Bantam of the Opera

by Mary Daheim

“Hmmmm. That’s sort of interesting.” Judith forced her eyes to stay open. “In other words, somebody walked off with it during all the confusion over Pacetti. But how do you hide a thermos?”

  “Do you need to? Who would question somebody running around carrying a thermos? Who would notice, with everybody concerned about Pacetti?” Woody’s voice was beginning to fade.

  “Where are you, Woody?” Judith heard noises somewhere in the house. Perhaps Plunkett or Schutzendorf had finally returned.

  “I’m home. Sondra’s in the bathroom. She got back from the baby shower just after I got in.” It was his turn to yawn.

  Judith’s maternal instincts stirred. “Go to bed, Woody.”

  “What? Oh, yes, I will. Good night.”

  “Good night.” Fumbling a bit, Judith replaced the phone. She went to sleep with her hand still on the receiver.

  To Judith’s astonishment, Dr. George Inouye had a cancellation for Thursday morning at ten-thirty. Judith jumped at the chance to see the eye doctor so soon. For the rest of Wednesday, she tried to pretend it was just routine at the B&B. Phyliss arrived at nine, complaining of excessive earwax, aching hip joints, and an unsatisfactory session with the dentist.

  “Four shots of novocaine, and he drilled halfway to my hat,” she groused, spraying polish on the breakfront in the dining room. “It’s a crown, so I have to get along with a temporary for two weeks. It’ll fall out, you can be sure of that.”

  Skjoval Tolvang had come to work even earlier, and his progress on the toolshed was remarkable. Judith knew she should have been pleased, but if he finished up by the weekend as promised, she would have to face Joe with a fait accompli as soon as he got off the plane. The prospect didn’t cheer her. Would Joe blow? It was hard to tell.

  As for her guests, all of them vacated the house for most of the day. Bruno Schutzendorf was the first to leave, humming Franz Lehár and twirling his walking stick. Amina Pacetti announced that she must get outside and breathe real air or go quite mad. Winston Plunkett had hired a car and the two of them intended to drive off into the autumn sunshine. Before they could get away, Judith cornered Plunkett in the entry hall.

  “You must be aware that Tippy has been found,” she said, keeping her voice low in case Amina should appear from upstairs.

  If Plunkett had recognized Judith in Renie’s car the previous night, he gave no sign. “Really!” His manner proclaimed mild surprise, but Judith thought that a flicker of emotion sparked in his gray eyes. “We owe her money for her wages. I hope she contacts us.”

  Judith wanted to press Plunkett further, but Amina was descending into the entry hall. For the time being, Judith kept her own counsel.

  Phyliss Rackley, however, did not. “This is the worst bunch of guests you’ve ever had,” she announced, emerging from Amina’s room carrying an overflowing wastebasket. “This one leaves cotton balls and tissues all over the place. Magazines, clothes, jewelry tossed this way and that. That bookkeeper fellow or whatever he is writes himself little notes and they fall on the floor, the bed, even the sink! What’s he got, amnesia? And that German!” Phyliss sidled closer to Judith and lowered her voice. “Did you know he’s drinking wine in his room? Three bottles I’ve thrown out! And dirty glasses all over the place. Drink is the Devil’s own work. How do these people expect to get to heaven if they aren’t sober and neat? Nurse Fiske is the only one who tidies up after herself. A fine woman, that.” Phyliss huffed and puffed as she started toward the stairs. “Oh!” she added, turning to glance at Judith over her shoulder. “Some of the flowers have died. Shall I throw them out?”

  “I’ll do that,” Judith replied. “Which ones?”

  Phyliss started down the stairs. “That big ugly bouquet in Mrs. P.’s room and the ones you put on the German’s dresser. Waste of effort with him, if you ask me. He’s probably too intoxicated to notice…” Her voice trailed off as she disappeared from view.

  Judith went into Schutzendorf’s room first. Sure enough, the dahlias and the asters were definitely drooping. She picked up the Wedgwood vase, then realized she could refill it with the flowers from Tippy’s vacated room. First, however, she decided to take a quick look around Schutzendorf’s quarters. Nothing struck her as particularly unusual. The small closet contained his evening clothes and top hat, a half dozen shirts, a plaid bathrobe, two vests, three jackets, four pairs of pants, dress shoes, sturdy boots, and walking shoes. Everything, it seemed, except the outfit he had been wearing, which consisted of his basic Tyrolean cape, pants, jacket, shirt, and snap-brimmed cap. His large suitcase was empty; the smaller one contained three bottles of Sekt. His briefcase was locked.

  Judith decided to take a peek at Plunkett’s room, too. His closet also revealed no surprises, though the uniformity of the business manager’s wardrobe brought a faint smile to Judith’s lips. So did the small, open wooden chest filled with fishing flies. Red, orange, black, and yellow lures reposed in separate compartments. Judith was reminded of Uncle Cliff, whose collection of fresh-and salt-water tackle had been formidable. The notes Phyliss had mentioned also intrigued her. Apparently the cleaning woman had picked them all up and tucked them inside the blotter on the dressing table. Leafing through them, Judith saw that they were mainly names, addresses, and phone numbers. Except for their universal scope, there was nothing of much interest. Even his random doodles were dull, a series of loops and an occasional rectangle. The one small slip of paper that made Judith pause showed a triangle. At each corner, Plunkett had written a name—Tippy, Inez, Justin. His own initials appeared in the middle. A love triangle? But where did Plunkett fit in with this trio? A conspiracy? To promote Justin Kerr’s career? That seemed more likely. But there was always another, uglier possibility…

  Judith fetched the flowers from Tippy’s former room. They were on the wane, but would last another day or so. She threw out Schutzendorf’s wilted bouquet, realized that there was no water in the Wedgwood vase, and went into the bathroom to fill it. She emptied what was left of the water from the Lalique vase that had been in Tippy’s room, then quickly arranged the blooms for Schutzendorf. He’d probably never notice the change, but Judith hated wilted bouquets.

  On a whim, she opened the medicine chest. The two men had divvied up the space. Plunkett apparently had taken the two bottom shelves, since they contained shaving equipment that the bearded Schutzendorf wouldn’t need. There were also a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth-wash, aspirin, vitamins, dental floss, and an over-the-counter sleep aid. Schutzendorf duplicated several of the items, but had more medications: antacid, nasal spray, antihistamine, and a prescription for something called isosorbide dinitrate. Judith examined the last bottle closely. It had been prescribed for Bruno Schutzendorf Sunday and had come from Bayview Hospital Pharmacy. The directions were for “one tablet every three to five minutes at the onset of irregular heartbeat.” The medication must have been prescribed for Schutzendorf after his overnight stay at the hospital.

  Amina’s bedroom was next, where Judith again made a quick perusal. Phyliss had done her usual crackerjack job of cleaning, and all seemed in order. The closet was crammed, the dresser was crowded, the bureau drawers were stuffed. A thorough search would take too long. Judith still had a heavy schedule of errands to run. She grabbed the crystal vase with the faded exotic flowers and took it down to the kitchen. The bouquet went into the garbage can under the sink; so did something else. Judith heard a soft thud. She extracted the plastic container in which Justin Kerr had brought the bouquet. She dug among the wilted ginger, heliconia, and bird of paradise. She felt a hard object, caught among the long stems. Judith clasped it in her fingers.

  She had no idea what a vial of Strophanthin would look like, but somehow she had the feeling she was holding one in her hand. It was empty; it had no label. Judith went straight to the phone and called Woody. Predictably, he wasn’t in. Judith sat on the kitchen stool for a long time, trying to figure out what the discovery meant. Something else was bothering her, too, somet
hing she had seen upstairs. Or not seen? She couldn’t put her finger on whatever seemed to be wrong. Maybe she should have made a more thorough search of Amina’s belongings. But she had no idea how long the bereaved widow and the business manager would be gone. Judith decided she’d better tend to business.

  Putting the small bottle into a plastic bag, she zipped it into the inner pocket of her big handbag, then headed out on her errands. The list was long; time was short. Judith toured hardware and appliance stores, seeking fixtures for Gertrude’s new lodgings. Despite her best bargain-hunting skills, she returned out of sorts and out of pocket. Another grand had gone down the drain, or at least into a new one, along with a toilet, sink, shower stall, small refrigerator, and toaster oven. The rest of the furnishings could come out of the house or the collection that Gertrude had moved into Aunt Deb’s apartment.

  Judith was holding her head in one hand and a stiff scotch in the other when Renie called around four. She had drawn a blank with the P.R. person at the Henderson Cancer Center.

  “Ernestine wasn’t being discreet,” reported Renie. “She just flat out said that Pacetti had never been there. I’ve come to know her fairly well during the course of this project. If he had been treated and she didn’t want to disclose the fact, then she’d have been coy.”

  “Another theory shot to hell,” sighed Judith. “What’s your reaction to the bottle in the bouquet?”

  “Two Strophanthin bottles in the props?” Renie sounded a trifle incredulous. “On the other hand, why not? Why one in the first place? Why not forty-eight of the damned things? The question is, was it there when Inez and Justin brought the flowers to Amina? Did somebody else put in there after the arrangement arrived at the house? And, if tea is an antidote, and there wasn’t enough Strophanthin missing from the original vial, would this second full shot have done the job? Now how’s that for an answer to your question?”

  “Whew,” Judith replied, “I guess I won’t ask you anything else. My brain feels like Mother’s overcooked oatmeal mush. I’d about to give up on this one. I’d better go do something really fun, like clean out the fridge.”

  Some of the items her guests had purchased the previous week were going bad. Judith threw out romaine lettuce, radicchio, tomatoes, and half a cucumber. Renie’s earlier remark about turning into their mothers had spurred her on. Judith was determined not to hoard items that might be mistaken for museum relics or laboratory specimens. On her way to the garbage can, she saw Corinne Dooley on the other side of the picket fence, raking leaves.

  “Hey,” shouted Judith, “you want your lily-of-the-valley pips?”

  Corinne looked up, her wide, good-natured face flushed with exertion. “Sure. You know me, with this family, I’ve got a refrigerator that would hold a moose. I’ll send Dooley over to get them after he finishes his paper route. I’ve got to start dinner.”

  Back inside, Judith searched for the plastic bag that contained Corinne’s pips. Vaguely, she recalled that she hadn’t seen them a few days earlier either, when she’d offered some to Renie. Surely they had got stuck behind the myriad jars and containers that filled the bottom shelf. Judith kept looking.

  But after going over every inch of shelving, drawers and racks, she found no sign of the pips. It didn’t seem likely that any of her guests would have thrown them out by accident. Indeed, they hadn’t bothered to throw out their own rotting produce. Judith was standing in front of the refrigerator, chewing on her lower lip, when Edna Fiske entered the kitchen.

  “I hope Mrs. Pacetti doesn’t overexert herself,” Edna remarked with a worried air. “She and Mr. Plunkett have been gone for hours. Would you mind if I made a cup of tea?”

  “No, go ahead.” Judith was still frowning at the refrigerator. “I don’t suppose you noticed a bag of little tuberlike things in here?”

  “You mean shallots or something?” Edna was filling the teakettle.

  “Not exactly. They’re thin, with a runner and roots. Lily-of-the-valley pips, to be precise. I was saving them for my neighbor.”

  Edna Fiske was shocked. “In the refrigerator? My, that’s risky! They’re highly toxic, you know. A person can die from merely drinking the water in which the flowers have been placed. You should have kept them in a cool place, like your basement.”

  Judith gave Edna a faintly remorseful look. “I had the bag tied pretty tight. Anyway, I don’t think anybody would mistake them for…” Her jaw dropped and she gaped at Edna. “My God! You say they’re poisonous?”

  “Oh, very,” Edna replied, taking a tea bag out of the cannister on the counter. “You’d be surprised how many ordinary plants and shrubs and flowers are potentially dangerous. It’s no wonder so many children get poisoned in their own backyards. Or drinking the water that picked flowers have been in. Why, when I was working the pediatric wing at…” It was her turn to stop and stare in horror. “Mrs. McMonigle! Are you thinking that Mr. Pacetti ate those pips?”

  “I sure am,” Judith said, running her hands through her short silver-streaked hair. “There were at least two dozen of them. Would that do it?” Judith knew she had turned very pale; Edna also looked ashen.

  “Oh, definitely.” The teakettle boiled, making both women jump. With hands that were none too steady, Edna poured the hot water into a mug. “I’m not an expert in toxicology, but I know that lily-of-the-valley pips are often mistaken for wild garlic, and if used in quantity, can cause death.”

  Judith had already sat down at the kitchen table, drinking the dregs of her scotch. Edna joined her, dipping the tea bag in and out of the mug in a jerky motion.

  “That’s got to be it,” breathed Judith, staring now at Edna’s tea. “What do you know about Strophanthin?”

  Edna wrinkled her long nose. “The heart medication? Not a great deal. It’s uncommon in this country. I believe the antidote is…strong tea.” She gazed into her mug with a certain amount of revulsion.

  “How much of it would it take to kill someone? Especially,” Judith added with a lifted eyebrow, “if that person had drunk a lot of tea?”

  “Oh, my.” Edna’s big teeth clamped onto her lower lip. “Quite a lot, I should think.”

  Judith got her purse form the counter and produced the empty bottle. “Does it come in something like this? Would a bottle this size be enough?”

  The nurse examined the little vial through the plastic bag. “I couldn’t say, really…I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it. Frankly, I’d be dubious. I presume you’re talking about Mr. Pacetti? Besides taking the antidote, he was quite a big man. Around, I mean. I can only guess, but I would calculate that it would require three or four times that amount for a lethal dose. Under the circumstances.”

  “Ah.” Judith leaned back in her chair. “That explains it. Or could. Except…” She frowned again. The pieces were there, but they didn’t yet fit together. “How would a person use those pips, I wonder?”

  Edna Fiske considered carefully. “Any number of ways. Most likely, I should think, in food. A salad, a casserole, anything that had a lot of ingredients. I have no idea what they taste like.” She shuddered. “Mr. Pacetti was the sort who bolted his food. Unhealthy, but typical.”

  “Very unhealthy,” muttered Judith, wondering why Edna’s statement should jar her any more than the nurse’s usual pronouncements on health. Judith gazed at her refrigerator as if it had betrayed her.

  “Strophanthin,” mused Edna Fiske, apparently having composed herself. “It’s a heart medication, a form of digitoxin. Which is interesting, given this particular situation.” Having come to grips with the horror of it all, Edna Fiske’s homely face brightened with professional zeal. She actually preened a little in her crisp white uniform. “Another thing I remember about lily of the valley is that it’s often mistaken for digitalis. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a medical examiner to come up with the incorrect poison.”

  In Judith’s brain, the pieces shifted around, like peas in a shell game. “No kidding!” Suddenly, she was
anxious for Edna to go away. Judith wanted to call Renie. And Woody, too.

  But Edna Fiske was inclined to linger over her tea. “In nursing school, I was very intrigued by poisons,” she said. “People don’t realize that almost every ingestible item they have in their house or garden is potentially toxic. You realize, I assume, that Mr. Pacetti may have eaten those pips by accident.”

  Judith blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that.” It was, of course, possible. But somehow Judith didn’t think it was likely. On the contrary, the accident theory sounded like a good cover-up for a murderer.

  Dooley had arrived a few minutes later, his carrier’s pouch still slung around his neck. The lanky blond teenager was a member of the Police Auxiliary, and as such, entitled to take on certain law enforcement duties. He had been an enthusiastic amateur sleuth during the fortune-teller investigation and had also joined in to help track down the killer of a fellow parishioner at Easter time. But over the summer, Dooley had found a new passion—Brianna Stein, the fifteen-year-old daughter of Judith’s neighbors at the end of the cul-de-sac. Dooley had thus far been indifferent to the poisoning of Mario Pacetti.

  “Sorry, Dooley,” said Judith, who had finally been left alone by Edna Fiske and was about to call Renie, “I’ll have to dig up some more pips. The ones I was saving for your mother got…lost.”

  Dooley shrugged. He had, Judith decided, grown at least two inches since she’d seen him up close a few weeks earlier. At almost sixteen, he was well over six feet of arms, legs, and erratic blond hair. “That’s okay,” he said. “I don’t even know what pips are.”

  “They’re not the berry things you sometimes see on the plants. They’re more like rootstock,” Judith explained, surprised at Dooley’s lack of botanical knowledge. Unlike the majority of his peers, Dooley was a voracious reader, with a retentive memory. Judith wondered if he’d given everything up in the name of puppy love. From the looks of his too-skinny frame, she decided that he’d definitely given up eating. “Have you quit Police Auxiliary work?” Judith asked as Dooley lounged in the doorway.