Read Online Slain in Schiaparelli (Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 3) by Angela M. Sanders - Free Book Online Page B

less—wasn’t going to happen soon. Joanna hesitated. The Schiaparelli gown. Should she slip into the room and hang it up? Penny probably hadn’t thought of it. She could even take it back to her room and return it to its archival bag. No. She’d best leave Penny to rest.
    Upstairs, neither Daniel nor Clarke seemed surprised to see the rest of the household, minus Penny and the chef, file into the attic. The men had pried the battery from Bette’s BMW and must have used a towel as a sling to carry it up two flights of stairs—grease-stained terrycloth lay over the chair’s back. Marianne leaned against Daniel’s side. He looped an arm around the girl’s shoulders.
    “Coffee—thanks.” Clarke wrapped both hands around the mug.
    The radio emitted a burst of static. Daniel nudged its dial. “Redd Lodge here, Redd Lodge here,” he said into the handset.  
    A voice replied, too fuzzy to understand.
    “We can’t quite hear you.” Daniel edged the dial another millimeter. Bette leaned closer.
    “Redd Lodge, this is Mount Hood Forest Service,” a voice replied. Joanna’s heart leapt. The voice was clearer but still difficult to make out. “What’s going on? Over.”
    “We’re snowed in,” Daniel said, “And we have—uh, we have a medical issue. We need the police. Over.”
    “The storm is a big one. Won’t let up until tomorrow, tomorrow night. We can’t get in before then. Is it urgent? Over.”
    Daniel’s face fell. Undoubtedly he was thinking of Wilson. It could hardly be called urgent now. And if they were careful, they had enough wood and food for at least another day. It would be wrong to call in help when other people’s lives might be at stake. “No. I suppose not,” he said.
    “Check in tomorrow, Redd Lodge. Over.”
    But another night at the lodge meant another night with a dead body. At least they should report it, let the authorities make the decision about how urgent it was. She leaned toward the handset just as Daniel replaced it. “Wait. Don’t hang up.”
    Too late. Only static came from the radio.  
    “Is it important?” Daniel asked. “I could try to get them back.”
    The crowd gathered around the radio looked at her.  
    “We should radio them back and tell them that Wilson…you know,” Joanna said, looking at Sylvia with a quick glance toward her daughter. “Maybe they’ll still wait until the storm is over to come get us, but maybe they’ll decide it’s more important than that. The point is, it should be their choice. Plus, it looks suspicious if we’re in radio contact but hiding it.”
    “I’ll take Marianne downstairs,” Sylvia said. “Come on honey, we’ll look at your beetle book.”
    “But I want to see the radio work again,” the little girl said.
    “Uncle Daniel will tell us all about it in a little while. Come on.” Sylvia led her away.
    “Okay,” Daniel said when the attic door closed behind Sylvia and Marianne. “I get it. I’ll radio them again.” Daniel lifted the handset, but Clarke took it from his hand and set it aside.
    “We can’t go on the airwaves saying that Wilson is dead. Are you kidding? Every disaster fiend in the county is listening to their radios now, and once they got hold of this story they’d flip out. We’d be mobbed the second we left the lodge,” Clarke said. “Besides, it’s not respectful of Wilson.”
    “True,” Bette said. “Penny doesn’t need that kind of scene right now.”
    “I really don’t think it should be our decision, though. Doesn’t—” Joanna began.
    “The matter is closed,” Clarke said. “We’ll tell them tomorrow, when the storm has died down and they can actually take care of it.”
    Daniel clicked off the radio. Only the howl of the wind cut the silence.  
    “All right. I guess I’m outvoted,” Joanna said. “But don’t leave. Not yet, please.” Bette was halfway to the door and turned. “Since we’re all here—at least, most of us are—and we’ll be here at