the kitchen and the wind nearly knocked me over backwards!  I saw a lot of snowstorms back in Chicago, but nothing like this.  I bet you can’t see more than ten feet out there.  And listen to that wind!  It sounds almost like a wild animal, trying to get inside.”
          Betty shuddered at his description.  “As if I wasn’t spooked enough, he has to throw wild animals into the equation!”
          “It’s just a storm,” Barnaby reminded them, patiently.  “And it doesn’t appear that it’s going to let up any time soon, so it looks like we’re going to be spending the night here by ourselves.”
          The other two had already assumed that, but hearing it spoken aloud sobered them slightly.  The only thing that might have been worse would have been to spend the night in a haunted house.

                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          After supper, the trio of detectives lingered at the table for a while before cleaning the table and placing the dishes in the huge dishwasher.  The atmosphere was growing dusky as they left the dining room.
          Turning toward the rear of the building, they walked down the long corridor and stopped at the large picture window at the end, shadowy gray from the late hour and the swirling snow.  On either side of them, the adjacent corridor led to other parts of the building.  Barnaby gestured to their right, and they passed a series of meeting rooms and offices, but their search failed to turn up anything to explain why the resort had been abandoned. 
          The lengthy corridor terminated in a closed door, which Barnaby opened without hesitation.  Behind it was a well equipped nursery to entertain the children while their parents were on the slopes.  A variety of age-appropriate books lined the low bookshelves, and round tables provided plenty of reading space.  A television stood in the far corner, with small chairs forming a semi-circle around it, and on the shelf beneath it was a VHS player.  Video was a relatively new media, but a variety of children’s movies and cartoons stocked the cabinet beneath the player.  Boxes of games were neatly stacked on the wide window sills.
          “They thought of everything!” Betty marveled, examining the books.  “Looks like they have books for every age level.”
          “Why would they bring their kids to a resort and then leave them in a nursery?” Barnaby wondered.
          “Lots of kids start skiing when they’re very young, but they tire out before the adults do, so this is a great idea,” Betty said.  “Gives them something to do.  I bet they have a licensed day-care operator to watch them.”
          Growing both physically and mentally weary of the search right on the heels of the long drive, Barnaby glanced at his watch.  “It’s after seven.  I think maybe we should save the rest of the building for tomorrow and concentrate on the reception area tonight.”
          They returned to the reception area, where J.R. hopped onto the countertop again, and swung his legs over to the other side.  A moment later, he opened the door from the inside, but this time, Barnaby placed a heavy chair against the door, holding it open so that they could move freely about the reception area without becoming locked out again.
          Barnaby stepped into the check-in office, his eyes taking in everything with the skill of an experienced investigator.  A second office, presumably that of the general manager, was just off the reception area, and he wandered into it to have a look around.  J.R. sat down in the receptionist’s chair and placed the trash can between his feet and began pawing through the discarded envelopes and spreading out wadded up sheets of paper to view their contents.  Betty went through the items on the check-in counter, looking through the ledgers and documents.
          Finally, giving up on the trash can, J.R. returned it to its original position beside the desk, and grasped the handle on one of the desk drawers and pulled.  Locked.  He looked up at Betty, who had turned around to face him.
          “They probably keep petty cash and receipts inside the desk, so they would naturally keep it locked when no one was around,” she told him.
          Rising from the desk, he went to a file cabinet and opened it.  When it failed to turn up anything useful, he followed Betty into the alcove while she checked the switchboard again.
          “Still out of order,” she responded to the inquiring expression on his face before he asked the question.
          Barnaby emerged from the manager’s office.  “Find anything?” he asked.
          “Nothing to explain this situation,” Betty replied.  “You?”
          “No, nothing.”
          Betty yawned, meaningfully.  “I’m getting sleepy,” she said.
          Barnaby smiled.  “Maybe we should turn in early tonight, and get a fresh start tomorrow.”
          “I’m all for that,” she agreed. 
          J.R. glanced at his watch, and groaned.  “I haven’t gone to bed at eight since I was a kid!”
          “You can stay down here and keep looking, if you want,” Barnaby told him.  “There are some file cabinets you can go through.  For myself, it’s been a long, stressful day, and a nice warm bed is sounding very inviting right now.”
          J.R. swept the room with his eyes.  “Well, I guess you’re right.  I’m rather tired, myself.”
          The decision made, all three climbed the stairs and returned to their rooms.  They paused at their doors to bid the others goodnight, then went inside and closed their doors.
          J.R. flipped on the television.  The storm was still interfering with the video reception, but he could still hear the audio reasonably well, so he left it on while he undressed for bed.  The Love Boat came on at nine o’clock, and he listened to it for a while, catching brief shadows of activity on the screen, before he finally gave up and turned off the set.  With nothing else to do, no books or magazines to read, he pulled back the covers and got into bed.  Listening to the storm howling outside, he turned out the lights and closed his eyes.

                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          J.R. awakened with a sudden jolt.  The room was engulfed in near total darkness, and for several disconcerting moments he experienced the alarming sensation of not knowing where he was.  Cognizance returned quickly, and he remembered the resort and the mystery of the missing guests and staff.
          He felt chilled, even though he could feel the weight of the bedcovers pressing down on him.  Sometime during the night, he had pulled them up to his chin, but they did not seem to be holding back the chill.  His feet and hands were icy cold.
          Turning his head on the pillow, he withdrew his hand from under the covers and reached through the frosty air for his wristwatch on the bedside table, and glanced at the illuminated face.  It was 11:30.  He returned the watch to the table, and snuggled under the covers again, trying to get warm. 
          Lying perfectly still, he listened, wondering what had awakened him.  There was no sound except for the howling wind of the blizzard outside, and he lifted his head to peer into the darkness, totally alert.  Then it dawned on him:  The heating unit was not blowing.
          Sitting up, he tossed back the covers and felt the gooseflesh rise on his skin as the cold air surrounded him.  Rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm them, he quickly stepped into the slippers he had placed beside the bed in case he had to get up during the night, and then hurried to the closet to retrieve his bathrobe.  He shivered into it quickly, and tied the belt securely around his waist. 
          Then he felt his way along the wall until he reached the light switch, and flipped it on, squinting his eyes in preparation for the illumination that he expected to flood the room.  He heard the click of the switch, but nothing happened.  He flipped it a couple more times, but the light did not come on.  The power was off.
          Remembering the penlight in his coat pocket, placed there in case of emergencies, he made his way back to the closet and felt around for the coat.  When he found it, his hand slipped into the pocket and withdrew the thin flashlight.  He flipped it on, and a narrow beam of light pushed back the darkness in the room.
          Even after assuring himself that there was nothing out of order in the room, that everything was exactly as he had left it when he had retired, he knew he would be unable to go back to sleep if he returned to bed, so after some consideration, he decided to go downstairs.  Making a bed on the sofa in front of a roaring fire was sounding pretty good at that moment.  Snatching up his room key, he dropped it into the pocket of his robe.  Then he pulled a blanket from the top shelf in the closet, and wrapped it around himself.
          Quietly, he opened his door and slipped into the hallway.  He glanced at the closed doors of Betty’s and Barnaby’s room, marveling that they were managing to sleep in spite of the freezing air, and then he gently eased the door closed, flinching when he heard the latch click a little louder than he had hoped.  He glanced quickly across the hall at the two closed doors belonging to his two relatives, assuring himself that he had not awakened them, and then walked toward the stairs and went down.
          The resort was eerie in its quietness, and J.R. felt the gooseflesh rise on his arms again when he reached the bottom of the stairs and observed the common room with his penlight.  The little flashlight did not had a long reach, but it was sufficient to see where he was going, so he turned toward the fireplace and pulled back the large screen that shielded the guests from popping embers.  The wood box was full, so he placed the penlight on the coffee table, its beam aimed at the hearth, and began transferring a sufficient amount of wood from the box to the grate.
          Stepping back, he admired his work.  “That outta do it,” he said, approvingly.  “Now, for kindling.”
          A day old newspaper was lying on one of the sofa cushions, so he took one of the sections, wadded it up, and tucked it under the grate.
          Wondering where the matches were kept, he picked up the penlight again, and searched the mantle and the fireside tables, but failed to turn up a box of matches.  If the stove in the kitchen was gas, it made sense that there would be matches there, so he made his way down the corridor and through the dining room, and then pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen.  Going to the first drawer, he pulled it open and rummaged around.  Nothing.  He shoved it closed, and moved to the next one. 
          Just as his hand closed around the handle, he suddenly froze, listening intently, certain that he had heard something.  Quickly, he turned off the penlight and waited.  Then he heard it again, the creak of a floorboard under the weight of someone’s foot.
          He felt his heart begin to hammer loudly with the realization that someone was in the dining room, just beyond the swinging door.  Barnaby had not brought his pistol to the resort, but even if he had, there was no way that J.R. could get upstairs to Barnaby’s room without alerting the intruder of his presence.  There were likely to be knives in the kitchen, but in the pitch dark of the windowless kitchen, he knew he could never find one in time.
          Through the darkness, he saw a narrow, vertical strip of gray as the swinging door was pushed open from the dining room.
          As quietly as he could, J.R. moved toward the door, intending to hide behind it until the intruder was inside, so that he could overwhelm him from behind.
          The door, open partway, suddenly stopped, and J.R. realized that the prowler had heard the rustling of his bathrobe and the blanket as he had moved.  The door was released, and it swung back to the closed position.  Apparently, the intruder had not wanted to confront him in the dark, and had withdrawn.
          Feeling a little more confident now at the intruder’s apparent retreat, J.R. pressed his ear against the door and listened.  Again, the tell-tale creak of a floorboard reached his alert ears, and he knew that the person, whoever he was, was leaving the dining room rather quickly.
          Pushing open the swinging door a crack, he peered into the dining room.  The large picture windows, intended to provide the diners with a spectacular view of the scenery, provided a dusky gray atmosphere, enough for him to see the shadow of a figure going around the corner into the corridor.  Moving quietly on the balls of his feet, J.R. jogged to the doorway and pressed his back against the wall, pausing for a few moments to muster the courage to continue. 
          J.R. was no coward, but he certainly had a well-developed sense of self-preservation, and confronting an armed intruder was not a particularly pleasant proposition.  Betty and Barnaby were asleep and defenseless upstairs, and he knew it was up to him to determine what this person was after, so he cautiously leaned around the door jamb. 
          The corridor was empty, as far as he could tell without turning on the flashlight.  Slowly, he felt his way along the wall toward the stairs.
          Abruptly, his hand touched something soft, and he knew it was an article of clothing that was at that moment being worn by a human being.
          He and the intruder uttered simultaneous shouts of alarm, and he jumped back against the wall and flipped on the penlight directly into the face of Betty Jones, who had jumped back against the opposite wall.
          “J.R.!  What is the matter with you?  You scared me half to death!”
          “I scared you?  What do you think you did to me?” 
          “What are you doing down here?” she asked.
          “The power went out, so I was going to bunk down here on the sofa in front of the fireplace, but first I wanted to build a fire.”
          “I thought I heard someone prowling around down here, so I decided to investigate.  I guess it was you.  Was that you in the kitchen?”
          “Yeah, I was looking for some matches to light the fire.  I thought you were a prowler, maybe the guy who ---”
          She raised her hand to stop him.  “Don’t say it!”
          “Okay.  Do you have any idea where they might keep the matches?”
          “J.R., did you think to look on the coffee table?  There’s a ton of promotional matchbooks there.” 
          To verify her words, he returned to the fireplace and directed his flashlight beam at the coffee table.  Sure enough, a bowl full of matchbooks was sitting in the middle of it.
          Betty laughed out loud at his surprised expression.  “Some detective you are!” she teased.  “I saw them there last night.”
          “Okay, okay.  Don’t rub it in.”
          He picked up one of the matchbooks, peeled back the cover, and struck one of the matches on the strip.  The tiny flame danced and flickered as he lowered it toward the fireplace, and he carefully applied it to the wadded up newspapers.  The newsprint curled and blackened as the flames slowly ignited the logs on the grate.  Within minutes, they had a nice warming fire.
          J.R. replaced the barrier and lay down on one of the sofas.  After a moment, deciding that it was preferable to the cold bedroom upstairs, Betty curled up on the other sofa.


                                                                   Act IV

          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.

 

                                                                    Act V

          Pleasant steamy warmth greeted him as he poked his head cautiously around the doorjamb, and his eyes widened with disbelief as he beheld a delightfully amazing sight and inhaled the pungent aroma of chlorine that permeated the room.
          “Oh, wow!” he exclaimed as he pushed the door open and moved through it.  It drifted slowly closed behind him with a click that seemed loud in the quiet of the room. He jumped and spun around in alarm.  Reaching for the knob again, he tested it to make certain he had not locked himself inside.  Satisfied that he was not imprisoned, he turned back to the huge cavernous room.
          An Olympic sized swimming pool stretched out before him.  The water was calm, and shimmered in the light from the overhead fixtures.  Steps in the nearest corner led into the water at the shallow end, and a chrome railing near the deep end indicated that steps attached to the side provided exit from there.  Jutting off its center to form a “T” was a narrow extension that passed beneath the glass that formed the south wall and emptied into a second standard sized pool outside, allowing guests to leave the indoor pool and enter the outdoor pool without even having to get out of the water.  A foggy mist clung to the warm surface on the outdoor portion of the pool, and the snow around the rim had melted, revealing a glimpse of the tiled edges.  There was also a diving board on the edge of the exterior portion of the pool.  Tall lifeguard chairs stood at the edges of the indoor and outdoor portions of the pool.
          “This is great!” he said to himself, his voice echoing in the large room as he moved closer to the pool, wishing he had included his swim trunks in his luggage.
          His eyes moved slowly around the room, taking in everything.  Beach balls, floating ring toss games, and dive sticks were stored on shelves for the guests’ use, along with large white towels, all neatly folded and stacked.  Deck tables and chairs lined the decoratively tiled north wall behind him.  The glassed wall was fogged up with condensation from the steamy warmth of the pool, and thin streams of water ran in rivulets down the clear surface and into the pool.  Through the foggy glass, he could see the silhouettes of the outdoor chairs and tables which were positioned on one side of the pool on a concrete deck, all of them nearly completely buried under the snow.
          It was extremely warm inside the pool room, and so humid that he could already feel his hair beginning to curl from the effects of it.  Bundled up in a heavy winter sweater, he was starting to perspire.
          Squatting down at the edge of the pool, J.R. reached down and dipped his hand into the water. It was warm, not quite bathwater warm, but close enough to be enormously enticing to the young detective.
          Rising to his feet again, he wandered to the glass wall and rubbed away a circle in the condensation with his hand to look outside. Through the glass, beyond the outdoor pool, he saw that the blizzard winds had finally stopped.  The glittering blanket of snow stretched out to the bare, leafless trees in the forested area beyond, a stark contrast to the humid warmth inside the pool room. The sky was dark gray, and large fluffy snowflakes drifted lazily toward the ground.
As sweat began trickling down his back between his shoulder blades from the sauna-like heat, he reached up and scratched his head in puzzled deliberation, his fingers confirming that his hair was indeed beginning to form ringlets.  He sighed.  He would have to attack his unruly mop with a blow drier to relax them again.
          Turning away from the scenic view outside, his eyes fell longingly upon the pool again, wishing desperately for his trunks.  Who would have thought that a winter resort would not only have a swimming pool, but such a magnificent one?
          He drew in a deep breath and released it in a regretful sigh.  Oh, well. Maybe next time.  But he knew there would probably never be a next time.  It had taken months of persuasive negotiation for him and Betty to convince Barnaby take this family vacation, and he doubted he would be able to talk him into another one.  To his aging cousin, the ideal vacation was a trip to the nearest trout filled stream or a fishing boat on a quiet lake.  Maybe he could come alone, some day, possibly in the summer months.  This seemed like a wonderful place to meet women.
          Turning his back on the swimming pool, he walked toward the door.  Just as his hand touched the knob, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the alluring pool.
          All work and no play . . . . . The old adage danced tauntingly in his mind as he gazed at the shimmering surface of the water.  You’ve been working hard and studying hard and you need to do something fun for yourself!
         Turning the knob, he opened the door, but stopped in the doorway.  The corridor was empty.  Dropping his eyes to his wrist, he glanced quickly at his watch.  It was twelve twenty.  Betty had said that lunch would be ready around one, and Barnaby was probably still pouring over the resort’s paperwork searching for clues as to the disappearance of the staff and guests.  He could easily spend a half hour or so in the pool, and still make it to the dining room with time to spare.    They knew he was exploring the building, and were not likely to miss him for a while yet.
          He glanced down at his clothes, a heavy beige sweater and blue jeans.  There was still the matter of not having a pair of swim trunks handy.  He couldn’t very well go swimming in his clothes.  With that heavy sweater, he’d go straight to the bottom!
          When was the last time I did anything frivolous and daring?  The thought slowly wiggled its way into his mind, driven by the desire to seize a rare opportunity.  His tired, overworked mind and body were finding the prospect of this warm and inviting pool extremely enticing, and a moment like this was likely never to present itself again.
          His eyes scanned the room, lingering in the corners beneath the ceiling, looking for a video camera, but found nothing to suggest that the pool area was being monitored by any kind of surveillance equipment.  His eyes then went to the window.  Fogged up as it was with condensation, it would be impossible for anyone to see clearly through the glass, even if there was anyone out there to look.
          Closing the door again, he checked for a lock, but found nothing that would secure the door.  That opened him up to discovery if someone should come looking for him.  He pressed his lips together in deep thought, so tempted by the simple fun of taking a dip in the pool that it surpassed his concerns about being caught.
          The decision was made abruptly.  No point was served by using up valuable time with deliberations.  Moving to the nearest deck chair, he pulled his heavy sweater off over his head and draped it over the chair back.  Instantly, he felt relief from the garment’s heat on the bare skin of his torso.  Sitting down in the chair, he pulled off his shoes and socks, and left them on the tiled floor.  Then he stood up, unfastened his belt, and slipped off his jeans, laying them across the arm of the chair.  Tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, he hesitated, casting an uneasy glance at the door.  He could just jump in using his underpants as his swim trunks.  That way, if Betty or Barnaby walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in a complete state of undress.  But then he would either have to put his dry clothing on over his wet underpants, or take them off and carry them up to his room.  Neither idea was as appealing as the tantalizing alternative.
The hard ceramic tile was cool to his bare feet as he padded to the door and opened it to check the corridor once again.  It remained empty.
          Tucking his thumbs into the waistband again, he lowered his underwear to his ankles, and stepped out of them, then snatched them up and tossed them on the chair with the rest of his clothes as he ran past it to the pool and leaped into it with a whoop that echoed throughout the cavernous room.
          The splash he made was loud in the quiet room, and he surfaced a moment later, flinging his wet hair out of his face with a toss of his head.  The water was deliciously warm, refreshing and invigorating, and he rubbed his hands up and down his arms and chest to rinse off the sweat that had risen beneath his heavy sweater.
          Pushing off the shallow end, he swam the length of the pool with strong, clean strokes. When his hand touched the wall on the deep end, he tucked under and pushed off like an Olympic swimmer and returned to the shallow end.
          He surfaced to catch his breath from the exertion of the lengthy swim and paused to rest, his legs bent so that he was chest-deep in the water.  After a few moments of rest, he flipped over and backstroked to the deep end again.  When he felt his hand strike the wall behind him, he stopped to rest again, supporting himself with his hand on the edge of the pool.  Then he went under and swam under water back to the shallow end.  Surfacing again, he placed his feet on the bottom and rose to his full height so that he was standing waist deep, gazing toward the deep end and the diving board that occupied an elevated position above the water.  He knew it was risky being in the pool alone, and even riskier to take to the diving board, but it was an impulse he found irresistible.  Moving toward the ladder at the side of the pool, he climbed out and padded toward the board.
          It was not so high that it required a ladder to climb up on; one giant step was sufficient to get him on top of it, and he walked down the rough slip-proof surface to the end. Gripping the edge with his toes, he assumed a diver’s stance as he looked down at the bottom of the pool, wondering exactly how deep it was.  He did not want to find out head first, so he straightened up and jumped up once, then twice, and leaped out over the water tucking both knees under his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs.
          He felt the harsh slap on his bare bottom as he struck the water, and was taken instantly beneath the surface, going deeper and deeper, but did not touch the bottom.  When he stopped sinking, he kicked back to the surface, and returned to the ladder to climb out again.
This time, he jumped straight off the board in a standing position, striking the water feet first, arms straight up over his head. Cutting the surface smoothly, he sank all the way down, his feet coming to rest gently on the bottom. He allowed his knees to bend, then pushed off forcefully and glided back to the surface.
          Satisfied that the pool was deep enough, he mounted the diving board again and executed an admirable dive, headfirst, cutting the water with barely a splash. He immediately brought his arms down, propelling himself forward, and he surfaced nearly halfway down the length of the pool. 
          “Impressive, J.R.,” he congratulated himself, pleased with the dive.
          Then he turned toward the glass divider that separated the indoor pool from the outdoor pool. The divider went deep enough into the water to prevent cold air from seeping under it, which meant to get outside he would have to swim under water. Without hesitation, he drew a deep breath and went under, gliding effortlessly along the bottom of the pool.
          As he passed beneath the barrier, he immediately felt the difference in the temperature of the water. It remained much warmer than the air temperature outside, warm enough to induce the light fog that floated on the surface, but cool enough to produce a mild chill on his bare skin which had been acclimated to the warmer temperature of the indoor pool.  Moments later, his head emerged from the water.
          He knew from the weather reports that the temperature was hovering around ten degrees, and that intense cold was immediately felt in his wet hair and face. 
          He sidestroked to the shallow end of the pool, and stood up, exposing his body from the waist up to the frigid air.  Gooseflesh rose on his arms and torso, and he could almost feel the icicles that were trying to form on his dripping hair.  His breath exhaled in a cloud of steam that hovered around his head and mingled with the light fog that continued to rest upon the surface of the water.  Snowflakes floated gently onto his head and shoulders.  With boyish enthusiasm, he sank beneath the surface again and felt his scalp grow warmer as the snow that had fallen on his head melted.  He resurfaced and laughed aloud as he pushed his hair out of his face with his hands.
          Here you are, J.R., outside, stark naked, in January in the middle of a snowstorm!
          Facing the resort, he looked up at the windows overhead, half expecting to see a face scowling back at him with disapproval from one of those blank squares, but every window was empty and dark, a bleak reminder that the entire workforce and visitors had vanished.
          Turning toward the bare trees in the distance, he listened carefully, but there was no sound to be heard except the soft whisper of the snow and the ice in the frozen trees. The peace and tranquility was so intense and so beautiful that he believed he had never felt so alive and so uninhibited his entire life.  It was a moment he did not want to end, but his teeth were beginning to chatter in the severe cold.
          For a brief moment, his eyes settled on the outdoor diving board positioned over the deeper end near the partition, considering the notion of carrying his daring behavior a step farther, then changed his mind, deciding that he would turn into a human popsicle if he left the warmth of the water.  Regretfully, he dove under the water again, and swam back beneath the partition into the warmer water inside the building.
          He surfaced in the center of the pool, deciding that it was probably time he returned to the others before they came looking for him.
          Savoring the final moments of his time in the pool, he slowly swam one more leisurely lap, then made his way toward the ladder.  When he reached it, he grasped the chrome railings and started to climb out of the pool.  Just as his foot touched the top rung, he heard the click of the doorknob, and turned his head just as it started to open.
          Instantly, he released his hold on the rails and dropped back into the water with a huge splash that threatened to empty the pool.
          Betty pushed the door open and looked inside the room, startled by the splashing sound as he hit the water.  “J.R.?” she asked.  “What are you . . . .?”  A delighted smile flashed across her attractive face as she observed the swimming pool. “I didn’t realize there was a pool in here!” she said, moving toward him.
          She stopped abruptly when J.R. urgently raised his hand as if to push her away.  He seemed to be trying to hide behind the chrome handrails.  “Betty, please don’t come any closer!  I am at a distinct disadvantage here!”
          She stopped, puzzled. “What are you talking --- Oh!” she exclaimed, spying his clothing lying on the chair near the wall.  “You mean . . . J.R., are you . . . ?”
          “Yeah, so could you please . . . .”  He waved her toward the door.  “Please?”
          A devilish grin turned up the corners of her mouth and she folded her arms in an authoritative manner.  “Oh, I don’t know, J.R.  You really shouldn’t swim without a lifeguard, or someone to keep an eye on you.  Didn‘t anyone teach you that?”
          “Very funny.  Now, do you mind?”
          “I couldn’t in all conscious leave you here alone.  I mean, you could hurt yourself or something.  Then I‘d feel terrible!”
          “Betty!”
          She laughed.  “Okay, okay.  I just came to tell you that lunch is ready.  You can join us in the dining room, um . . . when you’re finished with your dip.”
          “I’ll do that,” he replied with a smile.
          Still grinning broadly, Betty made her exit through the door.  J.R. waited a moment just to be sure that she didn’t mischievously open the door again to say that she had forgotten something, then climbed out of the pool.  Dripping wet, he padded to the towel rack and removed one of the towels from the carefully folded stack, opened it up and wrapped it around his middle, then reached for another one to dry his hair and torso.
          When he was reasonably dried, he began dressing again, no easy task in the humid room.  His clothing kept clinging to his damp skin.  Lastly, he put on his shoes and socks, then hurried back up the hall to the dining room where Betty and Barnaby were seated, finger combing his curling wet locks of hair.
           Barnaby looked up with a knowing smile, and J.R. knew instantly that Betty had already told him.  “I understand you decided to go skinny dipping, Jedediah!  And you didn‘t invite us?”
          J.R. pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, electing to go along with the teasing.  It would be even worse if he resisted.  “Well, you know how it is.  I wasn’t sure you and Betty would care to join me, or I would have waited.”  He helped himself to the sandwiches that Betty had prepared.
Barnaby was grinning, a thoughtful expression in his ancient eyes.  “I don’t guess I’ve been skinny dipping since I was about ten years old back home in Tennessee.”
          J.R. looked up, surprised.  “Barnaby, I’m shocked. I didn’t know you ever did something so ----”  He paused, struggling for the proper word.
          “Brazen?” Betty suggested.  “Shameless?”
          J.R. nodded.  “Yeah.”
          “Well, I was young once, too, you know,” Barnaby replied.  “My friends and I used to swim in Willow Pond, out on Old Mill Road.  Our parents weren‘t wealthy enough to purchase swimsuits for us, so we used what we had -- our birthday suits!”
          “Really?  I used to swim there too, when Mom and Dad would go down to visit Grandma and Grandpa, but I always had a suit.  Dad told me he used to swim there, too.”
          “I think it was a favorite place for young people to play.  Tell me, was that old tire still there?”
          “The last time I went down there, yeah.”
          “My friends and I hung that there.  I think your father had to replace the rope at one point when it broke with him.”
          “He never told me that.”
          “Well, from what I understand, he went in upside down.  He was a bit embarrassed about that.  So, this is the first time you’ve ever been skinny dipping?”
          J.R. felt his cheeks heat up a bit.  “Well, yeah, it is.  There isn’t much opportunity for such activities in urban Chicago.  I saw the pool there, and it was so warm and inviting that I just couldn’t help myself.”
          Barnaby laughed at the mild blush on his cousin‘s cheeks.  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of, Jedediah.  If I was your age, I probably would have done the same thing!”
          “Well, I have to admit.  I’ve never done anything that felt so . . . liberating!”
          “Or revealing!” Betty added.
          He looked at her quickly.  “Just how much did you see?”
          “Oh, not much,” she said, turning her attention back to her food, letting him think about that a moment.
          J.R.’s cheeks heated up a little more.  “Betty, did you really . . . . ?”
          She laughed.  “Relax, J.R.  You were back in the pool by the time I got the door open.  I wasn’t sure what I would find back there, so I confess I opened it rather slowly.”
          He relaxed, visibly.  “Oh, okay. Good.”
          “Still, from what I heard, you jumped back in just as I opened the door, so obviously, if I had been just a few moments later, I would have seen a lot more than I did!”
          “That is a fact.  I’ve gotta say, though, that was the most incredible pool!  It’s Olympic sized, but it has an extension that goes under the glass wall to the outside pool.”
          “Out of curiosity, did you swim into the outside portion?” asked Barnaby.
          “Yes.  It was positively freezing out there!  But I have to admit, it was a bit exhilarating.  There was a fog lying on the surface of the water.”
          Betty was smiling.  “I confess, I didn’t get that good a look at it, but what you’re saying makes me wish I had a swimsuit along with me!”
          “You don’t need a suit, Betty,” J.R. told her.  “There’s only the three of us.  We’d respect your privacy.”
          “Well, thanks, J.R., but as tempting as it is, I think I’ll pass.  It would be just my luck for someone to show up about that time!”
          “Like you did with me?”
          “No, I was thinking more along the lines of additional hotel guests.  Now that the blizzard has stopped, it could be that more guests will show up.  According to the guest registry, there are more guests expected today.”
          As one, the three of them turned their heads toward the big picture windows and looked at the heavy accumulation of snow.
          “I don’t know, Betty,” J.R. said.  “That snow looks like it’s about three feet deep in places.  I don’t think a vehicle could get through it.”
          “They’ll have to get a snowplow out here to clear off the roads,” Barnaby agreed.  “But, being a winter resort, I’m sure the roads will be cleared off soon, and we can surely get to the bottom of this mystery.”
          “I found all kinds of activity rooms back there near the pool,” J.R. told them.  “And a garage with snowmobiles.”
          “I’d love to go snowmobiling!” Betty exclaimed.
          “If we can salvage this vacation, I’ll go with you,” J.R. offered.  “There’s also some cross-country skis.”
          “I think I could handle that, too,” Betty said.  “I’d probably break my neck on the slopes, but skiing on a relatively flat surface might be more my speed.  What about you, Barnaby?  Maybe you’d like to snowmobile with us?”
          “I think shuffleboard and billiards are probably more my speed,” he replied.
          Betty and J.R. exchanged glances, feeling rather guilty about their insistence on a winter vacation.   “I’m sorry, Barnaby,” Betty said, speaking for them both.  “I’m afraid when we started discussing this trip, we didn’t take into consideration that you might not have much to do.”
          “There is plenty for me to do,” he assured them.  “I have to admit, I needed this time away from the office as much as you two did.  I’ll just relax in front of the fire with some hot chocolate, and play some billiards and shuffleboard.  I’ll be fine.”
          “You’re sure?” Betty asked, doubtfully.
          “I’m positive.  But first, we need to keep checking the phones and see if they’re working yet.”
          “Yeah, I guess fun and games is a little premature right now, isn’t it?” J.R. asked.  “I think I’ll have another one of those sandwiches,” he added, reaching for the plate in the center of the table.

                                                                   Act VI


          As soon as lunch was completed, they returned to the reception area where Betty once again went to the switchboard to check the status of the phone lines.
          “Still out,” she announced.
          “There must be a line down somewhere between here and the power plant,” Barnaby said.  “They wouldn’t be able to get a crew out until the blizzard cleared, so maybe they’ll start working on it soon.”
          .R. was feeling extremely agitated, and he paced restlessly from the door to the fireplace, stressing over the condition of his hair. Repeatedly, he pushed his fingers through the dark curls and tugged at them as if pulling them would make them straighten out.  Finally, he could stand it no longer.  “I’m going upstairs and shower off the chlorine.”
          Betty had noticed his fretful behavior ever since rising from the table, and she could not stifle her laughter at his excuse to get into the shower.  “You just want to tame those ringlets, Curly!”
          He gave her a harsh scowl, but beneath the frowning brows his dark eyes were twinkling good-naturedly.
          “I think they’re kind of cute!” she insisted.
          “I think they’re hideous!” he retorted.
          Betty laughed again.  “People with curly hair want straight hair, and people with straight hair want curly hair.  No one is ever satisfied with what they have.”
          “There’s nothing more we can do about the missing guests at this point,” Barnaby said.  “We may as well give up on that and let the authorities work on it once the phone lines are back up.  I think I’ll go upstairs and see if I can catch some news.”
          J.R. started up the stairs, with Barnaby following behind.  Betty moved to the sofas and sat down with a magazine.
          J.R. and Barnaby parted at their doors, each going into his own room.  A moment later, J.R. heard the television come on in the elder Jones’ room.
          First, J.R. went to his window and pulled open the drapes, lingering for several moments to gaze out at the dazzling whiteness that covered the landscape below.  It had finally stopped snowing, leaving a smooth, unblemished blanket of shimmering white that stretched out from the foundation all the way to the leafless trees that marked the boundary of the forested areas.  Mountain peaks rose up behind the forest, providing a breathtakingly beautiful scene.  A bright spot in the gray sky marked the location of the sun.
          Leaving the window, J.R. went into the bathroom and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature and the spray.  While it warmed, he undressed again, and paused to look in the mirror, grimacing at the mop of wild curls that were piled on top of his head.  He fingered them with annoyance, wondering why he had had the misfortune of being born with such an unruly head of hair when most of his friends had the desired straight, fluffy, manageable hair.
          “Some people have all the luck,” he muttered to himself.
          When the water was the correct temperature, he stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed.  As he lathered his hair, he began to sing in a hearty voice, “Oh, what a beautiful morning!  Oh, what a beautiful day!”
          When his shower was complete, he opened the bathroom door to allow the steamy heat from the hot water to dissipate, then he dried himself off with a towel and shaved the stubble from his face.  When that was done, he redressed, and painstakingly dried his thick longish hair with a strong blow drier, taming those unruly curls with determination. 
          Presentable at last, he crossed the hall to Barnaby’s room and pressed his ear against the door.  The television was on, so he presumed his cousin must have found some news to watch.  He rapped his knuckles against the door.  “Barnaby?”
          A moment later, Barnaby opened the door, and motioned him inside.
          “Did you find out anything?” J.R. asked as he stepped into the room.
          “The whole area from Quincy to south of Tahoe is completely snowed under, with massive power outages and downed phone lines.  It could be a week or more before the phones are working again.  They’re saying now that they haven’t seen a storm this bad in fifty years.”
          “I guess we’re lucky the power came back on so quickly, then,” J.R. said.
          “We’re also lucky we made it to the resort before the storm hit.  The news is reporting hundreds of stranded travelers all over the area.  It doesn’t answer the question about why there is no staff or guests here, but it could be that many of the guests simply haven’t arrived yet due to the weather.”
          “Wow, we picked one helluva week to take our vacation, didn’t we?”
          “Apparently so.  Anyway, from the weather reports, the storm has moved on, so were I you, I would go ahead and enjoy my vacation, regardless of whether there is anyone here or not.  You did say there were plenty of activities you could do?”
          “Yeah.  I was just thinking I might take one of those snowmobiles out for a spin this afternoon.  Would you like to go?”
          “No.  I think I’ll just relax in front of the television for a while.  They’re showing a John Wayne movie in about a half hour that I haven’t seen in years.  See if Betty would like to go with you,” he suggested.
          “Okay.  You’re sure?”
          “I’m sure, Jedediah.  The truth is, I can’t even remember the last time I simply relaxed in front of a good movie.  I’m looking forward to this.”
          “All right, then.  We’ll probably be gone for a couple of hours.”
          “Have fun.”
          Leaving Barnaby alone in his room, J.R. trotted back down the stairs.
          Betty had finished her magazine, and was standing at the window near the front door looking out.  She turned around when she heard J.R. coming down the steps, and smiled when she saw him, noticing that his hair was styled in his favored manner.  “Feeling better about yourself now?” she teased.
          “Much better.  I spoke with Barnaby, and he wants to watch a John Wayne movie, so I thought maybe you and I could take a couple of those snowmobiles out for a drive around the property,” he told her.
          “I’d love to!” she exclaimed, enthusiastically.  “I’m getting rather tired of being trapped indoors trying to solve an apparently unsolvable mystery.”  She paused, a guilty expression on her attractive face.  “I’ must admit, though, I feel a little bad about leaving Barnaby alone.”
         “He’s going to be parked in front of the TV watching that movie for several hours.  He’ll be fine.  He said it’s something he really wants to do, and that we should have a good time."
          She nodded, accepting his logic.  “Where are the snowmobiles?”
          “In a garage near the pool.  There are all kinds of winter recreational things back there.”
          “I guess we’d better bundle up,” she suggested.  “It looks cold out there.”
          Quickly, they returned to their rooms to get their coats, gloves, and wool caps, then met in the hallway and went back down.  At the bottom of the stairs, J.R. gestured with his hand toward the long corridor.  “This way, m’dear.”
          Together, they walked down the corridor, and made a left turn at the juncture, continuing onward past the activity rooms.  J.R. cast a lingering gaze at the closed door to the swimming pool, bringing another smile to Betty’s face.
          “So, you really enjoyed your swim?” she asked.
          He glanced at her face and saw the smile, but realized that she was not really teasing him this time; she was genuinely interested.  “It was wonderful.  I can’t remember ever having that much fun in a swimming pool before.  The water was almost bathwater warm, absolutely incredible.  Or maybe it was the ‘forbidden’ quality of it all that made it more fun; I don’t know, but I really had a good time.”
          “Did you really go into the outdoor part of it?”
          “Sure did.”
          “Wasn’t it cold?”
          “It was freezing!  The water in the outdoor portion of the pool was warmer than the air temperature, but it was quite a bit cooler than it was in the inside portion.  I could almost feel icicles forming in my hair!  I have to admit, though, it was quite exhilarating!  Now I know what those . . . what are they called?  Those polar bear guys, the ones who go swimming in freezing weather?  I kind of have a feel for what they’re talking about, now; why they do it.  It was incredible.”
          “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.  It’s about time we started having some fun on this vacation.  We’ve been here nearly twenty four hours, and the only thing we’ve done since then is try to figure out where everyone is.”
          “I agree.”  He opened the door to the room containing the outdoor equipment.  “The garage is through that door; that’s where the snowmobiles are kept.”
          “I think we’re supposed to check them out from the desk,” she said, noticing a desk set up near the garage door.  The plaque read: James Smith, Equipment manager.  She was obviously feeling rather nervous about taking the vehicles out without permission.
          “There’s no one to check them out from,” J.R. reminded her.  “Even Barnaby said there is no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves.  It’s not our fault that no one is here except us.”
          “Yes, you’re right.  We did come here to experience the fun of a winter vacation.  However,” she added, picking up a clipboard from the desk.  “Here is a place to put our names and the number of the vehicle we’re checking out.  Maybe we should check them out ourselves.  At least there will be a record that way.”
          J.R. smiled, amused by her attention to proper protocol.  “Okay, let’s pick out our vehicles, and then we’ll sign them out ourselves.”
          He opened the door beside the desk, and they stepped into the much cooler air of the garage.  Betty walked among the snowmobiles that were parked in neat rows and selected one that looked simple to operate.  “I’ll take this one.”
          “I like this one,” J.R. said, straddling a big red one to get the feel for it and placing his hands on the handlebars.  “They even come with helmets.”  He picked up the helmet that matched the color and decorative design on his vehicle, and placed it on his head.
          They memorized the number of the tag on the backs of the vehicles, and went back inside to write them down on the clipboard along with their names and room numbers.  Then J.R. opened the outer garage door and was confronted by a three foot high barrier of snow where it had piled up against the door.
          “Can these things even get through snow this deep?” Betty asked, skeptically as she put on her helmet.
          “The tread on these things can plow through anything!” J.R. told her, hoping it was true.  “It won’t be that deep everywhere; it’s only the drifts that are that high.  We may get covered with snow, though.  This is going to be fun!”
          He packed down the snow to form a ramp, then he and Betty started the snowmobiles and guided them slowly up the snow-ramp and out into the frigid air.  J.R. pulled the door closed behind them, then climbed back aboard, and they revved their engines and drove toward the treeline, spraying snow in all directions.  J.R. took the lead, with Betty following at a suitable distance to avoid his snow-spray.
          The air was bitter cold, but the breeze generated by the snowmobiles was somewhat deflected by the visors on their helmets.
          They checked their speed as they entered the trees, mindful of the obstacles that could prove dangerous as they roared through the forest.  J.R. had never ridden a snowmobile in his life, but he took to it like a duck to water, expertly guiding the motorized vehicle around trees, logs and shrubs with perhaps a bit more reckless abandon than was prudent. 
          Betty followed in the furrow he had left in the snow, a little less confident, but handling her machine quite well.  She fell a little ways behind, preferring control to speed, but remained close enough to keep him in sight. 
          They stopped when they entered a large forest clearing to enjoy the incredible scenery.  The sun had finally penetrated the cloud cover, dazzling the pristine blanket of snow with its radiance.  Rugged mountain peaks rose high in the distance, completing the remarkable beauty of nature’s wilderness areas.
          “Oh, J.R.!” Betty breathed, raising her visor so that she could see better.  “I wish I had brought my camera!  I’ve never seen anything like this!”
          “Me neither,” he agreed.  “It’s like something you’d see on a post card.”
          “It’s more beautiful even than that.  It’s totally indescribable.  I don’t think a photograph could even do it justice.”
          They sat quietly for a while longer, observing the beauty and tranquility, then J.R. revved his engine, and they reentered the tree line.
          After nearly thirty minutes of uneventful snowmobiling, J.R. was suddenly startled by a tawny blur that bounded across his path in front of his vehicle.  Reacting to the unforeseen hazard, he swerved quickly to his right and immediately saw a large tree looming directly ahead of him.  He braked hard and swerved again.  The vehicle spun out of control and turned over on its side, sending its rider tumbling into a deep snowdrift at the foot of the tree. 
          J.R. lay still for a moment, performing a mental inventory of his extremities.  Everything seemed to be present and functioning properly, so he sat up and pulled off his helmet, groaning in an exaggerated fashion.  As soon as the helmet was free, the branches above him unloaded their accumulations of snow onto his head.
          “That’s great!” he said sarcastically to the tree.  “Thank you!”  He shook his head, rubbing his hand in his hair to shake the snow free before it melted and caused his hair to start curling again.
          Betty pulled up beside him.  “Are you all right?” she asked.
          “Yeah, I’m fine.  What the hell was that?”
          “I think it was a deer,” she replied, turning her attention to the area where the animal had gone.  She could see it, standing a short distance away, watching them with large curious eyes.  Its large ears designated it as a mule deer.  “Look!” she said, pointing.
          He turned his head to look at the animal, but it took him a moment to spot it.  It stood perfectly motionless, almost blending into the stark trees that surrounded it.  “It jumped across my path too fast to get a good look at it.”
          “It looked like you nearly hit it.  The wildlife is probably getting out after that blizzard to try to find food,” Betty said, sympathetically.  “In our warm resort, it’s hard to imagine the hardships faced by the area wildlife.”
          “Yeah, I know,” J.R. agreed.  “I have to admit, I never really considered that there might be wildlife in the area.”  He struggled to his feet, floundering in the deep drift, then carefully set his snowmobile upright again and checked it for damage.  He started the engine again, and with a dismissive flick of its tail the deer darted away into the forest.
          J.R. mounted the vehicle again and put the helmet back on.  “Ready?” he asked.
          “Yes.  Maybe you should slow down a bit,” Betty suggested.  “I’m having trouble keeping up with you.”
          J.R. smiled, but it was concealed by the visor of his helmet.  Her request to slow down was cleverly disguised, for he knew that Betty could keep up with him.  She didn’t want him to crash again.  He acknowledged her request with a thumbs up, then roared off again, this time keeping his speed more controllable and paying more attention to what was on either side of him.
          Betty accelerated after him.
          They rode for a while without mishap, then J.R. noticed that the trees were beginning to thin, indicating that they were approaching another clearing.  Briefly, he considered speeding up to take advantage of the unobstructed terrain, then decided to advance with caution, since he had no idea what was beyond the tree line.  He applied the brakes as they reached the edge of the trees, and realized with a shudder that his caution was warranted.  He was at the top of a steep slope that would have sent him airborne if he had not slowed down.  He drew the vehicle to a stop, and Betty pulled up beside him.  They both lifted the visors on their helmets.
          They were overlooking the highway that had brought them as far as the resort’s turnoff, and they watched as a snowplow appeared at the far end, scraping the deep drifts from the asphalt and piling it up along the shoulder.
          “Looks like they’re already clearing the roads,” J.R. commented.
          “Guess that means we can expect company soon,” she replied.  “They’ll have to clear off the road from the resort down to the turnoff, but things are definitely looking up!”
          “Doesn’t look like there’s any other cars out yet, but once the roads are clear, the travelers will start moving again.  We may be able to salvage this vacation yet!”
          Closing his visor once again, J.R. turned the vehicle around and they followed the tracks they had made back through the woods until they emerged in the resort yard again.  They drove across the yard and entered the trees on the other side, riding a good distance away from the resort before they decided it was time to turn around and come back.  By the time they arrived, it was growing dusky again, not from a storm this time, but from the sun settling behind the mountains in the west.
          “Have we been gone that long?” Betty asked as they guided the vehicles back into the garage.
          J.R. closed the garage door behind them and securely latched it.  Pulling up his coat sleeve, he glanced at the watch on his wrist.  “It’s after five thirty.  I had no idea we had been gone that long.  Time flies when you’re having fun.”
          She was smiling.  “That was fun, wasn’t it?” she asked as she placed the helmet back on the seat for the next rider.
          They stepped through the door into the warmth of the office just off the garage, and paused at the desk to sign the vehicles back in.  Then they started down the corridor, peeling off their outer wear.
          “You know, if you want the truth, it’s been kind of fun just having the three of us here in this big building,” J.R. mused.  “We’re able to do whatever we want, get a dining table anywhere in the room, sleep on the sofa if we want and not be bothered by anyone.”  He sighed.  “I kind of hate to see it come to an end!”
          “I know what you mean,” she laughed.  “If it hadn’t been for the mystery of where everyone went, it would have been a lot more fun.”
          “Unfortunately, that part of it still remains a mystery,” he reminded her.
          “I’m going to have to think of something for supper,” she said as they passed the dining room doors.  “I didn’t expect that I would have to plan and cook meals on my vacation.”
          “Okay, you’re making me feel guilty.  I’ll help you,” he offered.
          “Are you any good in a kitchen?” she asked, skeptically.
          “Hey, all the famous chefs are men,” he told her.
          “That doesn’t answer my question.”
          “Well, I can heat soup and make sandwiches as well as the next guy.  I’m especially good at crackers and cheese.”
          As they came around the bottom of the stairs into the common room, Barnaby laid down a magazine on the coffee table and looked up at them.  “I was starting to worry about you two.  You were gone a long time.”
          “I guess we lost track of time,” Betty said.  “Was your movie good?”
          “Excellent.  They don’t make them like that anymore.  So, you two had a good time, then?”
          “Yeah,” J.R. said.  “We drove all the way to the highway.  They had a snowplow out there working on the roads, so I guess things will start getting back to normal soon.”
          “That’s good news.”
          Betty gestured toward the stairs.  “I’m going to put away my things, then I’ll come back down and start supper.”
          “Why don’t you relax for a while and let Jedediah and I fix supper?” Barnaby suggested.
          She smiled.  “I appreciate the offer, but if we all work together, it’ll be done sooner.  I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
          “Okay, while you’re doing that, I’ll move the car out into the lot,” J.R. offered. “Do you have the keys, Barnaby?”
          Barnaby reached into his trouser pocket, and his brows knitted together when he discovered they weren’t there.  Then realization dawned.  “Oh!  I thought they would have a valet to park the car, so I left them in the ignition.  I forgot all about them!”
          “Good thing no one was here,” J.R. said.  “We might have had to walk all the way home!” 
          He opened the front door and stepped out into the dusky cold again, pausing to look around.  Once again, he was struck by the near total silence of the resort area, and he walked to the edge of the covered breezeway to view the scenery that surrounded the resort.  The wind and additional accumulations of snow from the blizzard had almost totally obscured the tire tracks they had left during their arrival the day before.  
          The car was still parked where they had left it upon their arrival, so he opened the car door and got into the driver’s seat.  Barnaby was considerably taller, so J.R. slid the seat forward a bit, turned the key, and listened as the engine turned over with a healthy roar.  Shifting into drive, he pulled slowly from beneath the covered breezeway, and moved the car alongside one of the other vehicles.  He had no way of knowing if he was actually in a parking space or not, since he could not see the lines, but at least it was out of the way should other people show up.
          As he locked the car door and trudged through the deep snow back to the building, his mind pondered the situation they were in.  No longer did he feel totally isolated from the world.  Even without a working telephone, they had access to the nearest town, for if it became necessary to leave the resort for some reason, they could ride out on the snowmobiles.


 

                                                                    Act VII


          J.R. typically awakened slowly, and the next morning was no different.  As awareness slowly penetrated his sleep-fogged mind, he felt wonderfully warm and comfortable snuggled into the downy softness of the mattress with a layer of warm blankets covering him.  He did not move for a long time, content to linger quietly and allow his mind to drift a while longer.
          Vaguely, he heard the thermostat kick in, bringing warm air into the room, and roused slightly, he turned over and pulled the covers over his head.
          As he lay quietly enjoying the warmth of his bed, his mind wandered to the day before.  He had had a wonderful time swimming and snowmobiling, and after supper he and Betty had joined Barnaby in playing Wahoo in the game room.  Wahoo was a simple board game played by rolling a pair of dice, which dictated the number of steps each player could move marbles around the board.  J.R. hadn’t seen a Wahoo board since he was a kid, and was surprised when Barnaby had found it among the other board games available at the resort.
          A door slammed across the hall, jarring him fully awake, and he sat bolt upright, listening to the footfalls that moved down the corridor past his door.  The stride was unmistakable, and his dropped back down on his pillow with a groan.
          “Thanks, Barnaby,” he muttered.
          Reaching down, he pulled the covers up again and closed his eyes, hoping to catch just a few more moments of sleep, but found himself unable to relax again.  After a few minutes, he gave up and tossed back the covers.  Pausing briefly on the edge of the bed to scratch his head and yawn, he stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the water for his shower.
          Once dried and dressed, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.  He immediately smelled the wonderful aroma of hash brown potatoes and brewing coffee that drifted up the stairs.
          With his stomach gnawing eagerly in response to the smells, he trotted down the stairs and followed the aroma into the kitchen, where Betty was standing in front of the counter top beating a bowl of eggs.  The shredded potatoes were frying on the grill.  “Mm, that smells good,” he said.
          “Good morning, J.R.,” she smiled.  “How would you like your omelet?”
          “Omelets this morning, eh?” he asked.  “I may move in and let you cook for me all the time!”
          “Fat chance,” she laughed.  “You don’t really think I eat like this all the time, do you?”
          “You mean you don’t?” he asked, feigning disappointment.
          “Your omelet?”
          “That’s right, change the subject.  Surprise me.”
           “I found some Monterrey Jack cheese and some avocados, so I’m making a Mexican omelet for myself,” she suggested.
          “Sounds good.  Make mine the same.”
          After pouring the eggs for three omelets, Betty skillfully turned the potatoes, which were now a lovely golden brown on one side.  They sizzled and popped on the grill, and J.R. felt his stomach begin to gnaw eagerly as he leaned over them to inhale deeply.
          To take his mind off his stomach, he asked, “Where’s Barnaby?”
          “I think he’s in the lobby.  I’m not sure what he’s up to though.  Why don’t you get three plates out of that cabinet over there?  It won’t take these eggs long to cook.  And when you’re done with that, you can get three coffee mugs.”
          Opening the huge cabinet where the plates were stored in tall stacks, J.R. lifted three from the top and spread them on the counter top for her, then located the coffee mugs and set them beside the plates.  Then, thinking he was done, he stood back and watched.
          “Okay.  Why don’t you pour the coffee?” she suggested.
          With an amused smile, he took the coffee pot off the warmer, and while he poured the steaming black liquid into the mugs, Betty scooped up three servings of hash browns onto the plates, and then lifted the omelets beside them.  Together, they carried them into the dining room, and J.R. went down the hall to the lobby to summon Barnaby.
          He found the aging detective standing quietly at the front window, gazing out across the snowy parking lot, deep in thought.  The younger man hesitated, reluctant to disturb him, but finally said quietly, “Barnaby?  Are you okay?”
          Barnaby turned around and smiled in greeting.  “I’m all right, Jedediah.  Since you saw them clearing off the highway yesterday, I just thought someone else would have showed up by now.  I’m just a little puzzled why we’re still by ourselves.”
          “Yeah, I kind of thought the same thing,” J.R. agreed.  He gestured over his shoulder toward the kitchen.  “Well, breakfast is ready.”
          “I’ll be right there.”
          J.R. returned to the dining room, and pulled out a chair beside Betty and sat down.  He dropped the napkin on his lap and picked up his fork.  “This looks great, Betty.”  He cut off a piece and tasted it.  “Mm, delicious.  Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
          “Reconsider what?” Barnaby asked as he entered the room and sat down.
          “I’ve been trying to convince Betty to fix breakfast for me every morning, but she doesn’t seem too excited about that idea.”
          “Well, Betty, if you do that for him, then you’ll have to do it for me too,” Barnaby told her.
          “Sorry, guys.  After we leave this place, or after the chef comes back, I’m retiring from short-order cook!  I just hope I don’t get my fingers slapped for invading his space.”
          “Well, we had to eat,” J.R. reminded her.  “If they didn’t want us in their kitchen, they should have left someone to feed us.”
          “Cooks can be pretty territorial,” she told him.  “I’ll let you explain it to him.”
          He shrugged and continued eating, unconcerned.  “Okay.”

          After breakfast was completed and the dishes washed and returned to their cabinets, Betty and J.R. once again made their way down the corridor to the equipment room, and Betty moved slowly along the walls and shelves, observing the down-hill skis, the cross-country skis, the ice skates, and other items for the enjoyment of the guests.
          “Look!  They have ice skates!” she said.  “I wonder where they skate.  You don’t suppose they have a rink tucked away somewhere in a basement or something, do you?”
          “There’s probably a pond around here somewhere, but it’s covered up with snow right now.  Why?  Do you skate?”
          “I used to when I was a kid,” she replied.
          “Really?  You never said anything about that.”
          She smiled.  “It was a long time ago, J.R.  I’d probably break something if I tried it now.  I like to watch it on TV though.”
          “And dream of being an Olympic champion?” he teased as he lifted two sets of cross-country skis from their holder.
          She laughed.  “I was never that good.”
          “I bet you were!” he contradicted good-naturedly.  “I bet you could skate circles around your friends.”
          She blushed slightly, indicating that he was correct, and smiled.  “Are those mine?” she asked, gesturing toward one of the pairs of skis. 
          He passed them to her, and they put them on and took a pair of ski poles and inserted their hands through the loops and wrapped their gloved hands around the grips.  Walking in the skis was awkward as they moved toward the door, and J.R. unintentionally placed the tip of one ski on top of the other, which nearly made him fall.  He grabbed wildly for one of the chairs that were scattered around the room for the guests to use to assist them in putting on their gear, and steadied himself again as he moved the ski back to the appropriate position.
          “This is like having six foot long feet!” he quipped.  “A guy could get hurt trying to walk in these things.”
          He finally reached the door and opened it.  The air was bitter cold, but there was no breeze to increase the wind chill, so they stepped carefully outside onto the snow, and he closed the door behind them.
          “Okay,” he said, “I guess we just have to get into a rhythm here.  You want to go first?”
          “No; you’re doing fine.  I’ll just follow you.”
          “Here goes.” 
          He pushed off with his poles as he slid his left foot forward, and moved toward the tree line, using a skating motion.  The snow was too deep to provide smooth gliding motion in the yard, but as they entered the tree line, where the tree limbs caught much of the snow as it had fallen, it was not quite as deep, allowing them to get into a more comfortable rhythm.
          As with the day before, both of them were awed by the remarkable beauty of the landscape.  The sun was shining brightly today, and the blanket of snow glittered brightly.  Ice and snow sparkled on the tree limbs.
          Skiing across country was a lot different than the ease of riding a snowmobile, and J.R. was soon gasping for breath, blowing great bursts of frosty steam into the air.  Finally, he glided to a stop.  “I have to rest,” he panted, leaning on his poles for support.
          “Thank you!” Betty panted, pulling up along side.  “This is hard work!”
          J.R. didn’t answer; he was too busy catching his breath.
          After a few moments, Betty said, “I guess cross country skiing carries less risk of broken bones, but you have to be careful not to overdo it!  Its great exercise, though,” she added, looking at the bright side.
          After resting a few minutes, they set out again.
          They soon tired out again, and stopped to rest, one of many more rest stops to follow as their bodies engaged in the unfamiliar activity.  During one of their rest stops, J.R. heard a distant rumbling, like thunder, and he turned toward it, wondering if another storm was moving in.  Snow was moving rapidly down the side of the mountain.
          “Hey, look!” he said.  “Avalanche!”
          They watched was the snow, which had been dislodged somewhere on a high peak, rolled down the side of the rugged mountain.  It was too high and too far away to cause any damage to the lower resorts and ski lodges, so they watched in fascination until it gradually slid to a stop.
          “You don’t suppose anyone was up there, do you?” Betty asked.
          “Nah, it was in the higher elevations.  No one skis that high up.  It might also have been planned.  They do that sometimes if there is a place where the snow is unstable.  Well, ready to go again?”
          She wasn’t quite ready, but she nodded anyway.  “Sure.”
          They set out again.

          Two hours later, they skied back into the resort yard, and J.R. pulled up suddenly.  “Hey, look at that!” he exclaimed.  “There’s another car under the port.”
          Betty looked, and saw a small car parked near the front door under the protection of the port.  “J.R. you have great eyes,” she commented once again.  “I never would have noticed it until we got closer.”
          “Comes with being an observant detective!” he told her with a smile.
          Together, they skied back to the equipment door, and removed their skis, then returned them to their proper place.  Then they hurried down the corridor, eager to see if the car belonged to new guests or staff, removing their wraps as they walked.
          The door to one of the recreational activity rooms was open, and Barnaby was engaged in a game of shuffleboard with a woman who appeared to be in her sixties.  An extremely attractive young woman of about 21 sat on the sidelines, watching.
          J.R.’s chocolate colored eyes lit up at the sight of the young woman, and Betty hid her smile behind her hand as they stepped into the room.
          “So, who’s winning?” J.R. asked, announcing their presence.
          The young woman turned around and flashed a lovely smile at the young detective, who responded by offering his most practiced charming smile.  The older woman and Barnaby also turned around, but J.R. hardly noticed.
          “My cousin Jedediah,” Barnaby said by way of introduction, failing to notice that J.R. cringed as it was spoken, “and my daughter in law Betty; this is Hillary Anderson, and her daughter, Vicky.”
          J.R. stepped forward, offering his hand to the young woman.  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Vicky,” he said.  “But please call me J.R.”
          “Oh, but I like the name Jedediah,” she told him.  “It has such an ‘old world’ feel about it.”
           “It’s old, all right,” he agreed with a grimace.
          The young woman wrapped her hands around her long hair in back and lifted it up from her sweater.  It crackled and popped with static.  She ran her hand down the length of it, trying to remove the static from the golden brown strands, unaware that J.R. was admiring the long tresses with rapt attention.  “I just hate all this static electricity,” she said with annoyance.  “It makes my hair stick to my sweater!”
          “I know exactly what you mean!” J.R. agreed.
          Barnaby grinned, thinking that J.R. would have agreed with her if she said that the sun rose in the west.
          “So, how long have you been here?” Betty asked.
          “We arrived about an hour ago, and we were so surprised to find the place deserted!  Then your father in law came out of one of the rooms, and he was wonderful about helping us get our room keys.  We were supposed to be here yesterday, but we got snowed in at some tiny little town west of here, and couldn’t go any farther.  We had to find a motel, but they were so filled up with other travelers like us who were caught in the blizzard that we had trouble finding rooms.  Mom and I had to double up, and Glenn --”
          At that moment, a young man entered the room, and the young woman’s eyes brightened at the sight of him.  She extended her hand toward him, and he moved closer and took it in a very familiar fashion.  J.R.’s eyes darted from one to the other.
          “This is my soon-to-be husband, Glenn Taylor,” she said.  “He actually had to double up with a complete stranger!”
          “Well, it was the only way to get a bed for the night,” Glenn explained.  “I was afraid I’d be sleeping on the couch in the motel lobby!”  He extended his free hand toward Betty in a friendly fashion.  “Pleased to meet you.”  He cast a decidedly wary glance at J.R., as if to ascertain his intentions, and his other hand tightened possessively around Vicky’s hand and he dipped his head in a polite nod rather than extend his hand.
          J.R.’s face had fallen at the news that the beautiful young woman was engaged, but Betty recognized the name and smiled as she accepted the young man’s handshake.  “Oh, you’re the ones who are getting married!  We saw the reception room.  Looks like its going to be a beautiful wedding.”
          “Yes,” Vicky said, gazing at her fiancé with adoring eyes that made J.R. want to be sick.  “The wedding is tomorrow, but I don’t know if anyone is going to be able to make it.  We weren’t expecting this storm!”
          “None of us were,” Betty agreed.  “We were lucky to make it in before it got too bad to travel.”
          “So, you’re going to honeymoon here?” J.R. asked, recovering from the disappointment enough to join the conversation.
          “No, actually we’re just having the wedding here.  Mom’s going to stay here with some of her friends, if they ever make it, but Glenn and I are going on up to Tahoe Lodge, near the lake, and we’ll honeymoon there.”
          “We’ll be leaving right after the reception,” Glenn added, his eyes lingering on J.R., but the younger detective ignored it.
          “That’s nice.  I’m sure you two will be very happy.”  He brought his hands together and rubbed them, as if planning some mischief.  “Well, Betty and I just got back from some cross country skiing, and we’ve worked up an appetite.  What do you say we start getting lunch ready?”
          Barnaby nodded.  “Sounds good to me.”  He leaned his shuffleboard cue against the wall.  “We can finish our game later.”
          “I am rather hungry,” Glenn said as they started down the corridor toward the dining room.  “So, is there a cook on duty, or do we have to fix our own?”
          “I’ve been doing most of the cooking,” Betty told them.
          “Mom and I can help,” Vicky offered.  “That is, if you don’t think the resort people will mind.”
          “Well, we would have pretty hungry by now if we hadn’t,” J.R. told her.
          They entered the dining room, and the newcomers looked around, curiously.  “Oh, this is really nice,” Vicky said, approvingly.  “So quaint!”
          Now that he had accepted her impending marriage, something about her voice was starting to rub J.R. the wrong way.  There was a whiny quality that he knew would get on his nerves if he was around her too much.  Glenn didn’t seem to mind, though, for he was reluctant to release her hand when she started to follow her mother and Betty into the kitchen.
          “I’ll be right out here,” he told her.
          She gave him another adoring smile, then followed the other women into the kitchen, while the three men sat down at a table near the window to get acquainted.
          For several moments, the three men just sat and shifted their weight in their chairs, cleared their throats, and glanced around the room or outside the window.
          Finally, Glenn asked, “So, how long have you been here?”
          “Two days,” J.R. replied.  “We barely beat the blizzard in.”
          Glenn lifted his eyes to the high-beamed ceiling, then shifted his gaze to the snow through the window.  “Must have been really creepy being in this place alone listening to the blizzard outside.”
          “Yeah, pretty much,” J.R. admitted.  “We have been trying to figure out where everyone has gone.  There are no records or anything to indicate what happened to them.”
          “Wow, where do you think they are?”
          “We don’t know,” Barnaby said.  “Most likely, much of the staff was unable to come in from town due to the weather and road conditions –“
          “Oh, man!  You got that right!” Glenn exclaimed.  Now that the conversation was going well, he was getting revved up.  “We had trouble getting our car through the drifts!  We actually got stuck a few times.  I had to push while Vicky sat in the driver’s seat.  She kept trying to gun the engine, though, and it just made the wheels spin.  She’s not used to driving on snow and ice.  I kept telling her ---”
          “Are you?” J.R. asked, deciding suddenly that Glenn was as irritating as his fiancée.
          Glenn stopped talking, annoyed that he had been interrupted.  “Am I what?”
          “Used to driving on snow.”
          “Well, no, not that much.  How about you?”  The question sounded like a challenge, and J.R. was happy to rise to the occasion.
          “Somewhat.  I grew up in Chicago.”
          “Oh?  You have a lot of snow there?”
          J.R. glanced at Barnaby, who lifted his eyebrows.  “Just a little,” J.R. replied with a trace of sarcasm.
          Glenn dismissed him, determined to dominate the conversation again.  “Anyway, as I was saying, I was sure glad to get away from that motel, I’ll tell you that!  Man!  Was it ever crowded!  You wouldn’t believe all the people there!  There were actually people in sleeping bags on the floor in the lobby!  We were just lucky to get there when we did, or we would have been on the floor, too.  And that’s if they let us in at all!  And it was sure a good thing they had a restaurant across the street!  They were packed, too, though.  It was nearly forty five minutes before they seated us, and then another hour and half before our dinner was served!  I gave that manager a piece of my mind, I’ll tell you that!”
          “I’m sure they were doing the best they could,” Barnaby said, patiently.  “After all, they probably had two or three times the number of customers they would normally.”
          The young man looked indignant at being contradicted.  “Well, they knew about the storm, so they should have been prepared and called in extra help.  After all, it wasn’t our fault that they had so many customers!”
          “And maybe some of their staff got caught in the storm and couldn’t make it in,” Barnaby retorted, keeping his voice calm.  "Sometimes, unforseen things just happen and can't be avoided."
          “Well, they should have been prepared!” the young man repeated.  “I was starving by the time our food came!”
          Barnaby smiled with that same patient expression that Glenn was finding patronizing.  “Oh, I’m sure you weren’t starving.”
          J.R. suddenly cocked his head toward the door, listening carefully, certain that he had heard something in the lobby.  “Did anyone hear that?”
          “Hear what?” Barnaby asked, grateful for any deviation from the current conversation.
          “I’m not sure.  I thought I heard a noise coming from the lobby.”
          Barnaby and Glenn were quiet for a moment, listening, then Glenn dismissed him.  “Nah, I don’t hear anything.  Anyway, the hotel manager tried to talk us into staying another night, but I don’t think he was as concerned about our safety as he was the fact that he was getting a sudden windfall of guests!  I bet there were a hundred people there crowded into thirty guest rooms and the lobby!  Even with the discount he gave us for doubling up, he was still coming out way ahead!  I mean, there must be some law against forcing your guests to double up like that!”
          "Would it have been more ethical for the manager to have turned them out into the weather to fend for themselves?" Barnaby asked.  "Sounds to me like he handled the situation the only way he could."
          Glenn's eyebrows jammed together in an annoyed frown.  Most people tended to just go along with whatever he said to avoid a debate with him, but this Barnaby Jones seemed unwilling to back down.
          J.R. was also frowning, but for a different reason.  He was trying to concentrate on listening for the sound he had heard, and was finding it frustrating that Mr. Motor-mouth was barely pausing for a breath.  “I’m sure I heard something,” he insisted.
          “Maybe we’d better check it out,” Barnaby suggested.
          “Check what out?” Glenn asked.  “There’s still a lot of snow piled up on the road coming up from the highway.  There’s no way anyone else could get up to this place.”
          “You did,” J.R. reminded him.
          “Well, yeah, but –“
          Barnaby and J.R. stood up, but as they turned toward the door, they saw a man enter the room.  He was tall and ethnic in appearance, with dark hair and a dark complexion.
          He flashed a pleasant smile, his mouth filled with very white teeth against his dark complexion.  “Well, I see we have guests.  I’m glad you went ahead and let yourselves in.  How long have you been here?”
          “Two days,” Barnaby replied.  “You are?”
          “I’m Jose Aguilero, the chief chef of this resort.  I’m sorry I’ve been unable to get to work since the blizzard.  It took me a full day to dig my car out of the driveway!  I hope you have been finding something to eat?”
          “Yes,” Barnaby smiled.  “We have.  But the women are going to be very happy to see you.  We’re the only ones here, though, us three men and three women.  Where is the rest of the staff and guests?”
          “The guests and some of the staff took a day trip into Reno Saturday morning, but that was the day the blizzard started, so they must have gotten snowed in.  The rest of the staff was given the time off while they were away, but like me, they were unable to get back to work.  It may be tomorrow before they can get the roads cleared off enough for the bus to get through.  The roads are treacherous!”
          “That’s for sure,” Glenn agreed, feeling vindicated by the chef’s description of the road conditions.
          “A day trip to Reno?” J.R. asked, casting an amused glance at Barnaby.  “That’s where everyone has been the past two days?”
          “Yes.  What did you think?  That they were all murdered or something, like in that movie?”
          J.R’s smile broadened and the twinkle in his eyes danced merrily, but Barnaby shook his head in his casual way, as if they had expected nothing out of the ordinary.  “Nah, we figured it was probably something like that,” he said as he sat down again.
          Glenn had fallen silent for a moment, an expression of intense concentration on his face as he tried to think what movie the chef was talking about.  J.R. could almost see the light bulb come on over his head.  “Oh! You mean The Shining? I wanted to see that, but I couldn’t get Vicky to go.”
          Jose turned toward the kitchen door, where the smells of food were starting to drift into the dining area.  “I’m afraid I am a bit protective when it comes to my kitchen, so I must relieve them.  Excuse me.”
          The chef pushed open the door to the kitchen, and disappeared from view.
          J.R. could contain his laughter no longer, and Barnaby joined him.  “A day trip to Reno!” the younger Jones exclaimed as he sank back into his chair.  “They were all on a day trip to Reno!”
          Their laughter was becoming almost hysterical, and Glenn looked from one man to the other, a puzzled expression on his face.  “What’s funny about that?” he asked.  “Lodges frequently arrange day trips for their guests.  I mean, that’s hardly anything unique.”
          “A private joke,” Barnaby replied, still laughing.
          Glenn looked a bit offended that he wasn’t being let in on the joke, but before he could comment, the door opened and the three women entered the dining room.
          Betty was smiling, happily.  “So, we now have a professional chef.  I guess that means I can officially retire from the duties.”
          Vicky squealed with excitement, causing J.R. to cringe at the shrillness of it.  “Ooo!  Look!” she said, pointing toward the window, where the beautiful mountain ranges could be seen in the distance.  “Isn’t it beautiful?  Let’s have a closer look!”  Grabbing Glenn by the hand, she dragged him from his chair so abruptly that he nearly fell before he could get his feet under him.
          "Easy, honey!" he exclaimed.
          "You've got to see this!" she told him.
          Submitting to the pull on his hand, he followed her  to the window for a better view.  Hillary joined them.
          Betty sank down in the chair that Glenn had vacated, and placed her hand on J.R.’s arm, leaning closer to speak to him privately.  “J.R., be glad Glenn got to her first!  She would drive you nuts!  She talks all the time!  Never shuts up!  I’m exhausted from just listening to her!  And that voice!”  She rolled her eyes.  “My goodness, a little of that goes a long way!”
          “Then her and Glenn are well suited to each other, because he never shuts up either!” J.R. told her.
          “Actually, they’ll probably drive each other nuts,” Barnaby told them.  ‘This marriage will probably end in divorce within two years because each one will try to out-talk the other one!”
          The Jones family began to laugh again, drawing curious glances from the trio at the window.  J.R. waved his hand in a dismissive fashion.  “Private joke,” he told them.
          The trio at the window whispered furiously, presumably about the strange detectives and their fondness for private jokes.  Gradually the laughter died down at the table.
          “Did you hear what happened to the other guests?” J.R. asked, laughter bubbling up inside him again.
          “No, what?”
          “They took a day trip to Reno!”
          Betty burst out laughing again.  “And here we were, wondering what mysteries were lurking behind every door!  I hardly slept at all that first night because I was afraid that something bad had happened!  The Case of the Missing Guests turned out to be The Case that Wasn’t!”


                                                          ~~  The End ~~

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