by Mary Daheim
“They might.” Renie frowned. “My contact in that department is fairly new. A woman . . . Janice . . . Santelli. I haven’t worked with that group for a long time. Shall I call her?”
Judith hesitated. “Oh, why not? Ruby might want to solve that little mystery. That is, if she’s still around to care about such things.”
“Don’t be so grim,” Renie chided, digging into her purse for her cell. “Ruby may be job-hunting. I can dial the billing bunch from memory.”
Judith resumed looking at Woody’s list while Renie was connected with Ms. Santelli. Caught up in focusing on the items, she didn’t zero in on her cousin’s make-nice conversation until the mention of a familiar name grabbed her attention.
“ . . . before you took over Marv Farrell’s job,” Renie said. “It’s been a while. Take your time. Thanks so much for humoring me.”
“Did you say Marv Farrell?” Judith asked as Renie put the cell back in her purse.
“I did. So what?”
“That’s the name of the guy you accused me of picking up at the track, you idiot! Or are there two of them?”
“You never introduced me,” Renie shot back. “How’d I know what his name was?”
“But it sounds as if you worked with him at the city’s lighting department,” Judith persisted.
“I did, a few years ago, but everything was over the phone. I never actually met the guy. You know how I hate meetings.”
Judith held her head. “You’re right. But I would’ve thought one of you might’ve recognized the other’s voice.”
“From business phone conversations? I assure you, I adopt a different persona when I’m working. Probably Marv did the same thing. And phones can distort voices to some degree.”
“Marv knew those horse-racing people,” Judith said. “So how does he figure in as far as this case is concerned? I remember now that he mentioned being transferred to another department after being a food inspector, but he didn’t say which one.” She shook her head in frustration and got up to pour herself a glass of water. “Instead of becoming clearer, this blasted case keeps getting murkier.”
“ ‘Through a glass darkly,’ ” Renie murmured as Judith sat down to take a sip of water.
“I don’t need quotations,” Judith said. “I need help.”
“I am helping. I’m talking about your glass. I think you just swallowed a bug.”
“Awwrrgg!” Judith cried, staring at the almost full glass. “You’re right. I mean you’re wrong. I didn’t swallow it, but there’s something in the bottom.” She got up and emptied the glass. “It’s not a bug. It’s just a speck that must have come off something in the dishwasher.” She rinsed out the glass and poured more water. Before she could sit down again, Renie’s cell rang.
“Hi, Janice,” she said. “That was quick.” She went silent, listening intently—and finally fretting her lower lip with her teeth. “Well. That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? . . . I see . . . Yes, it’s good PR. Thanks, Janice. I appreciate your time and trouble. Let me know when you make up your mind about the insert project.” Renie disconnected. “Opal’s bill was marked ‘paid in full’ and initialed by one of their linemen who later became head of the billing section—Marv Farrell.”
I wonder,” Judith mused after the shock had worn off, “how Opal paid off that bill.”
Renie looked somber. “With her body—or her life?”
Judith didn’t respond right away. “Motive?” she finally asked.
It was Renie’s turn to mull. “No sign of a struggle. I don’t recall any indication about Opal having had intercourse recently.”
“It was in Woody’s case notes. She had, but given that she was engaged, that’s not surprising. And Ruby was at Freddy Mae’s house most of that week, so there’d be privacy for Opal and Duke. Not that I think Opal was overly fussy about such niceties. I’m not saying she’d flaunt her amorous activities, but . . . you know what I mean.”
“Right. She’d close the bedroom door and try not to cry out too loud with ecstasy.”
“Did Janice mention a date on the payment of the light bill?”
“Yes, but she cautioned that you had to allow up to four or five days between payment and posting. It was within the time frame, but barely, being posted the Monday after Opal’s death.”
Again, the cousins grew pensive. Judith tried to imagine how Opal would have reacted to a virtual stranger coming into her house. On her guard? Maybe. But if the person had a viable reason, she’d take him—or her—at face value. What apparently was on Renie’s mind was another Pepsi. She’d gotten up to retrieve a second can from the fridge.
“The UPS delivery,” she said after sitting down. “The package with the dress. Was it on the porch?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean it hadn’t been inside the house first.”
“You mean if the delivery guy was the killer and he put it back out there after he did the deadly deed?”
“Right.” Judith sat up straight and stretched. “We’re going in circles. It’s after two. Let’s go question some people so we can become even more confused.”
“Okay,” Renie said. “I was beginning to think I got gussied up for nothing. But I’m taking my Pepsi with me. Who are we grilling this time?”
“We’ll start close to home,” Judith said, taking her jacket off the peg in hall. “We’re calling on the Frosches.”
“Hey,” Renie cried, “they know me as the flower lady!”
“They won’t recognize you. You’re all cleaned up.”
Renie looked skeptical, but kept her mouth shut for once. She even abandoned her Pepsi. The cousins went out the front way and crossed the cul-de-sac to the rental. After a long wait, Lainie opened the door.
“Yeah?” she said, looking wary.
“I’m Mrs. Flynn—you know. From Hillside Manor.” Judith gestured toward her house. “This is my cousin, Mrs. Jones. We were wondering how Brick was getting along.”
“He’s still a mess, but he’ll live,” Lainie replied.
“That’s encouraging,” Judith said. “I spoke with Vivian, your landlady. Uh . . . would you mind if we came in for just a moment?”
Lainie looked as if she did mind, but after a long pause she stepped aside. “Go ahead. Herb’s in the can. He’s getting ready for work.”
Judith glanced around the living room, which looked as if no one had done any housecleaning recently. The two easy chairs were covered with magazines and dirty TV-dinner trays. The sofa appeared to be where Lainie kept some of her clothes and cosmetics. She made no effort to clear away any of the clutter.
“What about Mrs. What’s-her-name?” she asked.
“She wanted to know when Mrs. Frosch’s funeral would be held,” Judith said. “Vivian knew Mrs. Frosch from years ago. She’d like to send some kind of memorial.”
“Herb decided not to have a funeral,” Lainie said. “He’s not religious. They cost too much. He had his wife cremated. Maybe he’ll keep her ashes around for a while.” She shrugged. “Whatev’. All I want is to go home. Brick and I only came over here for him to check out a race car that was for sale. Turns out he never got a chance to see it.”
Judith put on her most sympathetic expression. “That’s a shame. Will he be able to race again when he recovers from his accident?”
“It’s not like it’s any more dangerous than walking across the street. Not that Brick is going to win any big races. He’s lost his edge. He might have to get a real job.” Lainie made a disgusted face. “I didn’t think I was hooking up with a loser. Serves me right for dissing Dirk McQueen. Oh, what the hell—my own fault. Bad judgment.” She shrugged.
Judith was momentarily speechless. Renie spoke up, if only to prove she could talk. “You know who hit him?”
“No,” Lainie replied. “Brick never got a look at him.” She punched her fist into her palm. “It was like blam! He didn’t come to until the next afternoon. A kid, maybe, going too fast and too scared to stop.”
“Elma was his stepmom,” Lainie said. “They never got along too good. His dad’s okay.” She glanced into the hallway. “Jeez, what’s Herb doing in the can? Drowning himself? That sounds right about now with this bunch.”
“We should leave,” Judith said. “If you need anything, just—”
“I need a lot of things,” Lainie broke in. “But you can’t do any of ’em for me. Thanks anyway. See ya.” She turned and headed for the hall, apparently to see if Herb was underwater.
“She’s a piece of work,” Judith said when they got outside. “Let’s move on out. We’ll take your car for a change. It’s blocking the driveway.”
“Fine,” Renie said as they got into the Camry. “But I’d like to know where we’re going. Directions will help me get there.”
“Head downtown to Uncle Al’s former café on Fourth Avenue. The owners keep up with the sporting world. I want to check their archives or pick their brains for a big win when Opal might’ve gotten lucky. I know the approximate date. Who knows? We might hear some gossip about the current racing crowd.”
“Got it,” Renie said, pulling out of the cul-de-sac. “I could use a snack about now.”
“Go for it. What did you make of Lainie?”
Renie turned onto Heraldsgate Avenue, but slowed down as the traffic light at the bottom of the hill turned from amber to red. “She’s a self-serving twit with not enough class to qualify as a gold digger. She’d be lucky to find an agate.”
“You’ve nailed her,” Judith remarked. “I wonder if Brick was really hit by accident.”
Just before the light changed, Renie darted Judith a quick glance. “And if it wasn’t, then you think . . . ?”
“Lainie’s the one who hit him.”
Chapter 19
Downtown parking during the day was at a premium. After circling around the immediate area where the Sporting Chance Café was located, Renie finally dropped off Judith and said she’d park in a garage about a block away.
Getting out in front of their uncle’s former eatery and backroom betting establishment, Judith noticed that whoever now owned the place had done some refurbishing. The plain wooden door had been replaced with a Victorian-era oval of etched glass set in dark oak. Inside, the marble counter remained, though the dozen stools sported new green covers. The booths had also been reupholstered and the white globe ceiling lights were gone. Art Nouveau canopy shades hung in their place.
The café was fairly busy for midafternoon. Judith slid into an empty booth not far from the door. A young server with a black bow tie and long sideburns came over to ask if she was ready to order. Judith told him she was waiting for someone and was in no rush.
Five minutes passed and Renie hadn’t shown up yet. Maybe the garage had been full. It wouldn’t be uncommon during a workday. Having studied the menu, she was putting it aside when she heard a familiar voice and looked up to see Marv Farrell leaning on the back of the booth.
“We meet again,” he said. “It must be fate.”
“Have a seat,” Judith said, trying to hide her surprise. “But beware. My cousin is coming. Don’t steal her food or drink this time.”
“I’ve already eaten,” Marv said. “I’m just hanging around for the race results.”
“Funny you should mention . . .” She stopped as her cousin appeared.
“Good grief!” Renie exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you were rendezvousing with your secret lover from the track. Move over,” she said to Marv. “And keep any other moves to yourself. It turns out we know each other. How’s life after the billing section at the lighting department?”
“Good,” he replied, looking puzzled. “How do I know you?”
“I’m Serena Jones, graphic designer. We only talked on the phone way back when.”
Marv laughed. “I’ll be damned. I always pictured you as a willowy blonde with blue eyes that could cut glass. You’re a brown-haired squirt.”
“I’m in disguise,” Renie retorted. “Give me a menu or I’ll have to hurt you.”
Marv complied. “Why do I feel this meeting isn’t accidental?”
“But it is,” Judith said. “Our uncle used to own this place.”
Marv frowned. “Al Grover? I remember him. Helluva guy.”
“He still is,” Renie said. “I want a hamburger and fries. I can make something I don’t like for Bill tonight and then I’ll have an elaborate snack before I go to bed.”
The server returned. Renie gave him her order, adding a vanilla malt. Judith asked for chips and salsa. Marv mulled for a moment, finally saying he’d indulge himself with a slice of blueberry pie and a refill on the empty coffee mug he’d left at the fountain.
“Chips and salsa?” Renie said after the server had left. “That’s a lame snack, if you ask me. And you’re only drinking water?”
“I’m fine,” Judith said, sounding irked. “I like chips and salsa.” The truth was that it was the first item she’d glimpsed on the starter menu. Her brain was primarily engaged in thinking of ways to elicit information from Marv about his days as a lighting repairman in the Thurlow District.
It was Renie, however, who broke the brief silence. “Hey, Marv,” she began, “is it true that after being a food inspector, you had to hit the streets—or should I say the wires?—to keep everybody out of the dark?”
Marv chuckled. “I sure did, but only for a couple of weeks to—as they put it—‘get a feel for life in the field.’ I wore a hard hat, but I never had to climb any poles, thank God.”
Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “So what did you do? Watch other people climb poles and yell, ‘Look out! Here comes a woodpecker!’?”
Marv didn’t answer until the server had brought their beverages. “I checked on complaints, handled shutoff notices, did some safety inspections, whatever I could do and still stay on the ground.”
The food arrived. Judith saw an opening of her own in Marv’s recital of his experience in the field. “Wasn’t delivering shutoff notices as dangerous as being up on a pole?”
He shook his head. “I probably didn’t have more than a dozen. You just hang them on a doorknob and walk away. The customer’s already gotten a notice in the mail. The hand-delivered ones state the exact date power will be shut off with a twenty-four-hour warning. More, if it’s a Friday.”
As far as Judith could tell, Marv was perfectly at ease. She decided to press the issue. “Did you ever have to deal with anyone face-to-face?”
Marv frowned slightly as he took a sip of coffee. “No. The closest I came was some old guy who was out in his yard. But it turned out he didn’t live there. He was looking for his missing cat.”
Renie scowled at Marv. “Are you sure he wasn’t a burglar?”
“On a walker?” Marv shook his head. “I tried to help him find the cat. No luck.”
Judith was getting desperate. The chips and salsa were making her thirsty. She’d already downed over half of her water. “Say,” she said, as if taken by surprise, “do you remember a family from my old neighborhood named Tooms?”
“Tombs?” Marv said. “As in graves?”
“No.” Judith spelled the name. “Meat & Mingle patrons.” It was only half a fib.
Marv’s face darkened. “Yes. I do. Wasn’t the owner killed right after I finished working in the neighborhood?”
“That’s right. I’d moved away by then, but I heard about it later.” Much later, she thought. Not a fib, just an exaggeration.
“I think,” Marv said slowly, “she was one of the customers I had to leave a notice for. I’d forgotten all about that. It must have been at least fifteen years ago.”
“What do you do when that happens?” Judith asked. “Collect from the estate?”
“Sometimes.” Marv’s color had returned to normal. “Usually, that’s not necessary. Survivors pay the bills, though it can tak
e a while. Now that I think about it, somebody stepped up to pay the Toomses’ bill. A relative, maybe. It’s somewhat easier nowadays with online billing.” He took another drink from his coffee mug. “Time for me to head home. My condo’s only about eight blocks from here. It’s good exercise.” He stood up, got out his wallet, and tossed a five-dollar bill on the table. “For the pie. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” He winked—and was gone.
“I’m losing my touch,” Judith murmured. “That was a bust.”
Renie frowned. “Could he be innocent?”
Judith gazed up at the high ceiling. “Of what? I’m not even sure now what I thought he was guilty of. Maybe Duke Swisher paid the light bill.”
Renie didn’t speak until she’d eaten her last french fry. “We don’t know exactly when Marv worked in the neighborhood. Does it matter?”
“I don’t know what matters anymore,” Judith admitted. “I thought I could read people fairly well. Granted, Marv seemed just a tad shaken by my mention of the Tooms name, but maybe it was the memory of having had some sort of contact with Opal about the time she was killed.”
“It could creep a person out,” Renie said, before taking a sip from her malt. She frowned. “This is very good, but some of the malt’s stuck.” She blew lustily into the straw, splattering drops on the table. “Damn,” she muttered, using her fingers to wipe up the mess. “At least I missed my cashmere sweater.” She licked the residue off her fingers. “Don’t look at me like that,” she admonished Judith. “Nobody’s watching.”
“Missing,” Judith said, as if she hadn’t heard her cousin. “That’s what’s missing from Woody’s file.” She pointed to the spot Renie had just wiped clean. “Fingerprints.”
Renie’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Apparently the killer didn’t leave any. You’re thinking premeditated?”
“Yes, possibly. Who’d carry around or wear gloves on a pleasant day in June?”
“Are we back to a guy on a pole?”
“I don’t know. Unless . . .” Judith shook her head. “I have to refocus. Are you finished?”