Saks & Violins

by Mary Daheim

  “I suppose Gregory could really be a crackpot,” Judith said as she found the number for the car-rental office. “Let’s try this.” She dialed and somehow managed to reach an actual person. “This is Estelle Pearson,” Judith lied. “I can’t find the paperwork for my rental. Can you tell me when I’m supposed to turn the car in?”

  The pleasant female voice at the other end went off the line to check. “You left the return date open,” she said a few moments later. “Since you rented the car Wednesday morning, when you bring it back you should be here before noon or we’ll have to charge for an extra day.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” After relaying the information to Renie, Judith concluded that Estelle probably had taken the red-eye from New York. “I’m guessing she wasn’t on the same flight as the Klugers.”

  “Are you guessing they didn’t know she was coming directly here?”

  Judith shrugged. “I don’t know—and won’t guess. But this news makes her a suspect.”

  “You’re right,” Renie agreed. “Estelle was in town before Dolph was poisoned. I wonder where she was holed up.”

  “The police should be informed about her,” Judith said. “I’ll get in touch with Rosemary.”

  “Go for it.” Renie, however, decided she’d better head home. “It’s time for Bill’s nap. I have to tuck him in.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re right. I have to tuck Oscar in, though.”

  Judith shook her head. “No. I refuse to discuss your stuffed dwarf ape. He’s not real.”

  “Yes, he is.” Renie looked very serious. “Actually, he doesn’t take a nap when Bill does. His snoring disturbs Bill. Oscar just rests his eyes.”

  “His eyes are glass.”

  “So?”

  “Never mind. Good-bye, coz.”

  Renie left.

  Rosemary answered on the third ring. Judith passed on the information about Estelle’s early arrival in the city.

  “You mean,” Rosemary said, “she lied about coming from Oregon?”

  “Obviously,” Judith said, then caught herself. “Now that I think about it, Estelle never mentioned coming from Oregon. It was Suzanne who told me she was visiting relatives there.”

  “Interesting,” Rosemary commented. “Oh, Mrs. Flynn, you manage to elicit the most fascinating information! I don’t know how you do it!”

  “I talk to people. Often, they let interesting things slip out.”

  “Yes,” Rosemary agreed. “The problem is, most people aren’t really listening. I mean, we’re trained as detectives to listen, but so much of what people say is irrelevant. It’s not everybody who can sort the wheat from the chaff.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice,” Judith said modestly. “You’ll interrogate her?”

  “Yes. Levi and I will be at the B&B as soon as we finish our paperwork.” Rosemary lowered her voice. “Did you hear about the results concerning Ms. Wittener?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Judith responded, “I did. I figured the hospital would get in touch with you.”

  “It wasn’t the hospital,” Rosemary said. “It was an anonymous tip.”

  “Really?” Judith was surprised, but realized that she shouldn’t have been. “You have no idea who called?”

  “No,” Rosemary replied. “It came in this afternoon from a pay phone on Heraldsgate Hill near Key Largo Bank. Can you hazard a guess?”

  “It had to be Elsa or Fritz or someone closely connected to them,” Judith conjectured. “Or even Rudi Wittener or Taryn Moss.”

  “Can you find out?” Rosemary asked.

  “I don’t know,” Judith said candidly. “By the way, Gregory left unannounced.”

  Rosemary sounded startled. “I thought he couldn’t walk.”

  “Apparently he could,” said Judith. “I can’t locate an address or phone number for him. You might want to put somebody on that.”

  “This case is very confusing,” Rosemary declared, sounding frustrated. “Is it always this way?”

  “Well…they are when they’re not readily solved,” Judith admitted. “That is, where family members and friends are involved instead of just a barroom brawl or a drive-by shooting, murder gets complicated. It becomes personal. Very few people have no secrets or resentments. Not to mention greed and jealousy and all the other human emotions that come into play when the victim is intentionally killed.”

  “I heard you’ve solved murders in less than forty-eight hours,” Rosemary said. “Time’s running short.”

  “It’s not a contest or a track meet,” Judith pointed out. “Goodness, Rosemary, I’m not a wizard.”

  The detective’s laugh sounded forced. “I know, I know. It’s just that you’re so wise.”

  “It comes with age,” Judith replied drily. Unused to being fawned over, she wished that Rosemary would stop treating her like an icon. It didn’t feel right.

  “We ran Gregory through the database under both last names,” Rosemary said. “He has no criminal record under Kluger or Radinsky.”

  “An address would help,” Judith noted. “Not to mention a place of employment, such as the University.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Rosemary paused. “Would it be convenient for us to stop by to interview this Pearson woman in the next hour?”

  Judith heard the beep that signaled a call on her other line. “Sure, come ahead. I must dash.”

  The caller was Renie. “Guess who I saw on the way home,” she said.

  “Mmm…Elvis?”

  “Not exactly,” Renie said. “It was Gregory. I got stuck behind a U-Haul making a left on Heraldsgate Avenue in the next block from your house. I saw him walking—limping, actually—into the Empress Apartments. Isn’t that where Olive Oglethorpe lives?”

  “You’re right.” The apartment building was large, with many tenants, but Judith dismissed the possibility of Gregory calling on anyone other than Olive. “Somehow, he must know Olive well enough that she’d let him in. I certainly didn’t pass muster. What’s the connection?”

  “Olive’s Rudi’s assistant,” Renie remarked. “Somewhere in time Gregory must have met her, which means—maybe—that Rudi and Gregory are better acquainted than we thought. How long has Olive worked for Rudi?”

  “Years and years, I gather,” Judith said. “Long before they moved from Philadelphia. Somehow I’ve got to talk to Olive or you do.”

  “Me? I don’t have time,” Renie said. “I have to watch Oscar watch Bill take a nap.”

  “I don’t mean right now,” Judith responded, noticing that the rain had dwindled to a drizzle. “Think of some way you can get to her.”

  “A holdup? Breaking and entering? Come on, coz—you’re much better at subterfuge than I am. Besides, she’s seen me at your house.”

  “She wouldn’t remember,” Judith argued. “You rushed past her when you forgot your purse. Olive was concentrating on getting everybody’s belongings together. Besides, you could dress like a real person and comb your hair and even put on makeup. You could fool anybody who’s seen you as yourself.”

  “Aaargh,” groaned Renie.

  “Coz…” Judith’s tone was coaxing.

  “Let me think about it,” Renie begged. “Doesn’t Olive spend most of her time at Rudi’s house? He and Taryn would know who I am.”

  “You’d have to catch her at home, probably in the evening,” Judith said. “Like tonight.”

  “No.” Renie was adamant.

  “Tomorrow? It’s Saturday,” Judith added. “Olive probably won’t be working.”

  “Don’t call me,” Renie said. “I’ll call you—if I decide to do it.”

  That was good enough for Judith. She had dangled the bait. Renie was usually a typical trout—and a good sport.

  Joe arrived home at exactly five o’clock. “I finally finished that title search,” he said, hanging his tan raincoat on a peg in the hallway off the kitchen. “The property belongs to a dog.”

  “You
mean the person is…a dog?” Judith asked.

  “No. The owner is a beagle in Blue Earth, Minnesota,” Joe explained, going to the fridge. “At least that’s where Trix was in 1974.”

  “Trix probably doesn’t live there anymore,” Judith said. “He probably doesn’t live anywhere. What happens next?”

  Joe took out a can of beer and shrugged. “Not my problem. I’ll be damned if I know why people put animals in their wills. Are they nuts or is it just to spite their rightful heirs?”

  “Both, maybe,” Judith suggested. “Does this mean you can take a few days off?”

  Joe nodded. “Bill and I were wondering if it’s too late into September to go salmon fishing off the coast. We had good luck last year, but that was right after Labor Day. He’s making some calls.”

  “According to Renie,” Judith said, taking a package of prawns out of the freezer section, “Bill can’t afford to leave the city limits.”

  Joe, who had sat down at the kitchen table, snickered. “Don’t believe everything Renie tells you. She tends to exaggerate.”

  “True,” Judith said as the phone rang. She picked up the receiver from the counter and answered. “It’s for you,” she said to Joe before lowering her voice to a whisper. “It sounds like Rudi Wittener.”

  Joe frowned as he took the phone from Judith. “Flynn here,” he said, then frowned some more. “Right now? I just got in. Make it twenty minutes, okay?” He hung up.

  “What’s that all about?” Judith inquired as she put the prawns in the microwave and hit the defrost button.

  “Wittener has a case for me,” Joe said. “I’ll hear him out, but I’d just as soon go fishing.”

  “It might tie in with the murder investigation,” Judith pointed out.

  “That’s your turf,” Joe said. “I’m keeping out of it. That’s another reason I wish Wittener hadn’t called.” He took a sip of beer. “How much do these violinists make?”

  “Fairly good money,” Judith replied over the hum of the microwave.

  “I was wondering if he could afford to pay me,” Joe said after he’d opened a bag of pretzels. “I thought musicians were poor.”

  “Not major symphony musicians,” Judith said, “though I really don’t know much about it. Renie might.”

  Munching on a pretzel, Joe glanced out the kitchen window. “The rain’s stopped.” He took another quaff of beer and sat very still. “It’s damned quiet around here. It seems weird.”

  “It is weird,” Judith agreed. “No guests rustling about, no rushing on my part to prepare for the social hour, no money coming in from the vacant rooms. I hate it.”

  Joe stood up. “Then maybe I should see if I can make some money.” He looked outside again. The setting sun was trying to break through the cloud cover. Joe frowned.

  Judith knew what he was thinking. If the weather cleared, she’d ask Joe to finish the yard cleanup on Saturday. Unless, of course, he decided to go fishing.

  Dinner was scheduled for six that night, with Gertrude’s portion ready ten minutes earlier. Joe still wasn’t back when Judith went out to the toolshed.

  “Your cleaning woman is crazy as a bedbug,” Gertrude declared.

  “What now?” Judith asked, making room on her mother’s crowded card-table for the dinner tray.

  “She wrecked my Y. B. Stout girdle,” Gertrude said. “Can’t that woman run a washer machine? And I don’t want that crackpot coming near me singing that stupid hymn ‘How Firm a Foundation’ ever again!”

  “What happened to your girdle?”

  “She put the stays in wrong,” Gertrude complained, waving a hand in the direction of the girdle that was lying on top of the laundry pile. “That crackpot tore the material. I can’t wear it anymore. How can I keep my girlish figure?”

  Judith examined the foundation garment. Sure enough, it appeared as if Phyliss had haphazardly forced one of the stays into its slot and ripped the fabric. Recalling that a stay had gotten loose in the dryer, Judith apologized.

  “Frankly,” she went on, ignoring the disgusted look on Gertrude’s face, “this is a very old girdle. You have at least two newer ones. I’ll put this one in the St. Vincent de Paul bag.”

  “Why does Saint Vincent need a girdle? Hasn’t he been dead for about four hundred years?” Gertrude poked at the prawns. “I don’t like fat shrimp. Why don’t you buy the little ones? I remember when your father and I used to go for walks along the waterfront and we’d buy a white paper bag of little shrimp for ten cents.”

  “That was then and this is now,” Judith retorted, stuffing the girdle under her arm. “Besides, you’ve had prawns before and enjoyed them.”

  “I did?” Gertrude was skeptical. “You’re just saying that because I don’t always remember things.”

  “It’s true,” Judith insisted. “You like rice and green salad, not to mention the lovely rolls I bought at Falstaff’s.”

  Gertrude studied the roll. “It’s got grass in it. Did you drop it out in the yard?”

  “That’s not grass, it’s rosemary,” Judith replied.

  “Rosemary who?” Gertrude made another face. “Isn’t she a cop? What’s wrong with Parker House rolls? Now that’s a roll. Tasty. Soft. Yum.” She smacked her lips.

  “I’ll buy some Parker House rolls next time,” Judith said, “or make them myself. Sunday, maybe.”

  “I should live so long,” Gertrude said with a sigh. “I’m lucky if I make it to tomorrow.”

  “You will,” Judith assured her mother with a kiss on the cheek. “What was the last day you missed?”

  “I miss your father,” Gertrude blurted. “How can you miss somebody after forty years?”

  That was a question Judith couldn’t answer. She still missed her father, too.

  Not feeling like tackling the uncarpeted basement stairs, Judith stuffed the old girdle into a duffel bag she kept in the pantry. Her timing was perfect: Joe had left, but Morgenstern and O’Grady had arrived.

  “We’re here to interview Estelle Pearson,” Morgenstern said. “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs, where all the suspects hang out these days,” Judith replied. “Or some of them, at any rate.”

  Morgenstern, who seemed to have his allergies under control, trudged up to the second floor. Rosemary lingered in the entry hall.

  “We checked with the airlines,” she said, lowering her voice. “That is, I did. Levi’s much better, of course, but he’s taking it easy since he went to the doctor. I’m encouraging him to let me do the grunt work. I should, after all, since he’s the senior partner.” Rosemary paused briefly, suppressing a small smile. “Anyway, Estelle Pearson definitely arrived here Wednesday morning. She rented a car at the airport, but we haven’t found out where she’s been staying. Nothing’s turned up at the local motels and hotels.”

  “Try the B&Bs,” Judith suggested in a grim voice. “Some of them may be able to accept customers.”

  “Yes.” Rosemary looked away from Judith. “I’m really, really sorry about the inconvenience.”

  “But are you really, really solving this case?” Judith asked.

  Rosemary seemed startled by the query and stared at Judith. “Well…I assume you’re way ahead of me.”

  “Rosemary…” Judith began in a weary voice. “I’m stumped. There are so many other things going on, such as the missing violin bow, my cousin’s stolen credit cards, somebody breaking into our basement—and liars galore. Andrea Kluger is in a drugged stupor, Gregory Whoever-He-Is may or may not be nuts, Olive Oglethorpe won’t let me talk to her, and I haven’t had a chance to speak with Elsa Wittener or her son, Fritz. Suzanne and Estelle are so protective of the family’s privacy that it’s impossible to get anything helpful out of them. My resources seem exhausted, and so am I.”

  “Golly.” Rosemary was taken aback by Judith’s confession. “I was so hoping you’d be able to help me. This is my first homicide, and I want to make a good impression.” She appeared close to tears.

&nbs
p; Judith sighed. “I’m sorry I’m a disappointment. I’ve been lucky over the years. People usually talk to me, confide in me, seem to relax because…well, if nothing else, I’m sympathetic and a good listener. This isn’t happening with this crew. They simply won’t open up.”

  Rosemary nodded. “I understand. I think.” But the young woman still looked unhappy.

  Judith felt helpless, frustrated. She racked her brain for ideas. “Something’s going on between Fritz and Suzanne. Also, Suzanne and Rudi. I don’t know what it is in either case, but it could be important.”

  “Can you find out?” Rosemary asked.

  Judith tried to hide her exasperation. “I thought you and your partner might do that.”

  “But you’re so good at that sort of thing!” Rosemary asserted.

  “Not this time around,” Judith muttered. She studied the young detective’s hangdog expression. “I have an idea.”

  Rosemary’s face brightened. “Yes?”

  “Get hold of someone in New Jersey,” Judith said. “Find out how Andrea Kluger’s first husband was killed in that foxhunt.”

  Rosemary looked puzzled. “Foxhunt?”

  Judith nodded. “Mr. Farrow—Andrea’s late husband—ran a company that made musical instruments. Is that a coincidence—or is it part of Dolph Kluger’s murder?”

  FOURTEEN

  MORGENSTERN AND O’GRADY came back downstairs twenty minutes later. Judith was in the kitchen, trying to keep dinner hot for Joe.

  “Any luck?” she asked, coming out into the entry hall.

  “Yes,” Morgenstern replied. “Ms. Pearson informed us that she was never in Oregon. Her relatives live in this state, not in Oregon. Apparently, New Yorkers consider the Pacific Northwest as all one large and heavily forested entity.”

  “In other words,” Judith said, “we’re still a territory mapped only by Lewis and Clark?”

  “That sounds like a fairly accurate appraisal,” Morgenstern said drily. “We assume no subterfuge was intended.”

  “But,” Judith noted, “Estelle was here before the murder occurred.”