Gone with the Win: A Bed-and-Breakfast Mystery (Bed-and-Breakfast Mysteries)

by Mary Daheim

  “Okay,” Lee said. “Why don’t I fix drinks for you and your helper.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Judith said. “We won’t be staying long.”

  “It might take longer than you think.” He smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “Go on to the solarium. I’ll join you there.”

  “Thanks,” Judith said.

  Lee disappeared through another sliding panel. Judith walked purposefully down the hall. Before joining Renie and Marla, she checked her watch. It was seventeen minutes after two. Not enough time yet for Joe and Bill to get from downtown to the Watkins house.

  Marla was trying to make conversation with Renie, whose only rejoinders seemed to consist of “Mais non,” “Mais oui,” and “J’ai faim,” which, Judith thought, meant “I’m hungry.”

  “There you are,” Marla said, sounding relieved. “Renée and I were having a little chat.”

  “Où est le chat?” Renie asked, looking around the room.

  “I think,” Judith said as she sat down in one of the cubes, “she’s asking where your cat is.”

  “We don’t have a cat,” Marla replied. “We don’t care for pets.”

  “They can be a bother,” Judith said. “By chance, I saw a smaller remodeled home similar in architecture to your house near the end of the bus line. Do you know if the same contractors built it?”

  Marla looked puzzled. “I don’t know the house.”

  “Never mind,” Judith responded. “I wondered if there were more in this area like yours. The previous owner is a distant cousin, but I’ve fallen out of touch with her. You might know her—Opal Tooms.”

  Marla’s face paled under her makeup. “I never heard of her,” she replied after a brief pause.

  Judith grimaced. “Are you sure? The Thurlow District seems like a close-knit community. How long have you lived here?”

  “Forever,” Marla asserted, rearranging the caftan’s folds and assuming a casual air. “The name rings no bells.”

  Lee entered the room bearing a tray with four tall frosted glasses etched with the initial W. He set one glass down by the empty cube, handed another to Marla, and proffered the other two to the cousins.

  “Drink up,” he said, seating himself between Judith and his wife. “It’s my special Bacardi and orange juice recipe. I call it my Knockout Punch.” He laughed rather coarsely.

  “Sounds intriguing,” Judith remarked, pretending to take a sip and hoping that Renie would follow her lead. “Mmm, that has real bite.”

  “Yes,” Marla said. “It’s hard to resist.”

  Judith turned to Lee. “Your wife and I were just talking about Opal Tooms. Surely you remember her. Marla doesn’t.”

  Unlike his wife, except for a blink of his chilly dark eyes, Lee seemed unmoved by the name. “Can’t say as I do. Why do you ask?”

  “She’s a distant cousin,” Judith said. “She worked at Peebles Place. One of our uncles was there before he passed away. That was years ago. I’d come out to visit him shortly before he left us.” She paused to stare at Lee. “That’s why you looked familiar! I saw both of you visiting an elderly man in the room next to Uncle Gordo. What a coincidence!”

  Marla’s face was expressionless. “I don’t remember you.”

  Lee looked grim. “I do. Drink up, ladies. Yeah, I thought I’d seen you before, but it wasn’t at the nursing home. You and your old man owned that Meat & Mingle joint. What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, Mrs. McMulligan?”

  “I’m not and never have been Mrs. McMulligan,” Judith declared, wondering where Joe and Bill were. She didn’t dare glance at her watch, but knew it must be after two-thirty. “You must be confused.”

  Lee shook his head. “Oh, no. I heard you on the phone out in the hall. I don’t know who you were talking to, but it sure as hell wasn’t about magazines. Hurry up, polish off those drinks.” He glowered at Renie. “Myrna remembers you, too, Madame Runty or whoever. You’re not French, you’re some kind of designer. Down the drinks and get out.”

  Renie gasped and slumped in her cube. The glass tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents in every direction.

  “Renée!” Judith cried. “She’s had one of her fits! Call 911!”

  “Nice try,” Lee said. “I guess you won’t be leaving after all. Finish your drink, Mrs. McMulligan. Or do you need some encouragement?”

  Judith set her drink on the glass coffee table. “Not until I know Renée is still alive. I can’t lean over to check on her. I might dislocate my artificial hip.” She turned to Marla. “Would you see if she’s alive?”

  Marla laughed. “It doesn’t matter. You’re both dead meat. I don’t know who or why you’re here, but you smell like cops to me. And you sure as hell know too damned—”

  The doorbell sang “The Trolley Song.” All heads except Renie’s turned. Judith gripped the heavy glass coffee table with all her might and turned it over, pinioning Marla and Lee’s legs against their cubes. They both screamed and swore in pain.

  Renie scrambled up off the floor just as Myrna appeared with a man Judith didn’t immediately recognize. The housekeeper opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Both Watkinses were trying to push away the coffee table, but the spilled punch had made the floor very slippery. As the man turned to look at Marla, Judith realized he was Beaker Schram.

  “Okay,” he said, taking a gun out from under his denim jacket and pointing it at Myrna’s head, “where’s my share of Hector’s loot?”

  Lee turned very red in the face. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Never mind,” Beaker growled. “You owe me. Which one is Marla?”

  Lee gestured at Judith. “She is.”

  Beaker looked faintly puzzled. “You sure of that?”

  Judith stood up, but was afraid to move for fear of falling. “I can prove I’m not if you’ll let me get my purse.”

  Beaker scowled. “No tricks. Just pony up.”

  A terrified Myrna pointed to Marla. “She’s Hector’s daughter.”

  “You ungrateful bitch!” Marla shrieked, wincing from pain. She managed to point a shaky finger at Beaker. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not getting any money.”

  Beaker looked briefly conflicted. “Fine. Then I’ll just start shooting people. That way nobody gets anything but dead.” He shoved Myrna farther into the room. “This,” he went on, “is going to get messy.”

  A shot rang out. Judith sucked in her breath. Renie gasped. Myrna screamed. Lee swore. Marla groaned. Beaker fell to the floor.

  The first person to speak was Bill. “As a city building inspector,” he announced in his theatrically trained voice, “I believe there are some inherent hazards in this house. Either that or those two goofy-looking women have turned the table on the owners. Furthermore, one of them has trashed my cap.”

  Beaker was writhing in agony, gripping his left thigh. Joe put his Smith & Wesson M&P revolver back into his shoulder holster. Woody appeared immediately with backup. He busted Lawrence “Beaker” Schram for attempted assault with a deadly weapon. Marla and Lee Watkins, along with Myrna Grissom, were charged with conspiracy to commit murder. An ambulance arrived to take Beaker away, but he—along with the others—were first read their rights. After the perps were removed from the premises, Woody finally had a chance to speak to Judith out in the hall.

  “I don’t mean to question your judgment in any way,” he said rather deferentially, “but which Watkins actually strangled Opal Tooms? You didn’t tell me over the phone.”

  “Lee,” Judith replied. “The end of the line for his bus route is just around the corner and a couple of doors down. Maybe you can get his DNA off of those gardening gloves. I don’t know why Opal let him in, but maybe she knew him from taking the bus.”

  “Okay,” Woody said, “but I won’t charge him with the homicide yet. We’ve got enough to hold all of them for now. I don’t know how to thank you for doing this. You put yourself and Serena in grave danger.”

&
nbsp; “We’re used to it,” Judith replied, though she was feeling a delayed reaction to the traumatic experience. “I think I want to go home now.”

  “Do that,” Woody said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Joe, along with Bill and Renie, had come into the hall. “We’re out of here, partner,” he said, saluting Woody. “Your guys need some room to process the crime scene. Besides, I’m upset. I got to shoot Beaker, but I didn’t have a chance to deliver my lines.”

  Woody chuckled as the two couples headed for the door. Renie was bitching about her jacket getting doused with her drink; Bill was griping about his damaged snap-brim cap.

  “If Myrna’s smart,” Judith said as they went down to their respective cars, “she’ll rat out Marla and Lee. Imagine—all that conspiring for a meal ticket.”

  “Meal!” Renie cried. “I really am hungry. It’s too bad The Persian Cat has been shut down.”

  “What do you mean?” Joe asked.

  “Illegal gambling,” Judith said. “Don’t you remember? I told you what Uncle Al’s old pal Swede had to say about Mr. Alipur.”

  Joe laughed. “I heard you. I checked him out this morning through vice. He’s clean. At least in this state.”

  “Then,” Judith inquired, “why is the café closed?”

  “Alipur’s a Muslim,” Joe replied. “It’s Eid al-Fitr, one of their big religious deals. I read about it in the paper the other day.”

  “Oh.” Judith got into the MG. “I guess Renie and I jumped to conclusions. By the way, what took you so long getting here? I was beginning to panic.”

  “The bridge was up,” Joe said, starting the classic sports car.

  “I should have thought of that,” Judith murmured. She looked at Joe. “I was beginning to think time was up for Renie and me. I knew it’d take Woody longer to arrive.”

  Joe shot Judith a sidelong glance. “You were never in much danger. Woody sent backup from the local precinct. They parked out of sight, then went around to the west side of the house a few yards down the hill where no one inside could see them.”

  “I wish I’d known that,” Judith murmured.

  “No, you don’t,” Joe said. “That would’ve taken the fun out of it.”

  Judith didn’t comment.

  Even before they got home, Judith called Renie on her cell, inviting the Joneses to dinner. Her cousin protested, saying she thought the B&B was full up and it’d be an imposition. Judith, however, persevered.

  After the Flynns got home around three-thirty, Judith admitted she was suddenly overcome with fatigue. Joe told her he’d take over with the guests and make dinner. With a tired smile and a grateful kiss, she headed up to the family quarters to take a nap.

  Just after five-thirty, Joe came into the bedroom to wake her up. “Sorry, but Woody has to talk to you. Don’t get upset, but I think you blew this case.”

  “What?” Judith croaked, still fogged with sleep.

  “It’s okay,” Joe assured her. “He’s on the line. I’m going back downstairs to finish the appetizers.”

  Judith fumbled for the phone on the nightstand. “What’s wrong?” she asked, still feeling drowsy.

  “Well . . . let’s say you were half right,” Woody said. “It wasn’t Lee who killed Opal. It was Marla.”

  “Oh, no!” Judith shrieked, suddenly alert.

  “Lee wasn’t on that bus route the day Opal was killed,” Woody explained. “He took over for a sick driver. I didn’t believe him at first, but when Marla insisted she didn’t remember that, I got suspicious. Sure enough, they got into it and Lee ratted her out. No love match there, at least not anymore. Lee knew Opal. He hung out sometimes with Jimmy Tooms—you’ll get a kick out of this—at The Meat & Mingle. Jimmy was often too drunk to drive home, so Lee would give him a ride. He got to know Opal and had a thing for her. Nothing came of it, but Marla got jealous, which strengthened her motive to kill Opal. According to her confession, Marla was working at The Garden of Eden that day and made an unrecorded delivery to the Tooms house.”

  “Wait,” Judith interrupted when Woody paused for breath. “You mean the nursery receipts were from two different days?”

  “No. Opal must’ve bought the dahlias that morning at the nursery. Maybe that’s what set Marla off, so she showed up with the primroses later. I vaguely recall a box of flowers in the yard, but I didn’t think anything about them. The devil’s in the details, I guess.”

  “That’s where I screwed up, too,” Judith said in disgust. “Ziva Feldstein mentioned seeing those primroses on her way back from the bus. I flunked.”

  “No, you didn’t. You still found the killer.”

  “Yes, but . . . oh, never mind. I’m just glad it’s over. But I’m still worried about Opal’s daughter. Can you put out an APB on her?”

  “I can,” Woody said, “but we usually wait ten days. Are you sure she’s really missing?”

  “I can’t be completely sure, but . . . okay, I guess we might as well hold off. Maybe I can try to reach her brother.” Judith still felt tired. “Say—was the house empty?”

  “Bare as a bone. They were heading for Grand Cayman. We don’t know why, but it may involve some unethical legal doings. We have to talk to some lawyers. The Watkinses have gone through quite a bit of their money, especially lately.”

  “I had so many suspects,” Judith lamented. “The UPS delivery person, a lighting department guy, the bus driver—and I blew it.”

  “The case is solved, Judith. I couldn’t do it in over fifteen years. You did it in less than fifteen days. I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “You and Sondra are friends. That’s what friends do. There’s no payback in friendship. We’re all in this together.”

  “So we are. And isn’t that the best way to be?”

  Judith came downstairs a little after six. The guests were in the living room, Gertrude had her “supper” in the toolshed, Joe was in the kitchen, and the Joneses were on their way to Hillside Manor.

  “Woody brought you up to speed, right?” Judith said as she picked up the drink Joe had made for her.

  “Right.” He looked up from the salad he was making and grinned. “Nobody bats a thousand.”

  “I know, but . . .” The front doorbell rang. “That can’t be Renie and Bill,” Judith said. “They come in the back door. I’ll get it. You’re busy.”

  Glancing into the living room, she saw that her guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. She’d greet them after taking care of her unknown caller. Maybe it was Jess Sparks, making sure she hadn’t set fire to the Pilgrims and Indians. Judith opened the door—and felt weak in the knees.

  “Ruby!” she cried, oblivious to the young woman’s male companion. “You’re safe!”

  Ruby threw her arms around Judith. “I’m not only safe, I’m married! Is it okay to come in?”

  “Of course!” Judith stepped aside just as Joe entered the hall.

  “The prodigal guest has returned,” he said. As the dark-haired man followed Ruby inside, Joe asked if he should set two more places.

  “Ohhh . . .” Ruby seemed uncertain. “What do you think, Win?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll check the conditions on the pass. It could be dangerous driving to Little Bavaria if it ices up later on. I left my cell in the car.” He headed back outside.

  “Come into the parlor, Ruby,” Judith urged, taking her by the arm.

  Joe wagged a finger at their allegedly missing guest. “You had Judith in a tizzy. Did I hear you say you got married?”

  “Yes! Last Monday. I never made it out of town. We honeymooned at the Cascade Hotel. It was heaven!”

  “Good for you,” Joe said. “The Joneses should be coming along through the back door. I’ll check on dinner.” He headed for the kitchen.

  Judith and Ruby sat down in the matching chairs. “How did you meet—Win, did you say?”

  Ruby nodded. “Winston Flugelhorn. He was working as a private detective, just like Joe. In fact, that�
�s how we met. Would you believe he’s been following me ever since I got here?”

  “Actually, I would,” Judith said, thinking of the PI Jess Sparks had hired, the handkerchief in the laundry with the initial F, Crissy the waitress who stated that the man with Ruby had a name like a musical instrument, and that Ruby no longer worked at Wolfgang’s, but hadn’t been in town since she left Hillside Manor. It made sense, in a weird way.

  The whole story tumbled out. “I’m still fuzzy about what happened in the Thurlow District, but Win filled me in. I was headed for O’Reilly’s Pub because it was another of my dad’s hangouts when it was Spooner’s Schooners. Do you remember Burt the blogger?”

  Judith nodded. Ruby smiled. “Kind of a dud, but he called me a week before I came here. He’d decided to do a series on ex-cons and rehabilitation. Burt knew my dad had been in prison, but later died, so he asked if I knew any other people who’d done time. The only one I could think of offhand was the guy who’d been married to Erma Schram. So who should I run into in front of the pub? Beaker Schram! I’m still fuzzy about this, but I guess Burt contacted him. Beaker had recently gotten out of jail and was trying to track down people who he thought had inherited money from Hector Sparks.”

  “That’s true,” Judith said, and was about to explain what had happened to Beaker, but Ruby kept talking.

  “I’d told Burt I was coming into town and staying at your B&B.” Ruby grimaced. “Maybe I was desperate. I figured Burt was better than nothing, especially if he sold his blogs as a magazine series. Anyway, I guess Burt told Beaker I was in town. He—Burt—showed him a picture he’d taken of me during Oktoberfest. Beaker recognized me when I got off the bus a few doors down from O’Reilly’s. He stopped me on the street and we went into the pub. Everything after that is a blur.”

  “But you left the pub and went to The Persian Cat,” Judith pointed out. “You were with Win by then, right?”

  Ruby smiled. “So he tells me. He didn’t come inside the pub, but he saw me leave and noticed I didn’t have my purse. Win watched me go into The Persian Cat, but waited to see if Beaker was coming out of the pub. When he did, Win accused him of stealing my purse. Beaker argued, but Win threatened to call the cops, so he handed over the purse and took off. Win didn’t realize I’d had my journal in it, but the money and credit cards were still there. Not that I remembered any of that. Win came into The Persian Cat, realizing I’d been drugged. He wanted to take me to the ER, but I wouldn’t let him. I mean, I didn’t know him, but he seemed nice and . . . he finally brought me to your place.”