by Mary Daheim
“I see it,” Renie said. “It’s in a glass jar, right?”
“Yes. I wonder if Andrea would like some bread to—” Judith stopped and leaned against the counter. “I’m beginning to wonder about Suzanne and that gym or health club or whatever it is.”
“What do you mean?” Renie had placed the salad-dressing jar on the counter by Judith and was gathering the greenery. “I thought we already discussed that.”
Judith grimaced. “As Bill would say, ‘Something’s off.’”
“Oh? Want some weird pop?”
Judith shook her head. “What’s weird is Suzanne. I’m still wondering if her business really exists.”
“Did she ever give you a name?”
“No. But she said it was two blocks from her apartment in the Village.”
Renie placed lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and scallions on the counter. “Do you have her address?”
“Yes,” Judith said, taking a bowl out of the cupboard. “It’s in the guest registry. Go get it—or take a Post-it note and copy it down.”
While Renie was in the entry hall, Judith tossed the salad.
“Got it,” Renie said, sticking the Post-it on the counter. “She lives on Christopher Street.”
Judith looked at the address. “This means nothing to me,” she admitted.
“Let’s get a map,” Renie said, sitting down at the computer.
“While you do that, I’ll deliver the salad to Suzanne,” Judith said.
Renie turned away from the keyboard. “Do you want me to watch your back?”
“No. If I need help, I’ll yell.”
At the top of the stairs, Judith hesitated. Was Suzanne in her own room or her mother’s room? She decided to try Andrea’s.
Estelle opened the door a bare three inches. “Yes?”
“The salad,” Judith said, stating the obvious.
“Just leave it in the hall.” Estelle closed the door.
“Damn!” Judith breathed. She’d tried to look inside, but could see only a huddled form in the bed. Andrea, she presumed. Suzanne was nowhere in sight.
“You’re still alive,” Renie said without looking away from the computer screen. “Any wounds?”
“No.” Judith leaned on the kitchen counter. “Any luck?”
“I got the Greenwich Village map right away,” Renie explained, “but I put in gyms and health clubs in the neighborhood and got zip. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any—some may not list on these sites—but it doesn’t help much.”
“Let’s find a bar.”
“Now? You want to leave the house unguarded?”
“I mean in the Greenwich Village neighborhood.”
“Oh.” Renie made several attempts, but found none listed on Christopher Street. “The best I can do is try one of the places in the adjoining blocks.”
Judith glanced at the schoolhouse clock. “It’s almost one in the morning. The bars should still be open, right? Let me call one.”
Renie quickly printed out the page with the half-dozen listings. Judith dialed the first one.
“I’m trying to locate a gym or health club in the neighborhood,” she said. “Could you tell me—”
“This ain’t no gym, lady. This ain’t no health club. Nutcase,” the gruff voice said just before he hung up.
Her second attempt fared no better. “Get your eyes checked,” the woman who answered snapped. “You called the wrong number.”
Renie tapped the counter with her fingernails. “Give me that phone,” she ordered. “You’ve lost your knack.”
She dialed the third number. “Hey, buster, let me talk to Jack,” she demanded of the youngish-sounding man who answered the phone. “Make it snappy.”
Judith leaned over her cousin’s shoulder, trying to hear what was going on at the other end of the line three thousand miles away. Faintly, she heard the name Jack being called out. A moment later, a drunken male voice spoke.
“Whaddaya want now, Vera?”
“Meet me at the gym,” Renie said in an angry voice. “Now. I got trouble.”
“What gym? There’s no freakin’ gym round here, you…Hey…Vera? You don’t sound so good. Whass wrong?”
Renie clicked off. “No gym. You heard the Village idiot.”
“How did you know somebody named Jack was in that bar?” Judith asked.
Renie shrugged. “There’s always somebody named Jack in a New York bar.”
“But does Jack know what he’s talking about?”
“Hey—you’re the one who doubted the existence of the place,” Renie retorted. “You take it from here. What does the gym or no gym have to do with Kluger getting killed anyway?”
Judith tidied up from her salad making. “Maybe nothing. I just have a strange feeling about Suzanne. I think she’s on a short leash, financially.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Judith said, “I’m guessing she stole your credit cards.”
Renie had taken a Pepsi out of the fridge. “What?”
“I’ve thought that all along,” Judith said, wiping down the counter. “Who else? According to the drugstore clerk at the bottom of the hill, it was a woman who bought all that stuff, including sleep aids and such. Suzanne’s an early riser. She runs. It’d be no problem for her to go down to the bottom of the counterbalance and get back up here in half an hour. Also,” Judith added as she rinsed out the dishrag, “she went to Holliday’s to get her mother’s prescription renewal—but that’s all she got. Yet you told me the bathroom cabinet was full of the kinds of things purchased on your credit—hey!”
Renie had run out of the kitchen, obviously heading for the second floor—and Suzanne. Judith started after her, but by the time she reached the entry hall, Renie had disappeared from the second landing.
“Coz!” Judith shouted. “Come back here!”
“Open this door, you thieving weasel!” Renie shouted.
Wearily, Judith trudged up the stairs, hoping to avert disaster.
Renie was pounding at the door of Room Four. “Come on out and give me my money, you chicken-livered crook!”
The door to Room Three opened. Estelle leaned out, making a sharp shushing sign. “Madam’s sleeping! Please be quiet!”
“Be quiet yourself, you old bat,” Renie snarled, waving one of her fists at the maid. “I want my money!”
“Coz,” Judith said, trying to keep calm and not think about how much her hip hurt from climbing the stairs, “cool it, will you?”
“Cool it?” Renie shot back. “What are you, some relic from the sixties, that era of no taste and no sense? I’m not cool, I’m hotter than a Dutch oven!” She turned back to the door and began pounding again.
“Miss Suzanne isn’t in there,” Estelle said in a low, angry voice. “She’s in the bathroom.”
“I don’t care if she’s in the army,” Renie yelled. “Tell her to get her butt out here right now! I don’t believe you! What’s she doing—eating her salad in the bathtub? No oil but lots of suds?”
Estelle quietly but firmly shut the door.
Judith cautiously took Renie’s arm. “Come on, Suzanne won’t come out. Give it up. For my sake, if nothing else.”
“No.” Renie shook off Judith’s hand.
“Coz…”
“No.”
Judith shrugged. “Okay. Get me sued. Who cares?”
“She won’t sue you,” Renie argued. “My Suit is better than her Suit. I’ve got Bill’s brother, Bub. Furthermore, he’s free.”
“To you, but not to me,” Judith asserted. “I’m the one who’ll get sued, and I’d never expect Bub to work for nothing.” She winced and staggered. “Oh! My hip!”
Startled, Renie turned away from the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” Judith said, reeling a bit.
Renie hurried to her cousin. “Let me help you. Sit on the settee.”
“No. I need to lie down. I’m too tall for the settee. Oh!” She winced again.
&n
bsp; “Did you dislocate?” Renie asked in an anxious voice.
“I don’t know.” Judith kept her eyes averted from Renie’s worried face. “Help me get downstairs.”
“Sure, come on, lean on me.”
Slowly, the cousins started down the stairs. Judith put some of her weight on Renie.
“It’s my fault,” Renie said. “I made you run after me.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Judith insisted, reaching the first landing. “I don’t think it’s dislocated. I think I just twisted it. A twinge, really.”
They stepped into the entry hall. Renie let go. “You’re a fraud.”
Judith did her best to look surprised. “What?”
“You heard me. You faked that just to get me away from Suzanne.” Renie swore softly. “As usual, I swallowed your lie hook, line, and sinker. You’d think after all these years…” She shook her head in disbelief at her own gullibility.
“It’s better this way,” Judith reasoned. “Let’s go back into the kitchen.”
Renie followed Judith, but was still muttering self-recriminations.
“Drink your Pepsi,” Judith said in a kindly tone. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Renie popped the top on the can she’d left on the counter and took a sip. “Thanks, I needed that. Okay, back to business. You conclude—with your irrefutable logic—that Suzanne has no money of her own because she has no income from a fitness business that doesn’t exist because she had no start-up money because…?”
Judith shrugged. “Because Andrea’s a tightwad? Because she’s a control freak? Because Suzanne wouldn’t know how to run a business? Because New York City real estate prices are sky-high? Because Suzanne is in her thirties and hasn’t found a career that suits her?” She sat down at the kitchen table. “There are tons of possibilities.”
“Which turn Suzanne into a crook,” Renie noted, leaning against the fridge. “How old was she when her father was killed?”
“Suzanne was in high school,” Judith replied.
Renie considered the statement. “An only child. Like us. You’d think Dad would’ve set up a college trust fund by that time.”
“We were only children,” Judith pointed out. “Did we have trust funds?”
Renie shot her cousin a disparaging look. “Our parents had no funds, period. We were poor, remember? We still are.”
“Okay, so maybe it was a college trust fund and Suzanne used it, but didn’t do much with her education,” Judith said. “She seems stunted to me.”
“Her muscles aren’t,” Renie countered. “They’re well developed.”
Judith was tempted to bite her fingernails, but refrained. “Let’s say that somewhere along the line, Rudi met Suzanne. The connection, of course, was Dolph, who’d married Andrea, Suzanne’s mother. By that time, Suzanne was a grown woman—but Rudi was still married to Elsa. There was no way Andrea would approve of Suzanne’s involvement with a musician who was a married man, no matter how talented he might be. Andrea puts her foot down, cuts off her daughter’s money, and Rudi leaves New York for Philadelphia, where he takes up with Taryn Moss, and they move here this summer.”
Renie put a hand to her head. “Jeez—I can hardly follow this without a game program. Who’s on first?”
“Wrong. What’s on first, Who’s on second,” Judith retorted. “You know this cast of characters.”
“I know the routine—I Don’t Know’s on third, right?”
“Never mind. Skip the Abbott and Costello act and let me finish.” Judith poured herself a glass of water from the tap. “Rudi goes to Philadelphia, but he and Suzanne are still in love. They continue their romance via long distance.” Seeing Renie’s skeptical expression, she shook her head. “It happens, especially these days with the Internet.”
Renie relented. “Okay. Not to mention that New York and Philadelphia are very close, and the two could have spent time together before Rudi moved here.”
“Exactly.”
“So how do I prove Suzanne swiped my credit cards?” Renie asked. “She’s probably tossed them by now, having figured out they’re no good. Whatever pittances we still have are in one of our other accounts at the Bank of Burma. I never carry around any information about our BABU money market fund.”
“Then you can forget about it,” Judith said. “For now.”
“Hey—I’m still a victim!” Renie cried, pounding her fist on the refrigerator door.
“Don’t dent the fairly new and very expensive fridge,” Judith warned. “What’s the point when you—and the cops—have no evidence?”
“I could get my money back? I could sue? I could afford food?”
“You’re not starving,” Judith pointed out, “skinny as you may seem. But credit-card and identity theft aren’t capital crimes. I’m talking about murder.”
Renie stared briefly at Judith. “Do you really think Suzanne’s the guilty party?”
“She could be. Think about it,” Judith said, getting up from the chair. “Dolph may have had great influence over Andrea. Maybe he stood in the way of Suzanne’s checkbook and her romance with Rudi. After all,” she went on, nudging Renie out of the path to the fridge, “love and money are big motives for murder. Suzanne may have had both.”
SIXTEEN
“ARE THEY THERE yet? Are they there yet? Are they there yet?” Renie asked as the cousins headed for bed in the third-floor quarters.
“The husbands?” Judith made sure the door between the second floor and the stairs to the third floor was locked securely. “It’s about a four-, four-and-a-half-hour drive to the ocean. Since midnight is upon us, I assume they’re almost there. They should get a few hours of sleep before going on the charter boat.”
The cousins climbed the short but steep narrow staircase to the small foyer. “Mike’s old room is ready for you,” Judith said, pointing to the door on her left. “Just ignore the toys and other stuff that he and Kristin leave behind when they visit with the boys.”
“Okay.” Renie hesitated. “What do you suppose your guests have been doing for the last couple of hours? I haven’t heard a peep or a squeak out of them.”
“I know,” Judith agreed. “It’s eerie. It’s not normal, not even under these circumstances. I wish they’d leave or get arrested.”
“The cops can’t arrest all of them,” Renie pointed out.
Judith looked bleak. “I know. But I wish they could. I’ve never had such a disagreeable bunch.”
On that sour note, Judith and Renie retired for the night.
To Judith’s surprise, Renie was up before ten. She came to the kitchen dressed in a matching dark green jacket and slacks that set off the lighter shade of green and the gold in her sweater. Her makeup had been applied and she had actually combed her hair. Even more remarkable was that she seemed alert—and pleasant.
“What time is your appointment with Olive?” Judith inquired, pouring Renie a mug of coffee.
“Ten-thirty,” Renie replied. “I’ll eat some cereal now. I never make a sales pitch on a full stomach.”
“You’ve never made a sales pitch in your life,” Judith said with a little laugh.
“You’re nuts,” Renie declared. “I’ve spent my career as a freelance graphic designer pitching myself and my talent.”
“That’s true,” Judith allowed. “What kind of cereal do you want?”
“I’ll get it,” Renie said, opening the cupboard. “Did anybody come down for breakfast?”
“No,” Judith replied, refilling her own mug. “I heard Suzanne go out to run about eight. She came back an hour later and went straight upstairs. She may be avoiding me after the awkward incident of last night. No Estelle—and, of course, no Andrea.”
“Andrea must be starving to death,” Renie said with a worried expression. “What has she had to eat since her husband got killed?”
“Soup and pudding,” Judith said. “Of course Suzanne may have a suitcase full of health foods upstairs.”
“I w
ish we knew a doctor,” Renie murmured, pouring cornflakes into a bowl.
“We know plenty of doctors,” Judith said.
“I mean one we could get to come in and examine Andrea.”
“Suzanne probably wouldn’t allow it,” Judith responded.
“What if the police insisted?”
“That’s an idea. Maybe I’ll call Rosemary. Of course it is Saturday. She could be off duty. On the other hand, Joe used to work through the weekend on homicide cases. And Rosemary seems like a go-getter.”
“Give it a try,” Renie said.
After Renie left for the Empress Apartments, Judith dialed the direct number Rosemary had handed out on her official card. The young detective answered on the second ring. Briefly, Judith made the proposal about bringing in a doctor.
“I’m genuinely concerned about Mrs. Kluger,” she explained. “She appears to be in some sort of drugged stupor. I can’t let that go on with a guest, suspect or not.”
“That’s a problem,” Rosemary conceded. “But unless Mrs. Kluger or her doctor cooperates, I’ll have to get a court order. That could be tricky, especially on a weekend.”
“I understand,” Judith said. “Have you learned anything new?”
“Levi is taking the weekend off to complete his recuperation,” Rosemary explained. “I assured him I could handle any of the minor details that came along. I told our lieutenant that I really thought one of us should stay on board, given Mr. Kluger’s prominence.”
“So?” Judith said. “Has anything surfaced?”
“Mostly I’ve been doing background checks,” Rosemary replied. “Rudi Wittener moved to Philadelphia seven years ago, not long after his divorce. That’s where he met Taryn Moss, who was a private piano student working part-time at the Academy of Music. Elsa claims that moving here was Fritz’s idea. He was bored with the East Coast, and wanted to come west. Anywhere from Canada to Mexico would do. I gather they chose this city so Fritz could be close to his father.”
Judith reflected. “Granted, I’ve never spoken at length to Rudi since he arrived, but I didn’t realize he had a son until the past few days. I’d never seen Fritz at the Wittener house until this week.”