Bantam of the Opera

by Mary Daheim

  Winston Plunkett wandered into the kitchen, looking vague. His hostess’s presence didn’t seem to surprise him, not even at such a late hour.

  “I can’t sleep,” he announced. “Actually, I’d just drifted off when something woke me. I thought I might get a glass of mineral water.”

  “Sure,” said Judith, going to the refrigerator and trying to conceal her nervousness. “Maybe the noise you heard was the wind. Or me, coming back downstairs.”

  But Plunkett shook his head. “No, it was much closer. Doors opening and closing. I’m a very light sleeper.”

  Judith’s hands shook as she opened the bottle of mineral water. She kept her back to Plunkett as she poured the liquid into a glass. “Are you leaving tomorrow for sure?”

  “I hope so,” said Plunkett, with more feeling than usual. “I’d like to be done with all of this, once and for all.”

  Judith finally turned and handed the glass to Plunkett. “Oh? Have you resigned?”

  Plunkett thanked Judith, then sipped slowly. “It’s not a question of resigning. I signed a lifetime contract with Mario Pacetti. It expired when he did.” The faintest hint of a smile played around Plunkett’s thin mouth.

  “Really. What will you do now?” Judith kept her shaking hands behind her back.

  Plunkett didn’t meet her gaze. “I’m considering a new post.”

  “With Justin Kerr?” Judith phrased the question innocently.

  Now, Plunkett stared at Judith. “Why—yes. How did you know?” Before she could reply, he actually smiled, giving his normally lackluster features a certain gray wolfish charm.

  “It would be an obvious choice, since Justin has just signed a recording contract and appears to be on his way up. He can’t let Tippy manage him forever. It must have been tough on her these past few months doing two jobs. And they’ll probably want to start a family one of these days.”

  Plunkett took a big swallow of mineral water. “My, you seem to know a great deal about this whole situation. How did you get the Kerrs to confide in you? I didn’t realize that Tippy and Justin were married until I went to see him at the Hotel Plymouth the other night.”

  “Oh,” Judith replied on a forced note of calm, “people tend to talk to me. I guess I invite confidences.”

  “Yes,” Plunkett agreed, studying Judith more closely. “You have a very open face. I suppose that’s why your business is so successful. People feel welcome here.” He set the glass down, then reached out to touch Judith’s arm. Involuntarily, she winced. “Excuse me,” he apologized, “I wanted to extend my thanks. You’ve been very gracious, considering you’ve had to put up with a terrible situation.”

  Judith removed her hands from behind her back, but leaned against the sink counter for support. “It’s been terrible for everyone,” she said, shaking hands with Plunkett. “Especially Mrs. Pacetti.”

  Plunkett sighed, then released Judith’s hand. “Yes,” he said in a dolorous voice. “Especially Mrs. Pacetti. But I’m not sorry I won’t be working with her anymore. She’s extremely spoiled.” Again, he gave Judith that incongruous smile.

  Judith girded herself for what was to come. “Tell me, Mr. Plunkett, was it you or Tippy who put the Strophanthin bottle on the prop table after Mr. Pacetti died?”

  If there had ever been any color in Winston Plunkett’s face, it now drained away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. “What’s this Stro…” He made an effort to sound bewildered and look amused.

  “Both of you admitted going back to the opera house Saturday night,” Judith said in a calm voice. “I’m just curious about which of you dropped the bottle on the table.”

  Winston Plunkett started backpedaling for the stairs. “Really, I’m quite flummoxed. Perhaps you should talk to Tippy. Good night, Mrs. Flynn.”

  “Good night,” Judith responded, watching him head for the back stairs in a state of near-panic. “But,” she added under her breath, “you’ll be the one to talk to Tippy…”

  As soon as his frantic tread faded, she went to the back door and stepped out on the porch, taking in deep gulps of fresh air. Quietly closing the door behind her, she made sure that it wasn’t locked. Clouds now rolled across the moon; the old orchard trees cast eerie shadows. The wind had grown sharper, colder. A few doors away, a garbage can blew over; nearby, shutters banged; the old house seemed to groan.

  From her vantage point on the porch, the toolshed looked all but finished. Skjoval Tolvang would complete the interior work the following day. According to his last report, he needed to install the sink and shower, then put on the finishing touches. Judith walked down the steps to gaze more closely at Tolvang’s handiwork. She had to stop calling it the toolshed. It was now what? The word “folly” came to mind, and Judith shook her head. This was no time to deal with what she and Skjoval Tolvang had wrought. Corazon Perez would arrive at any moment and Judith would deliver a murderer’s destiny into the policewoman’s hands. Judith wandered over to the birdbath and watched for headlights in the driveway.

  Instead, a car pulled slowly up to the curb in front of the house. A furtive figure hurried down the walk and got in. Judith frowned. Should she let them go? They wouldn’t get far, though. She nodded in satisfaction as the gray Ford sedan drove out of the cul-de-sac.

  Judith was sure it was Tippy who was driving. She was sure, too, that Tippy had put the half-empty bottle of Strophanthin on the stage table. It had been risky, not because of being seen—the vial was too small to catch anyone’s attention—but because by the time Tippy returned from the hospital and got the bottle from Justin, there was always the chance that the police would have finished their search. It had been a clever plan. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked out the way they had hoped.

  The back door opened slowly. A figure moved onto the porch, darted a look in the direction of the garage, then marched down the steps. Judith held her breath and didn’t dare budge. The other person also appeared to be waiting, large suitcase in hand. Waiting for what? thought Judith frantically. A cab? A hired car? Corazon Perez would pull up at any moment; almost thirty minutes had passed since the two women had spoken on the phone. Judith decided to act.

  “Hello there,” she called, brazenly stepping out from the shadow of the old apple tree. “Are you a late-night stroller?”

  A hearty chuckle grated on Judith’s ear. “No, no, I am merely…leaving,” replied Bruno Schutzendorf, his cape caught by the wind. “I catch what you call the red-eye to your East Coast.”

  “I see.” Judith took in the flapping cape, the snap-brimmed cap, the walking stick with its handle carved into a boar’s head. “I didn’t realize you were free to go. That is, Mr. Plunkett indicated you would all hear from the police in the morning.”

  Schutzendorf gave a scornful shrug. “He has already gone. Why should I not go, too? I await my cab.”

  “Oh.” A sudden inspiration struck Judith. “Which company did you call?”

  Schutzendorf frowned at Judith. “Which? The Checkered one, who else?”

  Judith waved a hand in a disparaging gesture. “Oh, no, Mr. Schutzendorf. Not Checkered Cabs. They can’t go to the airport. You see, we have taxi zones in this town. It’s been done to eliminate fighting over fares at the terminal,” Judith explained, fibbing only a little. “You have to call a different company. Here, I’ll do it for you.” She brushed past Schutzendorf and hurried into the house.

  It seemed to take forever for the Checkered Cab dispatcher to answer. When he finally did, Judith canceled Schutzendorf’s request. Then she dialed Perez’s number to make sure the policewoman was on her way to Hillside Manor. To her dismay, Judith got not Corazon’s answering machine, but Perez herself.

  “I’m just leaving,” said the policewoman, now fully awake and sounding perky. “I checked in with Ted and he thought I should have him as backup. I’m on my way to collect him, then we’ll be right over.”

  “Listen, Corazon,” Judith said in desperation, “our suspects
are leaving in droves. You folks had better get over here before it’s too late. In fact, maybe it already is.”

  “Oh.” Perez paused, then spoke rapidly into the receiver. “I’ll have a squad car there right away. Unless they’re still sorting things out at the Heraldsgate Tavern. They had quite a ruckus up there a few minutes ago. That’s why they haven’t been cruising around your place in the last hour or so. Hang tight until they get there.”

  “Hurry!” urged Judith. But Perez had already hung up.

  Starting back outside, Judith wondered if she should rouse Amina Pacetti. But would Amina help or hinder? Judith couldn’t take that chance. As casually as possible, she sauntered through the door. Schutzendorf startled her. He was standing on the back porch. His briefcase and luggage rested on the walkway.

  “You have sent for the proper cab?” he asked.

  Judith could have sworn that there was suspicion in his eyes. “Right. It’ll take a few minutes. I had to give directions. Sometimes the cabdrivers get confused. Because of the cul-de-sac, you see. Heraldsgate Hill is a bit of a maze, once you get off the beaten track.” She realized she was speaking much too fast. Her eyes darted to the driveway; her ears pricked for the sound of sirens.

  “Which cab did you summon?” Schutzendorf’s voice was remarkably soft.

  Judith jumped. “Yellow? Green? One of them, they both go to the airport. It took a while for them to answer.” Frantically, Judith wondered how much Schutzendorf had heard from the back porch. What had she actually said to Corazon? “I told them to hurry. And that it was getting late…” She gave Schutzendorf a ghostly smile.

  He inclined his head. Despite the wind, the houndstooth cap remained in place. “Yes, you said all those things.” In the bushy beard, his teeth looked almost like fangs. “But not to the taxi man, eh?”

  Judith gulped. “The dispatcher.”

  “No. Nein,” Schutzendorf added on a more emphatic, but still soft note. “You dispatch the police!”

  “The police?” Judith tried to laugh, at the same time darting glances around the backyard. Rankers’s house was dark; so were Dooleys’ and Ericsons’. Had Amina Pacetti been awakened by the wind? Judith opened her mouth to scream, but Schutzendorf deftly tucked his walking stick under his left arm, and grabbed her with his right.

  “March!” he growled, all but pushing Judith down the porch steps.

  Schutzendorf’s grasp was like steel. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Feeling numb, Judith willed her legs to propel her from the porch. She kept moving, straight into the howling wind, aware that her captor was shoving her in the direction of the toolshed.

  “Open,” he commanded, releasing her just enough so that she could reach the door.

  Judith could scarcely breathe. Fumbling at the brand-new brass doorknob, she finally got it to turn. Schutzendorf pushed her inside, still holding her tight. The wind blew the door shut behind them.

  “You pry,” he muttered. “You ask too many questions. So you know the truth. You spoil everything, all the precise plans. For your interference, you must die.” His tone was more vexed than furious. Judith would have preferred outrage to calm. But of course he was a most calculating man.

  The wind groaned and moaned over the new roof of the toolshed. More banging and bumping could be heard outside. It was turning into a typically stormy October night. Almost Halloween, Judith thought dazedly. Her head grew light; her knees went weak. She almost fell when Schutzendorf abruptly released her.

  In her terrified state, Judith couldn’t remember if Skjoval Tolvang had turned on the electricity in the toolshed yet. But her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. So, apparently, were Schutzendorf’s. He unscrewed the boar’s head from his walking stick. A lethal six-inch blade shot out, the steel catching the sudden glimmer of moonlight through the window.

  “So you scream,” Schutzendorf said complacently. “Who will hear you with this clamor of wind and flying objects?” As if to prove his point, the door blew open, then slammed shut again. “Tell me this, what mistake did I make? I hate mistakes!”

  Judith felt as if she were exploring her throat to see if she still had a voice. She knew her reply would doom her, but she had to say it. Schutzendorf knew she had learned the truth. “Your only mistake was poisoning Mario Pacetti in the first place.” She could hardly believe the words had actually come out. They felt dry and thin on her tongue. “And, of course, your hat.”

  The walking stick weapon never wavered in Schutzendorf’s right fist, but he clapped his left hand to the snap-brimmed cap. “My hat? What do you mean?”

  Judith cleared her throat as the wind slammed some objects together outside. “You wore a Tyrolean hat when you arrived at Hillside manor. It was perfect with the cape and walking stick.” Her eyes darted to the dangerous blade and she swallowed hard before she could go on. “Then, a couple of days later, you started wearing that cap. It didn’t look right, it didn’t fit your jolly German image. My carpenter found a black feather in the garden. He thought my cat had killed a bird. But my cat’s been gone since the end of June. And the feather was too fancy—it looked like an osprey or something. Oh, there were other people here with feathers—Amina and Tippy—even Plunkett, with his fishing flies and Inez with Violetta’s fan. You lost that feather when you were digging up more pips. Maybe the medallion, too. Then Mr. Tolvang handed me a bunch of coins. They turned out to be Austrian Groschen. All of you probably had been in Salzburg, so that didn’t mean anything. I suppose the coins came out of your pocket when you were burying the thermos. You probably didn’t notice until later. You’d already ditched the hat because it wouldn’t look right without its feather and medallion. It wasn’t in your closet. Maybe you put it inside that locked briefcase.” Judith was leaning against the small partition that walled off Gertrude’s would-be bath and changing room. She shut her eyes briefly, trying to figure out how to keep stalling Schutzendorf. If the on-duty police car could get away from the melee at the Heraldsgate Tavern, they might arrive at any moment. And Corazon Perez and Ted Doyle should be along soon. But of course they would never think to look in the toolshed.

  Schutzendorf was nodding. “Clever. Ja, ja, you are no Dummkopf.” He took a step forward, raising the walking stick. “But now you vill be merely…dead!”

  Judith ducked as Schutzendorf raised the weapon. She only glimpsed the door swinging open again. She had slipped to her knees at the moment her attacker was struck from behind. She was cringing on the floor when she heard the voice from above.

  “No sneaky-pete city inspector comes after dark to check up on Skjoval Tolvang’s vork! That’s trespassing! I don’t need no permit, py golly! This is an inside yob!”

  Stunned, Judith dared to gaze up at her savior. “It sure was,” she croaked. “In more ways than one. Py golly!”

  EIGHTEEN

  JUDITH’S FEELING OF triumph wasn’t diminished one whit by the arrival of Patrolpersons Nancy Prentice and Stanley Cernak. The petite policewoman and her gangling sidekick performed their duties swiftly and efficiently. Indeed, Bruno Schutzendorf was still lying on the toolshed floor when the squad car rolled into the driveway. And Judith was still trying to convince Skjoval Tolvang that Schutzendorf wasn’t a snoopy city inspector, but a cold-blooded killer.

  “Vich is vorse?” sniffed Tolvang, returning his hammer to the tool belt he wore around his grimy coverall.

  By the time Schutzendorf had come ’round, Prentice and Cernak had been reenforced by Corazon Perez and Ted Doyle. Arlene Rankers showed up in her bathrobe, rousted not by the police cars or Tolvang’s rattletrap of a truck, but the arrival of the Checkered Cab, which had never received word of the cancellation and was sitting out in the cul-de-sac, horn blaring for its would-be passenger. At that point, Amina Pacetti had also appeared on the scene, cursing Schutzendorf in Italian, German, and French. Judith’s backyard looked like an all-night circus.

  After Schutzendorf had been handcuffed, read his rights,
and hauled off in the Prentice-Cernak vehicle, Judith had time to thank Skjoval Tolvang properly. The carpenter, however, dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his metal tape measure.

  “T’ink nothing of it,” he said. “I came to check out the shingles in this vind. And vile I vas about it, I’d a mind to make sure the electricity vorked. That vay, the rest of the yob can be done tomorrow. Donahues vant me to start early. But I see that briefcase outside,” Tolvang went on, “and I t’ink, Vell, vell, it’s The City, goddamit. This is a free country and they von’t get avay with that!”

  “And they didn’t,” Judith said less than forty-eight hours later as she and Renie joined their husbands for a postflight dinner in the high-rise dining room of a posh hotel near the airport. “At least Schutzendorf didn’t. But of course he also planned on getting away with Amina. Instead, she rolled off yesterday in the mauve RV, with Edna Fiske holding her hand. I had a feeling Amina would need a nurse to help her recover from Bruno’s treachery. Edna will probably enjoy the trip to Italy—and the funeral. Plunkett met them at the airport. After the services in Bari and winding up Pacetti’s affairs, Winnie will come back to work for Justin Kerr.”

  Joe signaled for the waiter to bring a second order of drinks. His round face was bemused as Judith summed up the events that had led to her unmasking of Mario Pacetti’s killer. “You deduced all of this from a Tyrolean hat? Come on, Jude-girl, give me a break! Everybody at headquarters is going to point and laugh when I walk in the door Monday morning.”

  Judith shot Joe an indignant look. “The hat was the clincher. Only two people had serious motives—Amina and Bruno, both for big bucks. Justin Kerr was ambitious, and Tippy shared his goals, but even for the world of opera, murder is a bit extreme. Inez wasn’t exactly broken up over her affair with Mario, though she, too, was pushing Justin, not only because he was her former stepson, but because she had the hots for him. That’s why Tippy and Justin had to keep their marriage quiet. If Pacetti wouldn’t help Justin, there was always Inez to fall back on, though I’m sure Tippy wouldn’t have liked the price her husband would have had to pay to show his gratitude. As for Plunkett, I considered him more seriously—if he was stuck with Pacetti in a lifetime contract and Pacetti was losing his voice—well, figure it out. The future looked a bit bleak. These seemingly bloodless creatures often have a darker side. But Winston Plunkett had an emotional side—and he wasn’t a killer.”