RESORT TO MURDER (2 page)

"Maggie, you're not coming with us to
Bethany Beach?” Her mother's shocked, hurt voice still sounded in
her head.

"Mom, I've gone with all of you to Bethany
for every summer of my life. I want to do something on my own for a
change."

Maggie still saw her
mother's face, non-understanding,
mis
understanding. The family had
always vacationed together, including grandparents, aunts and
uncles, and cousins. They had loved it as kids, hadn't they, she
and her brother Joe? Why should that stop? What was
wrong?

What was wrong was Maggie now felt smothered
by it all, but she couldn't tell her mother that. Or her dad. She
knew he was hurt too, and neither of them would understand. Which
added to her frustration. But at least Joe would go, her
easy-going, younger brother Joe, in graduate school now and
perfectly content to come and go as the family dictated on his days
off.

Part of the problem was that Maggie had
exactly one week of free time. She had signed up to work at a
summer math camp for middle-school kids. It ran in three-week
segments, beginning a week after school, and she would be working
up to the start of the next school year.

She would have loved to be
able to take the whole summer off, but she needed the money to
finish paying off lingering college debts. So this was her only
time to relax, seven days to do exactly what
she
wanted to do, for a change. And
she didn't particularly want to spend it tagging after relatives at
the beach like a twelve year old, listening to the same old stories
that came up over and over. She loved her family, of course, and
she always would. But they would just have to face it. She had
grown up.

Maggie frowned at the road ahead of her, her
muscles tight, and she realized this was no way to start a
vacation. She shook off all the negative thoughts that had been
causing her tension and switched from replay to fast forward. She
thought of the Highview, and wondered what it would be like.

She was excited about
going there, but an uneasy worry crept in. Maybe she had made a
mistake, rushing with her plans. Besides, what did Mac and Ali
consider a pleasant get-away place, anyway? It wasn't as if she
knew them all
that
well. For all she knew they might be week-end nudists. At the
thought of this Maggie laughed out loud.

She toyed with the idea that the Highview
might be a sunny, mountain nudist resort. She then tried to picture
her dignified co-worker at a nudist colony, but her mind kept
wrapping a modest sheet around his portly shape, toga-style, and he
spouted verses from "Julius Caesar" to his equally modest wife as
they lounged beside a pool.

Maggie reached for a sourball from a small
bag on the passenger seat, unwrapped it, and popped it into her
mouth. Tangy Cherry. Well, she knew some things about the place. It
had a pool. And tennis courts. And judging from the name, a great
view, which was all she required for now. Having checked the map
carefully before taking off, she knew too that it wasn't far from
the Civil War battlefield of Antietam, and the farmhouse where John
Brown had stayed as he planned his raid on nearby Harper's Ferry,
West Virginia. If the Highview got too quiet, she could always
sightsee.

Small towns whizzed by, and she began to
amuse herself with math games to pass the time. Let's see, if I
left Baltimore at one o'clock, driving up Route 70 at 50 miles an
hour.... No, let's make it harder, 47 miles an hour, and someone
left Hagerstown, Maryland, which is what – 60 miles away? – at one
forty-five, driving at 42 miles an hour, where would we meet and at
what time?

She grinned as she recalled groans from the
rest of the class when this kind of question came up in what -
fifth grade? sixth? But she'd always loved it, because she could
come up with the answer, eventually, with a little scribbling with
pencil and paper. And now she could do it in her head, while
driving, to pass the time. Well, some people can sing, or paint
pictures. She happened to be good with numbers. To each his/her
own. She continued her mental calculating.

She exited Interstate 70 West and took the
smaller and narrower roads that wound their way high into the
mountains. Towns gave way to farmlands, and fields of corn or
soybeans gave way to dense forests. Soon she found herself skirting
a sharply-rising slope up a mountain, with a guard rail on the
opposite side edging a steep drop while the road took several sharp
turns. Maggie slowed to a comfortable speed, grateful that no one
was behind her, and watched carefully for a sign that said
Highview.

Ah, there it was - a large, white-painted
board, weather-beaten enough to have been there from the Civil War
itself. Maggie turned, and heard the crunch of her tires on a
white, graveled driveway.

The driveway wound its own twisted way
through dense trees, and Maggie had to watch the road so closely
that she was startled when the trees suddenly ended. Before her
stood the Highview. She took a deep breath and smiled.

The Inn was a beautiful, modern lodge-hotel
tucked into the side of the mountain. The blending of stone and
natural-finished wood, along with large windows that reflected the
world outside, made it a part of its environment. Maggie noted too,
the understated landscaping as she drove up. Attractive but
unobtrusive, almost as if the plants and shrubs growing there had
sprung up from seeds that had dropped naturally in particularly
convenient and pleasing spots. A vision of peace and tranquility.
Just what she wanted.

She laughed when she spotted two guests
strolling on the grounds. They were clothed. Not in togas, but in
comfortable shorts and T-shirts. And they looked very relaxed and
contented, a condition Maggie hoped to reach as soon as
possible.

She parked her car and allowed a
college-aged boy from the Inn to help carry her bags into the
lobby. As she waited at the desk to be checked in, she did her own
checking out of the scene. Not bad, she thought, feeling her smile
grow as her eyes panned the spacious lounge area. Plump tan sofas
and chairs dotted the space, several facing large windows which
looked out onto green lawns and a blue, sparkling pool. Maggie
mentally plopped herself down on one of the couches, kicked off her
shoes and sighed with satisfaction.

The silvery-haired man in a navy blazer who
had been processing her necessary paper work behind the desk
interrupted her reverie. "You play?" he asked with a smile,
inclining his head towards the protruding tennis racquet handle of
one of the bags at her feet.

"I try," Maggie said.

"I asked that somewhat obvious question
because we keep daily lists of guests looking for tennis partners.
Another young lady called just a few minutes ago. She would like to
play this afternoon at four. Would you be interested?"

"Sure, as long as she's not a second Steffi
Graf."

"No, no," he said. "Nothing like that. The
young lady in question is Dyna Hall. She specifically asked for
someone who, and I quote, `didn't mind chasing moon-balls'."

"Sounds just about my speed. Four o'clock,
you said?"

"Yes, Miss Olenski. Or do you prefer Ms?” He
drew out his z-z-z's with a smile curving up the ends of his
mouth.

"Maggie's fine. Thanks..." she looked at the
name tag on his lapel, "Charles."

Maggie picked up her key and raised it to
him in farewell, then followed the bellboy to the elevator. She was
just about to step on when Charles called to her, waving a small
piece of paper.

"I just realized you have a message here,"
he said.

Maggie trotted back, puzzled, and took it.
Her brow puckered in annoyance as she scanned it. It was from her
mother, wanting her to call to let her know she had arrived safely.
Maggie shoved it in her pocket and resolved to wait before
responding. She would be able to handle it better after she had
wound down a little. But as she got back on the elevator and
watched the bellboy punch her floor button a small guilt feeling
crept in, which annoyed her even more.

Forty-five minutes later, unpacked and
wearing white cotton shorts and a green T-shirt, her brown hair
pulled back into a ponytail, Maggie followed the signs to the
tennis courts. She crossed the sunny expanse of lawn that stretched
away from the pool area, then stepped onto a mulched pathway that
became a cooler, sun-dappled passageway through the wooded area,
with thick branches touching overhead. She took deep breaths of the
sweet, woodsy fragrance as she walked. It took only a few steps to
lose sight of both pool and hotel and to see nothing ahead but
plant life.

A lifelong city-dweller, Maggie was suddenly
transported to another world, one much darker and quieter than any
backyard garden or city park she had ever been in. The
unfamiliarity began to make her uneasy. Her steps slowed, and she
started looking more closely at the terrain as she went. What was
that on the path up there? A snake! No, just a twisty dead branch.
She began to wish she weren't quite so alone. How far were those
courts?

The temperature was at least ten degrees
cooler than it had been out in the sun, and Maggie rubbed her bare
upper arms, shifting racquet and tennis balls. A branch brushed her
leg and made her jump. She laughed nervously at herself. Maggie
walked on for what seemed too long a time, then turned a sharp
corner in the pathway. She drew a quick breath. There, up ahead,
finally, were the courts.

"Should have warned me to wear my hiking
boots," she grumbled. "It wouldn't surprise me if I saw a moose
grazing over by one of the courts."

As she got closer, she noticed a definitely
un-mooselike creature watching her. He was tall, dark, and had
better legs than any moose she’d ever seen. Judging from his
Highview-labeled shirt and shorts she guessed he was the tennis
pro.

"Hi," he said as she drew closer, and as if
all his other attributes weren't enough, long, masculine dimples
appeared as he smiled. "Need any help?"

Taking a calming breath, Maggie said, "No,
not now that I've actually found this place. But I was beginning to
wonder if these courts were somewhere in West Virginia."

The dimples deepened as he grinned. "I know
what you mean," he said. "I think they had to searched hard for the
most level spot they could find. A lot of people complain about the
time it takes to get here. You need a court?"

"I'm supposed to meet Dyna Hall for a match.
I assumed she reserved one."

"Let's take a look.” He led Maggie into the
sports shop, a low, red brick building, and checked the sign-up
sheets spread out on a counter. "Dyna Hall...." He ran his left
hand down the list, which Maggie noticed was ringless. "Yup! Here
she is. Court five. She's signed in and should be over there
now."

"Thanks," Maggie said, turning to leave.

"Hold on, your name is...?” He grabbed a
pencil and held it poised.

"Maggie Olenski. O-l-e-n-s-k-i."

He wrote her name then smiled at her. "Hi,
Maggie. I'm Rob Clayton. Resident tennis pro. If you need any
lessons, I'm the one to call.” He flashed her a set of clean,
straight teeth and gave her a look that lasted a fraction of a
second too long, and Maggie was annoyed to find herself becoming
flustered. She pretended a sudden, overwhelming interest in a
nearby rack of warm-up suits to cover her reaction.

"Well, we'll see how I do today," she said,
as she examined a silky sleeve.

You've been cloistered in the classroom for
too long, she chided herself when she finally managed to walk away
from the building. One slightly attractive male smiles at you and
you react like a fourteen-year old. But there was something about
his easy flirtation that bothered her, too. Maybe it seemed just a
little too practiced?

She shrugged off the thought and watched the
activity on the courts as she walked along the outside of a high,
green fence. A couple of mixed doubles games were in progress on
courts one and two, and two flushed and sweating, middle-aged males
rested on the sidelines of court three. A solitary woman worked on
her serve on court four, reaching regularly into a tall orange
basket filled with balls. Court five, as Maggie approached it,
seemed at first glance to be empty.

Maggie looked around and finally saw a
figure seated crosslegged near the net, her back against the fence.
As Maggie approached she realized the young woman's eyes were
closed.

"Are you all right?" Maggie asked, after some
hesitation.

"Meditating."

"What?"

"Meditating."

"Oh. I'm sorry.” Maggie stepped back,
wondering what to do. She walked a few feet away, and put her gear
down, glancing back at the person she assumed to be Dyna Hall. She
was blonde, with her thick, curly hair bunched and pinned in an odd
arrangement. She wore purple sweatpants cut down to shorts and a
sleeveless top. Maggie watched the woman on court four hit her
serve into the net a few times, then looked back again at Dyna. She
was just considering slipping quietly away when the woman's eyes
snapped open.

"There," she said, and jumped up, brushing
off her backside.

Too late. Maggie smiled and walked over.

"You must be Maggie,” the meditator said.
“Hi! I'm Dyna - with a `Y'. Everyone gets it wrong, so don't worry.
Sorry to make you wait, but I always try to meditate before I do
anything challenging. It really helps. You ever try it?"

Maggie looked at her prospective opponent's
open friendly face and decided she'd probably like her, despite
definite indications of oddness. She was about Maggie's age,
possibly a year or two younger, with a pretty face and a sturdy
figure. Her blonde hair was many-shaded, going from light brown
near the scalp to near white at the ends, and had a few streaks of
orange here and there.